Rescue Me (A Guest Entry)
2006-06-02, 4:26 p.m.
Much as I fucking hate to admit it even to myself, I'm...starting to get like Mom these days. Looking for A MAYUN to save me. If only in my imagination so far. Thank god I'm surrounded by 22-year-olds that I could never date at my age. (If I was 22 myself right now, I could make no promises, though.)
The recurrence of Wanting A Mayun makes me hate myself. Like, hello, a boyfriend isn't going to save me from TEH DRAMA that'll hit within the next six months. Odds are higher one would make it worse. (Plus, I'd feel shitty having a boyfriend when Dad dies and Mom has nobody. Me having someone else and not being there for her at all times when that goes down would be pretty crappy. Way to make her abandonment issues worse at the worst time ever, eh?)
I know better. Intellectually, I don't wanna. In real life, I don't have any options in this arena anyway.
Anyway, I was bitching about this to Jess and she said some stuff that really summed it up. So uh, consider this a guest entry, I suppose.
"I'm going to be blunt, so hold on to something. This is what you're dealing with (from my perspective):
Crunch time is on and you have no one to really LEAN on. It might have been easier if I'd been in town so you and I could bead and bitch and knot and whatever. It seems that when you HAVE someone, you do fine -- problem is: no one's willing to be that for you. Not your mother, not your family, not your friends. You are, in essence alone.
That scares the holy fucking shit out of you, because that makes you like your Dad right now -- trapped in a life you didn't choose, waiting for the end of . . . something.
The idea of a boyfriend has been built up in your mind by the Hierophant- traditional love. You are willing to submit (in a way) to it in exchange for someone taking you from the fucked-up agony of it all. I mean, look at it from distance for a second -- TEN years has been distilled to about six months. Even if It goes on past, you've reached the "less than a year" mark. This is Armageddon, finally, and you're looking to have someone to lean on when the whole world quakes and shakes and Mauricio walks away just when your mother is falling apart. She turns to you, and you fear you don't have enough to hold her up, too.
Problem: most guys who you'd meet at this juncture either (a) have a relationship or (b) are self-absorbed fucks looking for, well, uncommitted sex.
It's taken me this long to realize what I need sometimes and don't get. I think you have this fantasy, too:
Sitting on a couch just leaning against someone with his arms around you. No need to talk. No worries that whether or not he's attracted to you any clothes will come off. Just those arms cocooning your shoulders, his body protecting your back -- which you realize has been filled with daggers and knives of stress and agony as each drops to the floor.
The problem then? Finding one who will be your armor so you can finally allow your guard to drop. It's like being a crab. We walk around with our hard shells and cannot grow unless we shed them. But the moment the shell is shed, we're vulnerable and everything wants to fucking consume us!! So we have to find a place to hide until the shell regrows.
You''ve outgrown the shell (life) you're wearing but have no safe place to shed it and know you're vulnerable to be consumed (by people's neediness when your father finally exhales). You are looking for an outcropping to hide and rebuild that shell. And, that, Jen, is the promise of the man who will sit behind you and cover your back while you fall apart, knowing that he will not consume you (be a rock instead of a predator) while you shed your old life for the new life.
You can call bullshit on it, but you know it's true. The most base core of you know it's true. Whether or not you can control it . . . well, seeing it is the beginning. The hard part is learning your own way across that wasteland.
And, like I said, I will do my best to make it up there for the funeral, because if there's no man to shelter you, there will be me."