I Went Out Dancing Again Last Night, But I Didn't Feel Quite As At Ease As The First Time. I Was With

I went out dancing again last night, but I didn't feel quite as at ease as the first time. I was with some younger folks, so there was some drama that had nothing to do with me afoot; the interruptions that ensued were admittedly annoying.

But no, my memory was jogged because I had been in this bar before. Halloween 2016. He wanted to go out, and he had no one else to go with( I was last choice, you see, and he wanted to make sure I knew that).

So we went. However he was there to pick up girls, so we couldn't actually spend time together. He said he wanted me find us a 'third'. I said I would try.

I didn't. I have difficulty starting conversation at the best of times and as I had recently stopped drinking at that point there was no hope for artificial courage. I meandered around mostly.

But no matter, he was fine on his own. When I headed to the washroom, I found him sitting with a woman sprawled across his lap. He smiled at me as I walked by, enjoying my discomfort. I went to the washroom, regrouped mentally and decided that I couldn't stay. So I went to sit in my car and texted him to tell me when he was ready to leave and I would pick him up.

Later when he was in the car he told me that I should have stayed. He wanted me to watch. It was punishment. Justice. And if I actually loved him I would have endured.

Let's lighten the mood a bit.

I'm sorry for that last one. It's been in my mental queue for months and needed to come out. It also provides context for things I've written and will write. I'm sorry all the same. If I neglected to tag something please let me know.

I first received a note on that post this morning when i woke up. Someone liked it, to my surprise, and it wasn't a name I recognized. So I investigated and I've been laughing incredulously at what I've found all day:

Just had a flashback - I treated myself to a smoothie this afternoon.

Last summer he asked me to pick him up a smoothie before coming to his house. It was a regular request. I obliged and started to drive to his place.

He sent me a text; he needed 3 other things at 3 different stores. I agreed to get them. It took some time, and by the time i had gotten to his house the smoothie had melted a bit.

He lost it. He told me I ruined smoothies for him and threw it ( as in wound up like a pitcher) into the sink. It splattered everywhere.

I sobbed silently as I wiped it up.

Jesus has a place for me, a life of sin and infamy

When I met him, I was certain I had found my soulmate.

I was a miserable teenager; I was always unhappy and never understood why.  I think I understand better now, but that’s a post for another day or blog.

He presented himself as exactly what I needed. He had a shaved head, with piercings all over his face, a leather motorcycle jacket and chain on his wallet. When he found me I was in ripped fishnets and my catholic school skirt at a bar underage.  We were wasted, and convinced it was fate.

He introduced me to ‘real’ punk: Dead Kennedy’s, Choking Victim/Leftover Crack, F-Minus, Pistolgrip, etc.  He told me he found solace in punk when his home life turned sour in his early teens. This music aligned with everything I was feeling (angst, restlessness, anger) and hated everything I hated: in short, boo discrimination and establishment, yay liberty from the reign of old white men. 

I felt I had hit the jackpot.  I had met a handsome bad boy who was just my type at the time.  He was a rebel who’s views mirrored mine (so I thought), who stood for something.  And he was absolutely mad about me. He spent his last $10 on me. He would send me songs that he knew would tug at my heart  - “Who wouldn’t be the one you love” from the Pumpkins - and draw us bubble baths.  He scraped together what little money he had and bought me a ring - the one I just recently took off - and told me that one day he’d marry me. He wanted us to live for one another.  He called me his saving grace, “the one”, his beauty, his reason. 

I remember distinctly thinking that I would take a bullet for him.  I was inconsolably in love.

The first incident occurred within the first two months of us being together officially.  However, I chalked it up to a stressful home life, and with the stuff above, found it easy to ignore him screaming at me.

He was testing my boundaries.

Little by little it all ebbed away. All of it.  The kindness, the rebellious spirit, the spontaneity, the love, even the values I thought he and I shared.  

This all seems… so long ago, but I put on a song today that I haven’t heard in years.  It took me back.  Back to when I didn’t see him as a monster.

I realize that this could be textbook gaslighting, but he used to tell me that I was awful to him.  He told me I was neglectful and emotionally abusive. And when he first kicked me out he threatened me with a restraining order, a peace bond and legal action. 

I don’t remember doing anything sufficiently to warrant these allegations and threats. But maybe some of what he’s saying is true.  Maybe I’ve just  blocked it out or not recognized that my actions were abusive.

These are the things that keep me up at night and curled into a ball during the day.

Outside looking in.

A woman at work confided in me that her daughter is in an abusive relationship.  She’s telling me all of the things that I don’t want to hear myself:

 “She knows better,”  

“ I don’t get it, why won’t she listen” 

“Why would she be with someone who called her a cunt?”

She kicked her daughter out of the house in an attempt to make her ‘wake up.’  While I think this was the wrong decision, I can tell that she loves her daughter very much and is just at her wit’s end.

I know that people like me are difficult to love. I also know that loving me takes a toll on the people who do. 

I had no words of comfort or advice to ease her mind.