It's been a few months

I've been out of the blog loop. I have been angry and I have been sad. I have been joyful and I have felt defeated.

I spent November writing a NaNo project which I completed true to my fashion.... by jamming through the first 40K or so words of it without so much as a blip in my momentum and then crashing and burning and getting in whatever it was that I was short on the last day I could write.

I have my little banner. It says I won. The project is at least 1/3 of the way from completion. I don't know if I'll ever be able to finish it.

I don't know if I'll ever be able to finish anything.

I miss you, B. I deleted all of my messengers and told everyone the reason why was that they were slowing down my log-in process. That might have been part of it at the time, but I also hated that the only people I really wanted to talk to on line were you and J. And that I wasn't going to be talking to J ever again, and I can just call you.

Which of course, I never do. Except when I'm freaking out about stupid computer shit.

You know, it's been almost 4 years since we randomly met online. In February of '09 I can say I've "known" you for 4 years. The friendship that we had back then isn't the same structure that it is today, but I still love you, boy. You saved me from myself. Bet you never thought that saving me would include turning me into someone's decent mother. In fact, I know you didn't. But all remnants of who I was would have perished completely 4 years ago, if not for that drunken phone call from you when you were at that wedding.

Short white boys been keeping this sinking ship afloat. Go figure.

I say that because I've been thinking a lot about the kind of girlfriend that I am, that I was. Wondering if I can really be anything of worth to the person that I'm with. I live in what most people would refer to as idyllic conditions, with a man who loves me, supports me financially and emotionally, and a reason to keep going forward... that miracle little red head who came out of my chaos from another lifetime.

I say I'm wondering recently because my past comes back to haunt me. And there must be a reason why your past comes back to you, right? Remember when we talked about the destiny of things coming back to us? Of course, yours flitted back away and I haven't been a diligent enough friend to know anything about your romantic inclinations because I'm too self-centered.

Being my ENFP self. Ha.

In derby, there is a husband of one of the league members who was my boyfriend about 12, almost 13 years ago. Back when I was 20-21 and living off of marijuana and youthful ignorance and arrogance. He is not a bad person. He never was. He was one of the boyfriends who was decent to me. A good man by pretty much any person's definition.

And I was a shit girlfriend to him. I would exclude portions of my life from him (not lying, I would tell myself.... believing omitting to be different at the time). I cheated on him, emotionally and physically. I don't know how much of that he knows about now or how much he knew about it then. Hell, even after we broke up, I went to him for money to pay my rent and he managed to scrape some up for me.

I think he said something around that time about not being able to be around me anymore.

Looking back on it, I can't say I blame him.

And it's not his fault that he's involved in derby. That we ended up colliding years later in a sport that relies on heavy volunteer participation from members and those related to them. But I can't look at him. I haven't spoken to him, not even to say hello.

Somewhat sadistically so, I have had conversations with his wife. I like her. She's nutty and she's lively and she suits him. The him that I remember. People do change... right?

Or perhaps not.

I don't talk to him because I know I was a shit girlfriend to him. He would probably talk to me and if I were less of an immature child, I would just get over it and be nice to him in that general conversation kind of way like I do with his wife. But I can't even bring myself to look at him long enough so that it acknowledges that I know who he is. That I remember.

Hi, dude from my past who once used to put his penis in me. How're things?

I womaned up and told the ManPerson about the ExBoyfriend and he was/is uncomfortable about it, but even he has made his own peace with the situation. And I know that the wife knows we used to date back in the ice ages, though the topic has not been brought up between us when we talk. She refers to him as "my husband" when talking to me, instead of by his name. As if that's the signal that she knows and I know and no more needs to be said about it.

I don't want to communicate with him because it means dealing more with all the memories of what a shitty girlfriend I was to him. And I don't want to talk to him and remember what a shitty girlfriend I was because it makes me paranoid and whiny and whimpering like a fool with the ManPerson.

I love you. Don't leave me. I know I'm a shit. I know I'm impossible. I know I'm not Choice cut. But I love you the best that I can. I love you as best as I know how to. I love you without lying, without withholding, without denying. I still get angry and petulant and mean. I am most sorry about being mean.

The defense mechanism of the manic. You always end up with a person with a rescuer complex. So you get mean. Be mean enough and even those altruistic ones will eventually throw up their hands and stomp away in defeat.

If you're cold, they just try to snuggle closer. If you get quiet, they just give you that space, but leave the door open and keep one eye on you.

You get mean... they get hurt. And eventually even the best of them can't take the abuse anymore.

But please don't leave me. I love you.

I feel like a walking poster child for some women's abuse shelter, except that I'm the aggressor. Ugh. I am a horrible girlfriend. I am a horrible partner.

I have files longer than both of my arms of men from the past that I have abused into flight. But oh, yes, oh how I love to be in the beginning stages.

It's why I miss J so much. I miss my friend and that is no lie, no missing the thought of him but just the talking to him. I miss him like a deep, angry cyst tearing up my bowels. I miss the highs and lows that flowed so naturally, making me feel normal with little regard for how it might have affected him.

Hell, I'm a bad friend too.