I’m far enough away from it now. I’m listening to Bitches Brew, after finishing with Birth of Cool. Time to do damage control (ala fem), finally. What my last relationship did to me:
---Made me forget how much I lived for jazz. I stopped thinking in 2-4-4. This is bloodletting.
---Made me forget I wasn’t a high-class call girl.
---Made me forget there were times when I didn’t want to be touched. Yes, sure as if I don't have a comfort zone, as if I don't have boundaries. As if I should feel guilty for knowing how I feel physically, at the time. Fucker.
---Somehow made me forget to keep a sketchbook.
---Made me forget I actually have valid points to make in an argument.
---Made me forget how to just flirt, without having sex in mind as an end result.
---Made me forget how to cry. He would pretend I didn’t exist when I cried.
---Made me forget I was actually considering a career in the theatre for most of my life. Not that I want one now, what with my writing and all, but it made me forget how I lived for theatre: going to it, as well as doing it.
---Made me forget that I actually had a right to be angry. Made me forget to see through manipulation, twisting of facts.
---Made me forget to know how to trust myself.
--- Oh yeah, and all this apart from the fact that I had taken to vomiting five, six times a day. I think, now, that I did it because I NEEDED TO FEEL AS IF I HAD CONTROL OVER SOMETHING.
Holy shit. I mean: holy shit.
Sheri-D had been right all along; he was way too old for me.
I used to think that for a man of his age to actually have the gumption to go for an 18 year old was rather gutsy, brave, and anti-establishment, now I just think it’s almost perverted and god Damnit it enrages me. I shouldn’t have stayed in it for so long; that was my fault in the situation. Sure, going into it at first was all clearly well and fitting with my passionate and rebellious character, but I also have staying power and a grand level of endurance: that skill led me into horrible things in this instance. I should have left when I had the chance. Holy shit. When you finally start to see things from the other side. How everyone else saw the situation all along.
& about the argument thing. It’s near impossible to win an argument with someone that’s over forty years your senior since people that old are so set in their ways; it’s impossible to get them to SEE YOUR SIDE, understand it, even. Just to get him to SEE WHY I was upset over something, god, GOD, I remember how flustered I felt inside. There were things he did that nearly broke my fucking heart and I remember desperately trying to explain how I felt from every possible angle and still: nothing. There was not an inch of movement in my direction. It made me feel like everything I felt was wrong and totally irrelevant to real life. I fucking well lost my base as a person. I fucking well hope I never have to see him again.
Fuck, I wish I had kept his letters so I could actually show you how horrible it was. I shouldn't have thrown them out. They were gems.
But it made me ill to even know I had them stored on my computer, where MY WRITING WAS STORED. I wasn't about to have things so tainted.
I've lost my disc of "Touch of Blue." Miles! I think Natasha has it, who knows when I'll see it again. I enjoy the jazz so much.
And yes, best to avoid contamination of words on words.
Posted by: ben at March 21, 2005 10:38 PMHe made me forget that Miles **was my husband**. (haha! Too bad I'm rather white, he probably would have hated me!) I feel such a grave transgression. I almost want to say, well, all right, I WILL say, because I WAS EIGHTEEN: how dare he??????
no question mark, it’s more than one.
my intent fails through punctuation.
He made me forget how bloody and fantastically emotional I actually was.
!!!!
Rage, Ben, rage. But: the GOOD kind. Not the destructive kind.
The white-hot brilliant kind that makes you sing inside? Sweet.
Unfortunately, right now I have the other kind, and it's directed at my mother.
Posted by: ben at March 21, 2005 11:02 PMYip! The joyful rage! The kind that sprawls you through *types of creation* or, more importantly *recreation*.
& hey, you wouldn't be here to feel that rage without her, umm, effort. ;)
we should have a "I love my mom" party---we should all bring the kind of booze our moms like to drink and get just as drunk as they would get. Right, so I'll be puking in the first toilet I see and then screaming crazy manic tears of whatnot everywhere after my massive dose of vodka.
woot!
I'm in!
xoxox :D
I'll have a glass of wine and go home before ten o'clock.
Posted by: m at March 22, 2005 9:11 AMhaha, that's pretty excellent.
I wonder if you'd be able to pull that one off.
:D
Posted by: caroline at March 22, 2005 10:59 AM