I will never again love a man as much as I loved my Ex husband.
My matter ached for Him. All of my energy. My existence was only for Him.
I can not ever again offer unconditional love to person not born of me.
I want that to be true. I never want to love a man in the sick way that I loved my Ex. I don't want to revolve my life, my world, my mind around a man in the way I did with Him.
I communicate well with my Boyfriend. We are simpatico. He is my best friend, respectful, incredibly patient, calming, even tempered, communicative, loving, affectionate, his touch feels wonderful, He is strong and smart and yes, He loves me long time. He has never yelled at me or made me feel like an idiot- in public or in private.
There is a freedom in knowing that
I don't need him in my life but
I want him in my life.
However, my lifetime of 'fuckedupedness' has numbed my senses and I rock back and forth between knowing that I am currently involved in a healthy love and wondering what hell the the shape of love actually is.
My particles know that this is the way it's supposed to feel. Muscle memory signals otherwise.
Like an addict, I search for a fix of dysfunction.
That's what it is isn't it?
A dysfunctional fix.
I scramble around in the dark, picking and scraping at nothings. I'm desperate for the volatile cocktail of rage and passion that accompanies dysfunctional, co dependant relationships. There is a secret molecule in me that wants to continue to live/relive all of the insanity that I grew up understanding as a normal. The masochist in me is clearly hungry for the pain, torment and drama.
Give me anger, fury, passion. I will easily mistake it for love.
My boyfriend is clean. Together we are clean. I find this remarkable. He will never agree to further damage me. I find this remarkable. I understand that he will leave me before I manipulate him into the role of Sadist.
I have attempted.
Habits are hard to break.
It's one of the things that keeps me attached to my Ex. I know I can count on him to get me high. It's a roller coaster ride. A syringe of guilt that kills my progress. An adrenaline rush that comes crashing down on my head and leaves me wasted on a bathroom floor. Even now. My boyfriend finds me huddled in a withered mass, fully clothed in corner of the tub. He undresses me, turns on the warm water and cleans me up.
It is my habit
I don't know if I can recognize the shape of good love and I want to convince myself that Love version 2.0 will eventually fill the dent in my heart. I want to believe that I deserve a clean, good love.
I deserve good.
I deserve love.
-If I squint my eyes I can make out the silhouette.
My boyfriend knelt in front of me with a wooden block that had the shape of love, kindness and respect carved into it. He took his words, his affection and his patience and showed me how all of the pieces fit together to form a happy relationship. This is what I deserve.
He kept a Diaper Genie for all of the shit, shame and sadness that burdened me. We walked the trapper keeper of waste down the stairs of the apartment and out onto the sidewalk.
We're still out there on the sidewalk.
I am having difficulty parting ways with the dirty diapers that have harassed me for the majority of my life. Without it I don't know who I am. I've grown accustomed to the filth.
My legs are tired. I'm squatting on the corner of the street, hugging my knees, fixated on this container. I'm sick, I know. I'm unsure how long I'm going to be out here. Perhaps my boyfriend's patience will wear thin and I'll be left standing alone on the street with my shit. That is what I would deserve.
July 6th---- *Curb Alert.
New Yorkers love free stuff.