Thursday, October 18, 2007

1 Year, 55 Days – Posted 1 Year 56 Days

I’m sitting on the floor in the hallway with my back against the front door. It’s 7.20pm and I don’t know where else to be right now. I feel rattled and aimless even though there are a million things I still have to do and could be doing right now. I keep checking online to see if one of the guys I have been ‘chatting’ to has emailed me back since I last emailed him, be he hasn’t. I can’t pretend not to be disappointed. I keep trying to convince myself that, although we seem to have made some semblance of a connection, he has probably found the same thing with a lot of other souls looking for the same. I have tried not to put all my eggs in one basket, to stay impartial until we have actually met, but my stomach refuses to comply by doing that 'flippy' thing every time I hear from him. “It’s too early for these kinds of feelings” – I tell myself and force my eyes to look at other possible suitors to email and chat with in attempt to keep open and focused.

Fibs are told online, as in life. The less web savvy of the people posting on here don’t seem to realise that you can see when they are “online”. One dude emailed me last night to say “Hi”, and that he had food poisoning so not to expect too much from him over the next 24 hours – but he has been on and off the site all day. Another told me how he was too pushed to email as he was expecting to be busy with work commitments - yet he is online all day too. Please understand Dear Diary, that I am not sitting here, glued to my computer, checking up on these guys and waiting for them to slip up (?). The site is set up so that when you are online, you can see who else is - when they have been looking at your profile and when they have been checking their emails. Lying. That’s what they are doing. They think I don’t know. They think they can pull the wool over my eyes. They think they can lift and lay me, whenever it suits them. It makes me shout at my computer screen and makes me want to throw things. I get agitated and want to scream: “SEE! SEE! SEE! GODDAMIT, YOU’RE ALL THE GODDAMN SAME! ALL UNTRUSTWORTHY LIARS! YOU PUT YOURSELF OUT THERE AND GET REJECTED AS SOON AS YOU DO”

My concern is palpable – I don’t like this dependent/dependable, obsessional thinking that I am feeling and the ob(li)vious anger horrifies me. I never expected in a million years that I would become a Man Hater; and here I am, a Man Hater. I used to think those women (Man Haters) were all bra-burning, tie-dye wearing feminists, the much stereotyped “butch lesbians” that had had bad luck with men who had turned to their own fairer sex instead, and the cursed and angry women of divorce and betrayal, but now I look in the mirror and see that the much fabled Man Hater is me. Maybe you are not surprised - but I sure am - knock-me-down-with-a-feather surprised, more than a bit aghast and slightly ashamed. I have always been made to feel that I over dramatised the mistreatment during that “bad relationship”. I was always made to think it was my fault, that I was to blame and that I was the liar and the cheat. I suppose now, many years later, the worms are creeping out of the infested wood. I don’t know if I ever really accepted that he was a bully and how he bashed, what was left of my confidence, into the ground. I suppose it’s similar to the way I think about my father. I’d much rather believe that I was at fault - they were right - than put the blame they deserved, firmly back on their shoulders. This subject makes me squirm. It sounds so cliché. I suppose it is. Textbook. Girl has bullying, intimidating father that crushes her, she attracts male that eventually does the same, and keeps perpetuating the cycle, filling the void of the aftermath with anyone close enough to ensnare, rather than take the time to breathe and reboot.

Even during my two year sabbatical from relationships – I have still been constantly obsessing - obsessing over the past and falling head over heels, again and again for the same people. I am living in my own little fantasy world where each and every one of those boys comes back to me, all changed and ready to give me everything and anything I need, in return for letting me love them as I need to. Going virtual was supposed to be a happy distraction, a way to help me move on, yet I seem to be deploying the same Bunny Boiler behaviour of old, not even old…of always. Even the language I use is stereotypical of negative male perspectives that I still hear ringing in my ears. No woman came up with that term. I don’t want to be Glenn Close. I really, really don’t. Shit, shit, shit. I have always been of the opinion that I was the one at fault, that I was the one who pushed those boys away, I was too weird, too pushy, too clingy, too…too…too…too damn much, and maybe all this proves that I am after all, that I am smothering, maybe I purposely stand in front of the light so all they can see is me. Gross.

With my now well-known and well documented history of falling (in love/lust/obsession) hard and fast, building up attachments quickly and fiercely, I’m scared to have these feelings so early on in the game – I don’t think this is normal or right. I know that I can stop this online dating ‘thing’ at any point, but at times it has bolstered my confidence, leaving me squealing round my flat like a teenager at the merest “wink” from someone online (“They like me! They like me!”). It has been bolstering my confidence to know that others are interested in “Online Me”. She is so different to who I feel I am most days and I like her, that girl. I doubt they would like the person that is sitting here in knots on the floor this evening, unable to face food yet again, wondering how long she can hold off without taking the Valium.

Maybe I am safer on my own, maybe I can come to and cause less harm; maybe it is all too soon. I obviously haven’t learned how to be balanced in matters of the heart, without game playing and freaking out. Where might I find the rules of appropriate behaviour? I scour the bookshelves looking for answers – “Women Who Love Too Much”, “He’s Just Not That Into You”, “The Highly Sensitive Person” “How to Walk in High Heels” – where is the bloody formula? Where are the rules on how to behave properly and conduct ones self in a less daunting, less dramatic fashion?

I just need to check my email one more time…

The trouble is if he does email back (why wouldn’t he – we have been emailing most days for two weeks now – but oh yeah, I have fucked it all up by saying something nice didn’t I? SEE, too damn pushy…) my mood will turn on a dime and the twisty, turny, bubbling excitement will return. My evil stepmother once called me fickle and I have hated that word ever since. But it seems I can apply it here. Clunk, goes my stomach into the floor, shaming the devil on the way down.

Earlier today I was out with my old friend (The One Who Came Back), she is gloriously pregnant with her second child and we had a gorgeous morning of shopping, coffee drinking, catching up and laughing. I was F-I-N-E. Then I came home for my 3pm appointment with my CPN and by 3.05pm, while she was running late, I was well on my way down the slippery slope. Dammit.

I think I am now on day four of the increased dose of Venlafaxine (225mg). Days are better, less ‘manic’ than last week - seemingly more productive than ineffective bulldozing – nights are hell. Sleep is fitful. I constantly and abruptly jerk awake from nightmares, bed linen tied up in knots just like my belly. I have serious water retention so am bloated and aching and still sweating at the slightest sign of physical activity. My weight however, minus the water retention, is almost stable at a loss of roughly ten pounds.

This week, I have been aiming to create more structure in my day now that I am buzzing with excessive energy. It is hard to make myself stop working all day and all night so am imposing a curfew of 6pm. Just as if I had a day job, I am aiming to down tools and remain calm, preparing for sleep for the next few hours. I have also cut out caffeine after 5pm. Easier said than done with the former as on days like today I can’t sit still and need something to occupy my spiralling thoughts. “Where’s the bloody Nintendo?”

Yelling seems appropriate now, as I check my empty inbox again, several times again.

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