You made me aware of this nasty tenancy I have to invite people to treat me like shit…especially if someone seems to like me or respect me.

That’s just…ick. No good for anybody.

That’s my reaction. I can’t bear the thought of letting somebody who’s placed their confidence in me down. I devalue them and meet them with instantly distrust for investing anything in me whatsoever.

And then I just distance myself when they actually do treat me shitty because obviously that’s no good either…but I can at least play martyr to hold myself over with that.

I struggle with that more than I struggle with the sensation of a fraction of dependency from me…fucking feeling like I need somebody…that scares me shitless…

Sick fucking pain in the ass, aren’t I? Simple defense mechanism linked to self-esteem, I suppose, huh? Obvious to all but me?

I’m not afraid of loving my dog, and I feel bad when it happens, but I’m always letting her down. So neither of those things are my fucking problem.

No, my problem is even more common to the point if being trite.

My problem is that if I invest and then get let down or fuck up catastrophically and irrevocably…well…it turns out…it fucking hurts.

Big, bad, complicated, special snowflake me is afraid of getting hurt, and that’s it.

I hate this shit. Why do I have to struggle so fucking hard to gain insight on such simple things? It’s infuriating. I’m retarded.

I fucking hate it.

Also, I apologize. I think the rambling…rationalizing what the fuck I’m feeling…yeah, it’s helpful and cathartic in processing this fucking baggage

(Jesus, I’m sorry I’m that fucking girl that dumps on you; because who the fuck wants to burden anybody with their shit or has time to deal with anybody else’s?)

I don’t know. The rambling is also a stress reaction…because it’s comforting…just not to sit alone with all this shit I don’t want to deal with helps a lot. And you didn’t want to play this role. You told me from when I very first started asking you questions that you didn’t want to be a shoulder for me.

And I forced you into it anyway, because I can talk myself out of pretty much anything, but intuitively…I can’t help who I trust…and goddamn it.

That’s just…ick. No good for anybody.

Sigh…

Retarded.

Am I even going in the right fucking direction at this point? Because the shit I’m starting to understand just keeps getting simpler and simpler. It’s beyond humbling.

There. That’s a good unbalanced 2am, don’t fucking share this shit, nobody cares ramble.

I’m going to fucking get this shit under control. It’s just stress. There’s a more productive outlet than bothering you with it. I’m going to find it.

Spacial Dynamics

It helped that Tyler knew Tim, and…Tim liked him.  Tim used to talk about trying to help him, and I always found myself being the one pulling him back from investing too much.  He didn’t really talk about you.  He would just mention that you were occupied with something new, or that you were still carrying a torch for that girl who used to live next door.  He didn’t like Steve.

Tim knew that whole neighborhood, but there was some kind of balance…some sort of calm he gained over there at the shithole for a while with you guys.  Maybe it was because he was high all the fucking time.

I don’t know.  He kept that from me…even when blackout drunk…and I’ll never really know why.  I thought he felt comfortable telling me everything.  Anything.  I never doubted him or questioned him or pried.  I just trusted that he knew what he needed, and I tried to be there for him.  If he needed to play with his gun, who was I to stop him?  If he needed to kiss another girl, I must not have been good enough.  If he didn’t want to fuck me, I must be unfuckable.  If I’m unhappy, it’s my fault.

That’s the cycle.  It’s not consistent.  It’s not black and white.  Cut and dry.  Clear when you’re in it textbook shit.  It’s a slow creep with a lot of stops and starts.  Apologies and amends and promises and…feeding into shit wrong.  Making shit worse.

I was never going to leave him.  He threatened to leave me almost every weekend, and I never would have stopped him.  I wanted him to be okay…to feel okay with who he was, and I loved him.  I did love him, even when it was unhealthy because it meant I couldn’t maintain respect for myself.  I don’t know why he was with me.  It felt like everything about me just made things worse for him.

Tyler was as close as I could get to what I wanted after Tim died, because I knew what I really wanted wasn’t possible.  Laid out in plain terms, that’s the vulnerability.

I think Tyler did the best he could with an impossible task…that he volunteered for.  He just…stepped into that space…and I think he held it for as long as he could.  I couldn’t begrudge him for wanting to be himself and live his life, and however superficial and misinterpreted my acts of gratitude have been, if I saw a way that I could potentially make something a little easier for him…I offered what I could.

I’ve had friends, and family, and professionals tell me that Tyler’s bad news…but he never coerced me, and I was never unaware.  From the outside it looks bad, and I know that.  I’ve withdrawn, but Tyler was the only one on the inside for a while where things looked much worse, and he had this beautiful, idealized perspective on Tim.  The positive shit.  The fun stuff.  Confirmation that he did fucking love me…and I needed that.

Because all of those things are just as true.

I’m not stupid…and Tyler’s not evil.