Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before

    Coming to terms with my fear of abandonment seems to be a pressing issue these days. Although I haven't had an entirely significant experience with abandonment, all of the tiny scenarios I have faced have made me a completely paranoid individual.

   It's a personal issue I've dealt with since I was young. To start off, my grandmother was adopted. I know she was taken in by a wonderful family which came to be my own, but I can't grasp the notion of someone leaving a beautiful woman like herself for another family. And then my mother- she was adopted as well. Maybe you can infer adoption another way, but in these specific instances all I can see is abandonment. Why? Why did her parents decide not to raise her, to see her grow up and become successful, to have a wonderful family, to be grandparents to my siblings and me? 

   My idea of abandonment grew more prominent as I saw the divorce of my grandparents. My grandfather, a gambler, alcoholic, and murderer left my family and moved to warmer sands. We weren't the lifestyle he wanted. Thanks. Calls are few and far between and we're lucky if he remembers our names. I should feel good knowing that bastard is out of our lives, but I can't help wanting him around. 

    Significant deaths in the family have also left me feeling abandoned. I understand in these cases, my abandonment was not intentional, but the pain still occurs. 

    Intimate relationships have caused me the most pain and have instilled my fear of being alone. I've slept with my fair share of men, thinking that if I gave myself to them I would be loved in return. I learned quickly that love was more than a good fuck. I know I hurt the people I cared for and loved the most, but I can't be the only cause of every one of my relationship's downfalls. I was a fragile girl, needing guidance and support. I received it on occasion, but I was too shy to let anyone know how I was really feeling. 

   My only survival skill was self-learned, and self-inflicted. But it was the only relationship I knew I could count on. I've only ever loved one man before now, besides my father that is. He treated me well, and I confided in him. But I came to believe that I was only someone he wanted to save. After years of being apart, we reunited once again. But we came back to the original dilemma- he was trying to save me. And I know it was more than that, he did care for me. But we grew entirely apart, wanting different things. Then came the literal abandonment. I know I was the first to abandon him, but our conclusion could have ended differently. 

    All of my experiences have made me entirely too fearful. I want to trust him, my boy, with every bone in my body, but I keep hearing my mother's cautious words swirling in my head, "the only man you'll ever be able to count on is your father." It's like I'm swaying on deck, debating within myself on whether I should crack my concrete exterior, or seclude myself inside. 

     The thought of this relationship become a desolate image on the horizon is too much for me to bear. It's not even the thought of being alone anymore, it's the thought of being without him. When I wake up in his arms, it's like nothing I've ever experienced. And I want all of these wonderful feelings to stick. He is the one I want to be with, to love, to cherish,  to share my dreams, my success, my entire life with. It's something I can't quite put my finger on, but I know I don't want to lose him.  

Pretty Girls Make Graves

   No, I am not beautiful. How can a girl be beautiful when she has hideous scars all over her body? How can anyone think she is attractive? I know my boyfriend loves me, more than anything in this world, but how can he even bear to look at me? I want to be attractive, I want him to look at me and really believe it. I understand how unappealing I must look, and I don't know why he puts up with me. I'll never be able to give him everything he deserves.
   I know im intelligent, and maybe charming, but I know enough to understand that looks count for something. And there are a million other girls out there that could give him so much more than I have to offer. So much more than a mutilated body.
   I want to give him everything, body, mind & soul. Two out of three doesn't cut it. I want to be an attractive, sensual woman for him. I want him to be able to show me off. I don't want to be repulsed in my own skin anymore.
    I want him to look at me and think I am the most stunning thing he's ever layed eyes on. I want to be the only thing he lays his eyes on.
   All of this wanting is pointless, I'll never have it. My reminders of the past will always be present. It's ridiculous to hope for change when it just isn't possible. The only thing I can do is learn to love myself. But I'm too stuck on the fact that I will never be good enough for the man of my dreams; the love of my life. And it makes me sad because he makes me happier than I ever thought anyone ever could. He is my everything, and I just want him to be able to have it all. I want it to be perfect. Sorry.

"The real lover is the man who can thrill you by kissing your forehead or smiling into your eyes or just staring into space."  - Marilyn Monroe
Jim is this man for me. A truly amazing individual, with a beautiful soul. And a gorgeous smile.

Girlfriend In a Coma

Is it pathetic to say that I've been throughly searching out my 'perfect' engagement ring, when in reality it won't be for awhile? That is to say, if it happens at all. I can't help it, but I love the idea of having that beautiful ring on my finger that says "yes, I'm all his." Yes, I am vain, and I can't pretend to be the modern girl that thinks she doesn't need something to symbolize love and trust. I simply want something to show off how wonderfully happy I am. All in due time, but really, a girl can dream :)

Good Looking Man About Town

    I don't understand the relationship I have with my father right now, considering how much it's changed over the years. I remember being about 5 years old, having him play dollhouse with me and loving every minute of it. I remember him picking me up with one hand, holding me high above his head.
    My father is a typical renaissance man, a loving father and provider. He takes care of his wife and four children, along with the family dog. He completely renovated our house: carpets, hardwood flooring, deck, walkway, painting, new walls, new bathrooms, and the list goes on. But I wonder if he's ever happy.
    There was only one time I really ever saw my father drunk, and to this day I can't figure out why it bothers me so much. My sister ran to get me, crying that my mother was trying to help me father to the bathroom. We snuck up to the bedroom door and listened in on our parents' conversation. My father was completely humiliated and wanted my mother to leave him. Not just leave him there, actually leave him. I remember him saying "Why are you still with me?" And that broke my heart.
    During my high school years, my father treated me like the family outcast. We weren't close at all. I always had a boyfriend, and I never felt approval. And I always wanted approval. But I wasn't the athletic, overachieving daughter I think he wanted. I danced, and was in the school orchestra and band. I felt that he was unapproachable, and was always afraid of his towering figure.
    But through all of that, I always knew he loved me. He told me all the time. But I didn't understand why he treated me that why; why I treated him the same way back. I still don't have an answer.
    Once I left for school my freshman year, my father and I talked regularly on the phone. More than regularly you could say. Sometimes more than once a day. It was wonderful, and I loved having him back in my life. But it was always the same when I went home; I was the brunt of every joke. Atleast I felt that way.
    I'm sure my father sees himself as the glue of the family. He's the one that's meant to keep everyone disciplined and in line. I don't know if he saw my self-harm as something he did wrong, or something that he just didn't know how to fix. Or maybe it was both?
    The night before the clinic, I remembering him telling me there was "something wrong with me" and after my time there he told me I was "tearing the family apart." These words cut me harder than any knife could have ever.
    But besides these comments, I don't remember having a terrible relationship with him during this time. I remember wanting to be alone most of the time, trying to fix myself. I remember wanting my parents to read books on the psychology of self-harm and they wouldn't. I'm still upset for them thinking they understood me and not trying harder. But my parents have always been set in their ways.
    Now I barely speak to my father. I asked him to call me today, but am still waiting for a reply. My relationship with my mother had become very strong, but I am longing to have my father back in my life. I hate to say it, but I feel helpless without him. He is my rock and my protection.
   I understand that he must feel helpless as well, not being to help his own daughter; not being able to protect her from her personal demons. But I want so bad for us to be close again.
   The worst is not understanding why our relationship is so dysfunctional. I want to understand, I mean maybe I could come to some conclusion, make some sense of this mess. But for now I must wait, wait for a phone call that won't come.