Lucky.

Okay, so–those of you who know me really well know that there are certain things that happen/exist in my day-to-day life that I have become used to that could be considered relatively odd. Things like my giant, hypnotic beacon that is only visible to those (almost exclusively men) who are bat-shit crazy. If you roll with me you really have to be comfortable with random, not-entirely-sane people approaching us for a little tea and sympathy. It’s just how my life is. I am catnip. And, to be honest, I like it that way. This doesn’t happen nearly as much as it used to–but I have a lot less free time to be out and about these days. 

 I got the beacon from my mom. She is a beacon among beacons. A counselor, nurse and sociologist–she takes kindness and compassion to the next level. Maybe someday I’ll be even a fraction of the person that she is–if I work at it really, really hard. 

Our biggest difference is that I tend to attract obessessive personality types (present bf/consort excluded from this characterization). I know that that sounds overly dramatic or hyperbolic–but it isn’t. My beacon not only draws the tinfoil-hat crew–it also brings in the broken, the lonely, the narcissistic, the psychopathic and/or any other “dysfunctional”-esque kind of person. I’m not describing them this way to be unkind, it’s purely a intellectual and/or linguistic limitation on my part vis-a-vis my ability to describe them in any other way. That’s my failing, not theirs. It’s not like I could, in good conscience, be all, “be easier to describe so that I can be better able to takes shots at you on my blog”, right? Right?!

I’m kidding, I wouldn’t do that–take shots at people with cognitive/personality impairments. I may be a snarky bitch, but I’m not an asshole–and that is a straight up asshole move. This, however, does not really extend to general stupidity or idiocy. If you’re either of those things, I will fuck with you–at least a little. But not in a mean way. My meanness and/or indifference is reserved for those who take advantage of me (or those who try to/encourage others to do so–more on this later, likely in another post).

As I mentioned earlier, I tend to attract stalkers–in fact, I’m on my third one. Good times. Maybe this will sound fuct up–and maybe it will just sound like me–but I kind of feel like their weird, obsessive behavior towards me is, at least to some extent, my fault. While I can hear the chorus of, “NO!!!!!!!!”, please just hear me out.

This will come as no surprise to those who know me well, but I am pretty tolerant of shit behavior in my personal relationships. I give the people I care about far too many chances before I walk away. I know this. I shouldn’t do it, but I do–and that is changing slowly but surely. This goes extra, super-duper much for those with which I am romantically involved.

 Contrary to what they may claim (especially my most recent ex–you know, the one who told me not to write about him), I give 100% of myself to my romantic relationships–and I accept people as I find them, flaws and all. I believe that this combination of tolerance and acceptance sometimes creates a situation that allows obsessive behavior to flourish. 

Before you think that I’m being all, “Oh, everyone loves me so much!”, please note that, Mr. Don’t-Write-About-Me, cared about me so much that he refused to put down his booze and video games long enough to visit me in the ICU–even when told that I probably wouldn’t live through the night (the first night I was there). Not even once in the five days that I was there. Because he doesn’t like hospitals. Yup. That was his excuse. And to add insult to injury, he asked me to pick him up more booze and cigarettes before I came home on the day that I got out. Here’s the kicker–I didn’t put his ass out until a long time later. Nope. I hung in there. 

THIS is why I believe that I’m at least partially at fault for attracting obsessive-stalker types. As mentioned, I accept people as I find them–and that means accepting the things about them that are hard to put up with. It’s about loving the whole person and not trying to change them. Changing themselves is their job, not mine. And if I find something about them intolerable, it’s up to me to leave. 

While it’s debatable as a policy, I honestly believe that it is the height of hubris and arrogance to try to change someone you claim to love into YOUR vision of them. Why not just keep looking until you find what you’re looking for instead of making some poor person, who thinks that you love them, into someone they aren’t? To me, this isn’t really loving that person, it’s loving the idea of him/her–and that’s so not the same thing. 

I know this because I have fallen into that trap (more than once)–of thinking that I was loved and of being made to think that who I was, as I was, wasn’t good enough. And on most days, those negative thoughts persist–maybe not for the majority of the day–but in fun little bursts that come at pretty inconvenient times. It becomes less and less frequent as I heal, but it’s still very much there.

 I credit my consort/boyfriend (gawd, I hate that word)/significant other with helping me to heal as much as I have these past two years. He accepts me for me–including all of the shadowy dark parts of me. The not-so-lovely parts–the remnants of past abuse–the ones that cause horrible nightmares and other sleep issues (I am challenging to sleep next to)–that cause terrible moods and crippling bouts of self loathing and self doubt–that make it so hard for me to trust–and all of the other things that make up that side of me. He sees me and loves me anyway. And it still surprises me every single day–that someone as wonderful and awesome as him could love someone as fuct up as me. For that, I am very, very lucky. Thanks for reading, gorgeous friends! xo