peacefulness
Lunanik’s recent post is currently sitting at 45 comments. That’s 28 anonymous confessions about rape, abortion, cheating, families, husbands, self-hatred, resentment. And why do we, as a people, hold it all in? Cuz we think that no one will accept us as is, maybe. That we think that if anyone knows our everything, we’ll be nothing?
And then, there’s me (and apparently Krissy). I don’t keep stuff inside for long, if at all. Some stuff in relation to JDawg stays just barely under the surface around him, but it always comes bubbling up. And when it does, it becomes a catastrophic mess cuz he um, doesn’t respond well to criticism. Of any kind. And I have lots.
But. I. Just. Cannot. Keep. Things. Locked. Up. I did it for most of my life, I’m done now.
And apparently, a few of you aren’t surprised. I know some people would be insulted by this opinion that some have of me – that I’ve got no secrets. Some would feel as if others saw them as having no shame or looking for constant sympathy after tales regaled of a shitty childhood.
In the past, some people have mentioned how my balls-out honesty is a deterent and makes others uncomfortable. I can understand why – I hold little back about any subject, regardless of the taboo nature of it. That’s the cue to walk away or hang up the phone or log-off or whatever.
As a joke, an employer gave me a post-secret type book for an Exmas bonus one year.
My everything-on-the-table-ism has even played a part in child services knocking on my door – cuz heaven forbid a mother admit to the Internet that she’s tired and sometimes just wants her kid to go away. Normal moms don’t feel like that do they? Obviously, anyone who would admit to such a thing is having a psychotic break and might harm their child.
Or, they just don’t believe in censoring them self to make others more comfie – you know that you know one of those moms, for whom everything is a perfect picture of wonderfulness and then, when the baby has a third ear infection in two months and the preschooler smears his poop on the walls, they smile and shake their head and sigh, “ah, kids.” People do not exist that work like that all of the time and anyone who appears to is the best actor ever. And may possibly be on some sort of drugs and or a closet drinker. Or a closet something.
I really had a point here. The precursor was to say that I know that I’m that girl who makes you uncomfortable because I’ve put visions in your head of my fourth degree tear from Isobel’s shoulders launching out of me. That I have vividly described poop, my boobs, some sexual acts, drug use and more on one or more of my blogs. This one’s new – keep that in mind. I’ve been blogging for four years, almost.
But I do that for a reason.
Don’t you feel like you know me? Don’t you feel like cuz you know me, you could trust me if you needed someone to trust? Don’t you kinda wanna be my friend cuz even though I’m a judgmental bitch, I completely own up to it and am in love with my friends? It’s nice for someone to be in love with you. It’s also nice to have someone to read who is such an extremist. I get a high off of reading the dirty, gross stuff.
But I thought of a kinda secret that anyone who knows me (ie most of you) might have already guessed.
It makes me sickly happy that Isobel seems to love me more than her dad. She will never deny me a good night kiss or hug. She will always come to me when hurt. When she’s throwing a tantrum and I’m doing nothing but sitting there and looking at her and telling her to take all the time she needs, it’s me she chooses to lie down in front of.
There’s a routine in this apt. When he shows up, the buzzer goes and she stops whatever she’s doing to run to it, “Daddy!” And then she waits. But by the time the 90 seconds it takes him to come upstairs has passed, she’s over it. And he comes in the door and she smiles a big smile and says his name again and then she just kinda keeps doing her thang. This is his cue to put his booze in the fridge and open one of whatever, light up a smoke and bitch about his day.
There’s not a lot of interaction for the 2-5 hours she sees him three times a week. I should say, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. He’s up for her watching tv and sitting by him. He’s never one to suggest going out or taking her somewhere by himself. In fact, he doesn’t. She doesn’t stay with him at all or go out without me – ‘cept in cases like this morning when they went to the corner store together for a cup of coffee.
I like to think that she already has a little bullshit detector wired into her brain and this mama (cuz she’s officially calling me that now and oh my god, did you hear that? My heart is totally exploding.) obsession is really due to that. That she sees how much love and tears and sweat and guilt I put into everything for her. That he pays a really great amount of child and spousal support, but in general, is here for some conversation.
I’m sure it’s nothing like this at all and the mama phase will end, and a daddy one will begin, just like how I keep telling JDawg it works cuz he picks up on her aloofness, too. But me? I’m going to hold onto this, cuz I’m that small and resentful a person.
