Unloveable

In my last post, I briefly touched on my own personal battles with feeling like I do not possess the ability to be loved. After discussing the post with a friend, I thought I would expound upon that ... mainly because he mentioned that I wasn't the only one who felt that way.

That took me aback, actually - I really thought that shit was specific to my crazy ass. Knowing that readers could potentially see themselves in what I write, and that they could potentially comment below to say some things that would enlighten me ... that has egged me on all the more.

First, you need to know that I always felt misplaced as a kid. I never, ever really felt at home ... well, anywhere. When I was born, I left the hospital with my aunt and uncle after a three-month stint in an incubator. My mother wasn't exactly "motherly" and, quite frankly, she couldn't stand the sight of me ... so my aunt raised me until I was 9. That's when I finally moved in with my mom.

While I lived with my aunt and uncle - I never really had a room. I always shared a place to sleep with one of my cousins. And I mean shared a bed, not just shared a room. I didn't have my own bed. Until I was 9.

AFter I moved in with my mom, I always felt like a nuisance - my brother was always getting into trouble with gangs, and gang fights, and failing grades ... and I trudged along like a greased wheel ... tired of spinning but not really making any noise. So, while I had my own bed - I was still somewhat obscure.

So - that's the synopsis ... and from where stems this feeling within me that I cannot possibly be the object of someone's love. It was a battle for a really long time - when I myself fell in love when I was 21 ... I was scared as hell. Scared that he couldn't feel the same way I did ... because I was wanting him to feel that way about ME. I wanted him to love me - but I didn't think it was possible for love within him to be directed at me. I just struggled with it whenever he said I Love You - he said it first ... and it was weeks before I said it back.

"I know you love me, too," he said one day. "I'll wait until you're ready to say it."

(I threw that in there because it's one of the devices I use to talk myself through it when I feel unloveable ... I *saw* the love he had for me - it resided in him and I could SEE it when he looked at me and said that)

Feeling like no one can possibly love me? That has become a defense mechanism for me. It's comfortable, and like a security blanket, it's been with me for a long time. I KNOW that feeling - and knowing it makes me comfortable ... even if it sucks. And occasionally I find myself traveling down that path, feeling woe-is-me about love because I'm unloveable.

But a few things helped me get through it and those few things still help me snap out of it today:

1) I'm a grown ass man - what the fuck I look like trying to blame my mommy for my not having a partner? I'm thirty-fuckin-five .. my mommy? Seriously, at some point after 18, a man has to be a man, has to man up and has to take responsibility for his own shit. Still blame momma? No - that won't be me.

2) I fucking adore me! I really do - I happen to think I'm funny as hell, I think I'm relatively smart, I know I'm a good dad ... and all-in-all, I'm fucking great I think. I don't like pain and I don't like for things to hurt ... so why would I allow me to scar myself with giving in to feeling unloveable ... when *I* love me. As real as is my propensity to love myself is my ability to be loved. Right? My own love for me proves that I am able to be loved.

3) There's just too much other shit to think about. Work, kids, shopping, finances, cooking, cleaning, driving, mowing the lawn ... there's too much riding on my ability to function and I simply can NOT give in to a way of thinking that has long ago proven to spin me into depressive cycles. I hate depressive cycles - and I will not willingly choose to get into one.

Those are the top three - yes, I'm 35 and single ... but I have two kids who love me, own a home, a car and have a pretty decent balance in my 401(K) ... so, I haven't been successful in finding a partner yet ...

... but my being single does not a failure make me.

And I'm not looking for someone to complete me. My partner needs to complement me. I am whole already.

Sex and Cigarettes: Diet and Exercise

I must admit that when I say I haven't had sex since mid-December 2009, I do mean intercourse. The totality of everything else since mid-December is like 4 sessions - and I didn't even let it go very far those times. So, seriously - JACK had more sexual contact in a _month_ than I've had in 12. I do consider that progress.

PLUS - I know the name of each dude I fooled around with. That's a HUGE difference.

It's going on 47 weeks without a cigarette, though - and there I have not cheated at all. I have not put a cigarette to my lips since January 4. In fact, I have not touched one, lit one or otherwise engaged in any inappropriate cigarette touching in all this time.

In these two areas of my life I have seen great progress in 2010.

Diet and Exercise? Stop judging me, already!

Seriously, though, I have to really get a grip on my having given up on going to the gym and on eating healthily. Knowing myself as an emotional eater, I wonder if I shouldn't make an appointment with a counselor to discuss some things. I might need his objectivity, and the fact that I haven't seen him in 3 or 4 years would really make a session or two with him actually FEEL objective.

I am realizing that the issue with my First Love is a problem for me. His asking me for my blessing to marry another man was an emotional blow and while I hid it very well, I can't deny that it's been there bothering me. And as I contemplate how much I've eaten in the last week (under the guise of thanksgiving feasting), I really have to admit to myself that the totality of that situation is a heavy weight.

And it is so because I can't confront my ex-wife about the role she played in keeping him and me apart because we're co-parenting and I really can't let all of that out because when she feels attacked and gets defensive, she's like a cornered opossum ... and I've not intentions on co-parenting with a rabid wild animal.

I really do think that if I see that social worker again and just let it out, confess out loud that I forgive her and really do give him my blessing, then I can really deal with how my emotions about it have affected my diet and exercise habits.

I know it may sound crazy - but I am quite self-aware ... and the fact that the one person I have ever been in love with was actually in love with me too and opined for me as much as I did for him really does make me wonder What If.

What if I had the balls to be out the closet when I was in college ...
What if I actually had told him that he was my first boyfriend, that I was a virgin when I met him?
What if I fought for him?

And while I know I wouldn't have my children and my career and the life i currently have - that I would be a different me today, and that I really do love me ... even tough wouldn't change a thing ... I wonder: What if.

It's time I stop the bullshit and answer the only question that makes a lick of sense: What if I actually dealt with this in the here and now?

I didn't eat

I realized a little bit ago that I totally forgot to eat today. As my blood sugar plummeted this afternoon, I began to feel shaky and light headed. I grabbed a yogurt out of the work fridge and added some of that granola crunchy stuff and finished it so fast, I had to have another.

But I'm sitting here realizing that I've been kind of stressed all day - I was supposed to meet with a friend on Wednesday. He got a new place and I was going to go check it out. He was a no-call and I didn't go. I was really annoyed about it and it kind of felt like getting stood up.

I'm supposed to have coffee or drinks with this dude I've been chatting with - I texted him two hours ago and I still have no confirmation from him - and yes, it's 5:30 PM. Kind of feels like getting stood up.

So, you see why I was in a funk. But usually when I get kind of depressive and stuff I eat like crazy. It's strange that I've been NOT eating. Seriously - strange. I'm a bit of a mess in general, I admit, but I pride myself in knowing myself really well and I really wonder if that whole losing weight issue I've had all year is finally taking root.

I wanted to watch what I eat this week and kind of take off the bloat by eating well and not eating within 3 hours of bed time - and then I was planning on hitting the gym (slowly at first, I swear!) next week when I went back to Indianapolis ... and somewhere deep inside, I am supposing, it stuck. That's all I can come up with with regards to my NOT eating.

Because, people, I'm here to tell you ... I can EAT, ok? I'll have to make sure I have a SENSIBLE dinner and not engorge myself since I'm hungry. Must pick at food - that's what I'll do. I'll get something on the way home. And later I'll have some of that leftover bean soup I made. That's what I'll do.

Ok - got a plan. Off to work it.

Yes, Rare Form.

Today I washed down my anti-depressants with a martini. I could feel the three-pill cocktail press and open my esophagus all the way down to my stomach. The martini didn’t really do much but help it get past my uvula without incident. It didn’t even seem to coat anything on the way down. And I liked it like that – invasive, threatening and slow … until they met with the bile in my stomach. The martini tasted all the more sweet when I thereafter raised the glass to my lips, if for no other reason than it wasn’t chalky, lumpy and pushing my insides to do things it really didn’t want to do. It pleased my palette and ran down my gullet eagerly, effortlessly and carefree. It’s crazy how I needed that drink after today … and that I really needed those pills after weeks of feeling off-kilter … and how they really, really didn’t need each other. It’s like one was my black wife and the other was my Puerto Rican mother – in my past life, both were there, both were necessary and the only thing deeper than the river Amazon was their hatred for each other. I’ll let you figure out who was the ineffective anti-depressant and who was the bitter-sweet alcohol.