Tag Archives: perception

Facebook Stalking

A little over a month ago, Facebook celebrated its ten year anniversary.  Say what you want about Facebook (I often do), but it’s become a necessary evil to the girl who lives a thousand miles away from her family and from everyone she knew growing up.  Facebook lets me keep in touch with people I probably would never have seen again after high school and honestly, after it’s all been said and done, I’m kind of glad about that.

That said, Facebook also has become a hub for turning otherwise reasonable, smart, secure, confident, well-adjusted women into insecure, psychotic stalkers.  I’m serious.  I can’t tell you how many times I’ve spoken with my female friends where the conversation has turned into “So I was looking at his Facebook page and I found…”

Okay, so it’s fine to look at your boyfriend’s, or love interest’s, Facebook page.  If done correctly, this can help you get to know him better.  You can see the things that are the most important to them, you can quickly see what you share with them and what you don’t, and it may even help you realize whether or not you are compatible – for example, if you absolutely HATE video games and your current love interest posts nothing except status updates about video games, it’s probably not going to work.

But this takes a nastier turn when you start using it to scrutinize their every movement.

So here’s the scenario:  You’re Facebook stalking.  You find a post.  You decide to see what the comments say underneath it.  You read the comments, you find most of them to be funny, you then move onto the “Likes” and you see some chick you can’t remember EVER having commented or Liked a status on that page before.  “Who is THIS bitch?” you say to yourself as you’re quickly running another Facebook search to find her profile.  Her profile reveals a few public posts.  He may have “Liked” her posts a time or two also, commented on one of them – the comment is admittedly innocent sounding, but you’re on a roll now and in your mind you can build that up to be as awful as you’d like.  Convinced that he’s cheating now, you wait until the next time you are together.  It doesn’t matter how good the sex is, it doesn’t matter how good a time you’re having, you wonder whether he’s waiting for you to go to bed, or for you to leave, so he can text HER.  So you wait… you wait until he takes a bathroom break and you roll over and you swipe his phone and you go through his text messages.  Quickly, mind you, you don’t have much time.  But you can see that he’s been texting her and other women too.  Mind you, you don’t have time to READ these texts.  He’s taking a piss, remember, so you file that away in the memory bank and by the time he’s come back from the bathroom, you’re pissed at him, he senses there’s something wrong, you refuse to rat yourself out and just admit that you’re worried now, he doesn’t know what he’s done, and a perfectly good night (and, in the end, a perfectly good relationship) is ruined.

It sounds ridiculous, but I’ve seen this, and heard this, time and time again.  And I’ve seen and heard this out of my friends who are otherwise very intelligent women.  Granted, in some cases, perhaps there is a good reason to be this paranoid.  Maybe he really is cheating.  Maybe there’s some gut feeling there that tells you something’s wrong.  But Facebook stalking, truly, isn’t the way to get to the bottom of that… not unless he’s stupid enough to post the evidence blatantly, and publicly, online and to be honest, if he is, then he deserves to be ratted out for pure stupidity.

With that one exception out of the way, Facebook stalking, at its best, gives you half of the story.  Maybe I’m being generous… maybe it’s less than half.  Maybe it’s more like a quarter.  Anyway.  The bottom line is, while Internet stalking may work if you’re trying to see how many sex offenders live in your neighborhood and how close they are to this house you’re thinking of buying, for the most part, the internet can give you only a fraction of the story.  And the fragmented pieces that you get may be enough to tell a story, but let’s face it, most of us are not Sherlock Holmes and most of us are not sophisticated enough in our detective work to put together a story accurately.  We let our imaginations run away with us, we let our fears begin to dominate the way that we think and behave.  And then we fabricate the details that put our worst fears into the forefront whether this is warranted or not.

And that’s the thing about our worst fears.  When we give them energy, they manifest.  It’s magic, yes.  But it’s more than that.  When we allow our worst fears to take control, we’re constantly on the lookout for things to feed the conclusions we’ve caused ourselves to arrive at.  They eat at us… innocent things don’t seem so innocent anymore.  And what’s worse, once you start searching, it’s hard to stop.  Fuck the fact that you may be leaving comments on one of your friend’s Facebook page… WHO IS THAT BITCH that’s leaving comments on his??  Screw the fact that he’s called you today… who is he with when he’s NOT talking to you?  Because of these questions, you continue to dig, you continue to gather “evidence” and you continue to fit it together in all the wrong ways, filling in holes where the pieces really don’t fit with your own fearful assumptions.  It’s a slow, special kind of self-torture.

Suddenly it doesn’t matter if there were problems in the relationship or not.  It doesn’t matter if your boyfriend (or girlfriend) is doing anything at all.  Your suspicions are enough to get the ball rolling.  It builds and builds until finally it’s so big that there’s a big elephant in the room that he doesn’t understand and you don’t want to talk about.  You don’t trust him.  You don’t have all the details, but you don’t need them.  Your fabricated story is so big that it’s taken over completely.  The relationship becomes shaky.  And as your trust continues to falter, the foundation collapses completely, and you’ve lost everything.

I often wonder if, despite the technology and all the developments we have at our fingertips, we’re worse off in the long run.  I mean think about it… twenty years ago, if we wanted to talk to someone, we had to call them.  Or write them.  Or go visit them.  And when we weren’t communicating with them, we thought about them, sure, but we couldn’t “stalk” them without actually following them or hiring a PI to do the “following” for us.  The only “Jonses” we were keeping up with were the ones next door and there weren’t constant news articles that talk about how the 24/7 access to the lives of our friends and relatives (and the “happiness” – real or imagined – that is projected on Facebook) that make us become more depressed and disgruntled with our own lives.  If our relationships ended because of infidelity, it was because the infidelity was proven, in one way or another.  You caught them together in your bedroom.  You heard half of the conversation on the phone (I think about the famous “Camillagate” tapes from the 90’s as a prime example of this).  If you wanted to prove something, the evidence was more concrete… not something you fabricated out of your own mind based off of half-assed search results that you gathered off of Facebook.  Or the internet.  It’s pathetic, really.

With all this said, do I intend to delete my Facebook page?  No.  For all that I think it’s silly, I need it to keep in touch with my relatives that I barely see.  Botboy will use Facebook chat to contact me occasionally and it’s an avenue of conversation that is open to us while he is away (though I do not “stalk” him).  I still shake my head when I hear stories of “evidence” people find on Facebook that “prove” that so and so was cheating.  First because I don’t approve of the “digging”, and second because the digging provides an outlet for more questions than it does answers.

And what I think we’d all do well to remember is this: Unless he’s a blithering idiot (and I know there are some out there – hence the disclaimer), if he’s posting this shit online for everyone to see, chances are he’s innocent.  Or, at least, innocent until proven guilty without the shadow of a doubt (and I mean there needs to be DNA on the sheets).

Besides, if you can’t trust him, then why are you with him?

Silver Linings

It’s a funny thing about cycles.  It doesn’t matter whether they’re monthly ones, weekly ones, or yearly ones, no matter what you do, they always seem to cycle – and there’s nothing that you can do to put an end to it.  If it’s a good one, you’re perfectly okay with it.  If it’s not a good one, you’re not necessarily okay with it, but you’re at its mercy.  And you know it.

I seem to be trapped in one.  And I seem to have been trapped in one, at least since college.  I’ve written about the venom before.  I’ve talked about it in the past.  It does its job and yet it still manages to leave me bereft of that which I really want.  Perhaps that’s my fault – my fault for looking in all the wrong places.  I don’t know.  But let me explain.

Six months ago, my world got turned upside down.  My boyfriend came home from Afghanistan, took all of his things out of my closet, and left me wanting – without any explanation, without any sort of cause, without, really, anything.  My job got turned upside down when the Groper decided he was going to come in and first tempt me to cheat on said boyfriend (before boyfriend disappeared) and, when I didn’t, decided to start slandering me to those around the office for not acquiescing to his request.  The boyfriend thing was worse than the groper thing – to begin with.  I found Metalhead, healed, got back out there.

But when I talk about cycles, I mean that it’s funny how things cycle back in their own time.  Because where I thought I’d settled the issue with the Groper, it turns out I haven’t.  It’s nasty, really.  The guy doesn’t want to drop it.  Like Botboy, I have no idea what he wants.  He doesn’t want me.  I can’t imagine that he wants my job.  I don’t know what his motives are behind all of this.  I don’t see that it really matters.  Truthfully.  I was willing to let the past go.  I largely have.  Yes, I stay in my office most of the time.  No, I really don’t talk to anyone.  Yes, work has become, really, in most cases, bereft of any sort of socialization the way that it was months ago.  But, Botboy or not, I think that would have happened anyway because it couldn’t have continued the way that it was before.  It just is what it is.  And I was perfectly happy to let it remain so.  Let him crucify me for whatever fucked up reasons he has for doing so.  Let him tell the new people that I’m a whore.  Let him tell them not to associate with me.  He hurts only himself.  And the people that matter at work, and there are a couple that I’m friends with there… they know it’s not true.

The thing is, apparently he is not satisfied with leaving it the way that it is.  Apparently he is not satisfied with letting things go.  He wants to blow it out of proportion.  He wants to file paperwork that will keep this in the system for months without a resolution. I don’t like it, but I don’t see that I can stop it.  I’ll stand my ground inasmuch that I won’t admit to doing something I have not done.  But, if I can convince my boss to convince him to just let it go, that he can win without the filing, I will.

It is inutterable chaos.  Botboy causes chaos, yes.  He readily admits to that.  But his chaos I can handle.  I have handled it in the past, I can handle it now.  This sort of chaos – the kind of chaos that affects my livelihood, the kind of chaos that threatens my wellbeing – that I cannot handle.

I suppose the gold thread in all of this is Metalhead – as odd as it sounds.  Months after he stormed out of my door, after I did what he once told me he wished people would do, and I left him alone, we have started talking again.  Like we did before all of that craziness happened last summer.  We’re friends again.  It was what I wanted, most deeply, out of everything that I lost over the summer.  I’ve missed Botboy.  I still do.  I’ve miss the social whirlwind that work used to be.  But I’ve missed Metalhead the most.  He’s the oldest friend I have in Florida and it has seemed strange without him.  Despite what happened over the summer, he’s still like my brother.  And whatever that cultlike organization did to him several months ago, he seems to have stopped following them now and is more like himself.  I guess there’s always the silver lining somewhere.

Tonight we went out for drinks after work.  I had dinner – he did not eat.  We talked a lot – mostly about the crap that’s been going on at work.  Also, a little, about what caused him to storm out of the door – even he doesn’t remember – though he says that’s just what happens to him sometimes and assured me I did absolutely nothing wrong.  He read the parts of this blog that I’ve been dying for him to see (especially the part about where I said I don’t sleep with homeless people – to my utter glee, he filled in the sentences before he read what I wrote: “Well, technically, you kind of did.”)  We went to the beach, and walked around for awhile (until the security guard chased us away).  That was kind of fun because I haven’t been chased out of closed areas since I was a teenager.  Ha!

I got home, and I thanked him for coming out with me.  And I told him I was still worried.  His words:  “I told you to keep your chin up.  Probably not as bad as you think.”

That’s the thing about silver linings.  No matter how shitty things get, no matter how hard they are to find in the midst of the chaos, they’re always there.  Sometimes more evident than others.  But this time, I know I not only have right on my side, I know I not only have the couple of friends at work that stand with me, but I also know that if I can make something that got so broken stand upright again, I can do this with something else.

I just don’t know what It’s going to look like once I’m finished.

Karmic Debt Revisited

In an earlier entry, I compared Metalhead to Buttface, Jesus to Botboy.  It seems that I was right about all of this.  I’ve handled things differently.  It’s pained me to do it, particularly with the Metalhead situation, which I’ve decided (after serious thought) to just let it be what it is.  But it’s done.

After last week’s blog, though, it started really resonating with me that this year really has not been the year for dating.  Botboy came, left, and I was left with that baggage.  Metalhead joined a cult.  Gatsby threw a temper tantrum when I told him I wasn’t going to sleep with him anymore (I make it a point never to have two fuck buddies at once) and started belittling Metalhead.  The Vampire in my complex that was highly attracted to me started talking about biting my lips and his eyes glowed.  There are divorcees who are not “quite” divorced yet.  There are the ones that have more baggage than I am prepared to deal with.  All of this is very funny in hindsight… because I mean who else would this happen to?  But when all you want is to settle down, when you have everything else BUT that, it gets to be a little discouraging when things don’t go quite the way you want them to.

I was talking to my friend Mary the other day about all of this… she brought up the Law of Attraction to me again.  It’s funny.  I’m the one that introduced her to it.  And I still really do believe in it – the concept that, essentially, what you put out is what you get back.  I was willing to take responsibility for the Botboy one.  I said some things to him when I found that profile again on OKC in such a way that I probably shouldn’t have.  I said them when I was in a place of shock and anger… I did not come from a place of love.  I can’t say that approaching that from a different angle would have changed anything.  Intuition tells me it wouldn’t have.  He had already made his choice by then.  But I didn’t have to be so rough about it.

The Metalhead thing has me a little more disgruntled.  Mostly because I know that there is absolutely nothing I did, and, more, absolutely nothing I could have done to have prevented this.  As I said in my last post… I miss my friend.  And I do.  And it’s human nature, I guess, to look at these situations to see if there’s something about them we could have changed.  I did.  I’ve looked.  I’ve tried to find something to blame myself for, and I can’t.  This was all on him.  He still has my key… and I thought about trying to get it back from him.  But he’s lost it.  And continuing to attempt to get it back means that I still have to continue to put myself in his way.  It prolongs the loss.  It makes me feel bad.  It can’t be constructive.  I decided it would be best to just change the locks and call it a day.  Locks have been changed.  Moving on.

It seems like the long line of disappointments is never going to end.  And of course the Law of Attraction says that the more I think like that, the more I’m going to attract.  So I’m trying to stop that thought process.  But more, I’m trying to understand what it is that has caused me to attract this stuff up to this point.  Because that’s the other thing about the Law of Attraction… you’re forced to admit that, when things continue to repeat themselves, when you see a lot of things that remind you of things you’ve already done, there’s something that you’re supposed to learn.  And when you don’t learn the things you’re supposed to learn, then you see a lot of repeats.  It repeats until you get it.

So… the question has now become what is it that I am doing… what belief am I carrying around (unconsciously even) that causes me to repeat this stuff over and over?  Because there must be something… since the people from my past re-manifest themselves in others, in new situations, there must be something I’m missing.

So I sat down and I did some writing.  Free-writing… where I just sit, and I ask a question, and I let the answers come through that way.  Sometimes that’s the best way to reach my subconscious… and other times I can get my guides.  But when I did this last night, it flowed for me.  And an answer came.  This shit keeps happening to me because I continue to allow it to happen to me.  Partially because I get lonely, partially because I settle for people that are less than good for me, who exhibit my original dealbreakers, out of fear that I won’t find anyone else.  I settle for less than what I deserve and because I throw that out there, that’s what I get back.  I continually lower my expectations and my standards, I continually take on the extra baggage because of that fear.  And when those things end, it makes that fear worse – I internalize these things as personal failures and justify all of this by believing that if I can’t even keep the ones that are lower than my own standards, how can I ever keep the ones that are at or above those standards?  It’s a fear-based, fear-driven behavior.

I settle for fuck buddy relationships because, subconsciously, somewhere, in the middle of all those failures, I began to believe that I was not worthy of the real thing.  Now, don’t get me wrong.  Fuck buddy relationships are great sometimes – they serve their purpose.  But it’s rare that they don’t lead to something more dramatic in one regard of another.  When you’re trying to find something more substantial, though, they don’t serve the higher purpose.  And I’ve settled for these things for too long.  I dislike the drama they bring into my life.

Anyway I’ve realized this is bullshit.  And I’m fixing it.  I’m working first on raising my vibrations.  I’m fixing myself first.  Because until I do, I won’t attract anything better.  I’m reprogramming my own way of thinking.  Yet again, I find myself doing a cleanse of my apartment.  I find myself doing a cleanse of my subconscious (though this time it’s a more serious cleansing because now I can put a finger on the issue).  I’m throwing what I really, really want out there in the universe and I’m trusting that it’s going to come to me, sooner or later, and not on my time.  Because it did once.  I had it once.  It didn’t end well, but it was everything I was looking for.  And I believe it can happen again.

Paying karmic debt means that we stop repeating past behaviors.  And I’ve done that (and continue to do that).  I’ve let go of those things that were so toxic to me, and to my relationships.  And I’m closing the door on those things completely.  No more toxicity.  If it’s not exactly what I want, I don’t entertain the idea of it anyway (obviously what I’m talking about here are the big things – superficial things are not dealbreakers).  If he isn’t on the same page, then I’m not putting my hand in the fire anymore.  Karmic debt paid this time.

For serious.

Something Different

It is September.  It has been four months.  FOUR FREAKING MONTHS since Bot made his entrance, and only slightly less since his abrupt exit.  Now, granted, we’d been talking for months before that.  I’d spent the better half of 2013 preparing for his arrival.  As Metalhead says, I was ready.  My house was ready for a second person.  I’d made all the arrangements.  He came, he got his things, he left.  It was done.  Almost as fast as it began.  It has been four months and I still have not been on a legitimate date.  I have still not met anyone that has piqued my interest enough to really, truly move on.  I miss him.

And then I realize how ridiculous this is.  Missing him.  Because the Bot I know is not the Bot that he is.  The Bot that he truly is, is narcissistic and passive aggressive at best.  Sociopathic at worst.  And likely the worst as he, when he is at his worst, exhibits almost all of the classic signs and symptoms (and if you are reading this, Bot, I’m sorry – I tried to look past it, because I know you’ve heard all this before – but I really am starting to believe that it’s true).  But the Bot that I miss… the Bot that I miss is truly difficult to forget.  He’s truly difficult to move past – the constant interest, the attention, the total acceptance, the effort he put into the charade.  And let’s not forget… for all that he is narcissistic, he has good reason to be.  Let’s just admit it… the front he puts up… it’s the total package.  And he fucking knows it.  And I fucking knew it.  And he hit me with it at a time when I needed to see it most.  And took it away when I was least anticipating it.  I know he’s not real.  And I know he doesn’t really exist.  But that doesn’t take away from the fact that I was drawn into that illusion.  Sold on it.

I haven’t been dating… not really… because it has been almost impossible to recover fully from the loss.  If I meet someone now, I am more critical than I used to be.   Because I once saw everything I wanted in an entire package, it is difficult for me to see someone else if they do not have that entire package.  For awhile I looked… I looked in the exact same place that I found Bot.  I put up all the old profiles and added some new ones.  I talked to some people… I got close enough to contemplate going on a date with them.  And then I realized that if I did, I’d be compromising something… looks, ambition, intelligence, healthfulness, even masculinity in some cases… always something to be compromised.  And that’s the thing… I’m tired of compromising.  I know that no one is perfect, I understand that relationships are about compromise, and I CAN compromise where necessary.  But why should I have to trade looks for intelligence or vice versa?  Why should I have to settle for someone who does not share at least some of the same interests that I do?  Why should I end up with someone who tries to make be someone I am not?   I don’t.  And I haven’t.  Because what I really want is an honest, open, meaningful relationship.  Like the one I thought I had.  And while I am lying to someone else, and lying to myself, that is not an honest, meaningful, open relationship.

So I’ve chosen not to date.  I’ve talked to some people, yes.  Metalhead is still at my house regularly, but that is not going any further than where it is already (and we’re both good with that).  Instead, I’ve been focusing on myself.  I’ve been playing with the metaphysics, I’ve been learning how to have fun again, I’ve been reclaiming some of the pieces of me that I’ve not seen since before the 3.0 days.  I’m learning some new things.

I took the online profiles down.  I’ve been doing the online dating thing for years.  Yes, I’ve had many relationships that started online… and then I look at where I’m at now and I realize that it’s not gotten me much besides a failed marriage and a lot of wasted time.  It’s not that people are any better or worse on there.  It’s just that, while you’d think you’d meet a larger sampling of people on there, they are all the same.  The shy nerdy types that are still in school, or still living at home or, if neither, are still playing video games several times a week and reading comic books.  The comic books and the video games were attractive to me a year or two ago – I was a nerdy girl.  I am still a nerdy girl to an extent.  But 3.0 made me begin to dislike video games.  I still like comic books – Bot got me started on those and since he didn’t force them down my throat all the time, or make endless recommendations, I’ve learned to enjoy those… but I also realize that I don’t want someone that is so involved in sitting around reading, or playing video games, that he becomes a couch potato.  And unfortunately, with the random exception now and then, that is the larger market of the online dating scene.

So I realized… I was going to have to try something new.  As I said, I took the profiles down.  I focused on myself for awhile.  And that’s been good.  I know who I am better than I ever have.  And I know what I want.  I also realize that I’m not sure if I’m ready to go for what I want.  That said, I’m also lonely.  It’s been four months since I had a relationship.  It’s been over ten since 3.0 and I broke up (which was the last local one – Bot’s time in Afghanistan does not count as local, obviously).  And it’s been over a year since the tumor scare of 2012 caused the 3.0 decline (which was, admittedly, a blessing in disguise).  All in all, I haven’t had anything healthy in my life (save for Metalhead) since 2012.  Mid-year 2012.  And that is too damn long.

I signed up for the speed dating thing again.  I’d registered shortly after the Bot explosion but backed off because I realized I just couldn’t.  I’m not entirely sure I can now… it’s a lot to ask out of a painfully shy, quiet, writer type.  But part of the beauty of taking down those profiles, is that I’m being forced to grow a pair.  I’m being forced to talk to people I don’t know… this hot guy in my complex that I’ve admired (from afar, obviously, Bot came first), for example.  Other people that I meet out and about for another.  My confidence can suck sometimes, but I’m good at making sure it doesn’t show.  What I will do at the speed dating thing I don’t know, but honestly the not knowing is exciting to me.  I’m going into it with absolutely no expectations.  I’ll have a glass of wine.  I’ll talk to a bunch of random people one-on-one for six minutes each.  I’ll stay awhile after, maybe, and mingle, and then I’ll leave.  At the very least, it will give me something new to write about for this thing.  At best… maybe someone to hang out with once in awhile when Metalhead is away doing his thing.  If more comes out of it than that, I’ll be shocked… but hey, I said that about OKC last year before I met Bot.  So I guess stranger things have happened.  All I know is that it’s time for something new.  Because the old shit… the old shit doesn’t work anymore.

Housecleaning Take Deux, Part Un – The Groper

I had the closest thing to a nervous breakdown about a week ago that I have had since 1999.  Life doesn’t shit on me much… but when it does, man, it seems to have diarrhea.  The watery, runny kind that seems to never end, with a green color and a putrid odor.  May was not a good month for me.  And that’s ironic, because it was supposed to be the best month.  It was the month I’d been looking forward to all year – or at least since the first extension in January.  But it got off to a rough start, as I’m sure you can see by reading back over the last few posts.  And it seems like it kept going.

Granted, some of that was my fault.  I made the mistake of assuming that things were clearer than they were, that problems were solved.   My enthusiasm for what was coming was enough to make me… er… overlook the fact that maybe things weren’t as great as I thought they were.  I mean, how could they not be?  I’d gotten a new car, my boyfriend was coming home, things were going well enough at my job – and the parts that weren’t I thought I had fixed.  They weren’t perfect, but even still, Botboy was coming home and things wouldn’t matter so much when he did.

But, of course, even the best laid plans fall through sometimes.  And it seems, sometimes, that once things start going south, they just stay that way… at least until I jump in and start to take control of them.  It’s like the Housecleaning I did after 3.0.  But this time there was more of it… perhaps it was just an indication that I didn’t take care of it as well as I thought the first time.  More than probably it was just an explosion of shit that came out all at once.  No matter what it was, though, it had to be taken care of.  And it needed to be done before June started.  I wasn’t going into another month with this fallout hanging over my head.

You may remember, a few posts back, about the guy at my work that was harassing me.  We’ll call him “The Groper” – Botboy gave him that name, I like it, it’s appropriate, considering he DID grope me on the office premises.  And we’d had exchanges such as this via text, during work hours:

This took place after another work dude had dropped him off at the airport:

Groper:  Awe, I didn’t get to kiss you goodbye.

Me:  That would have been awkward

Groper:  Lol.  How so?

Me:  You left from work, yes?  Even if I’d not been responsive, people would have talked and I would be sitting here, by myself, dealing with the fallout.

Groper:  LMAO that would have been EPIC!!!  …and you would’ve been responsive!

Me:  …I would not be so confident, sir.

 

This had been going on for awhile.  I was steamed… he knew I was in a relationship, he could not let it go, even after I posted “Noli Me Tangere, Caesaris Sum,” this continued and so I stopped talking to him almost completely.  I deleted him off of Facebook.  It was then that I received this:

Groper:  So I was looking for you on Facebook yesterday and I realize that you took me off so now that I know that there is definitely something wrong.  So I figured one of three things has happened:  1.  You got offended by what I said on Friday while I was at the airport.  2.  You told (Botboy) what I said and he became upset and told you not to associate with me.  3.  The one guy I thought I could trust with how I was feeling about you just shitted on me.  If it was either 1 or 2, I apologize.  If it was 3 then I hope you’d let me know know so I don’t trust this asshole ever again.

Now, yes, I’d told Botboy.  There had been death threats.  Botboy was not happy.  I’d also gotten offended.  And that’s why I’d deleted him from Facebook.  Between the groping and the lines that were getting crossed, I needed to create some distance.  But this… he was TELLING people at WORK.  That crossed the line even further.  And so, when he got back, I took him outside and I asked him who he told.  He told me.  I was livid, I told him that didn’t he understand that that one guy was going to talk to the others?  He said he hadn’t thought about that, apologized again, I thought it was done.  I wasn’t talking to him much after that, staying in my corner for the most part, waiting patiently for Botboy to come home – not to kill the guy, but just to prove to all of the other horny assholes in the building that this man was NOT a figment of my imagination.

Things were quiet.  Work had gotten back into its usual mode.  Things were almost normal… people were still looking at me funny, but that was nothing new.  It got a little worse once word got around that Botboy had done what he did.  But still, no one said much to me.  And then, as that part of the world collapsed, the work world did too.  Groper, it seems, had reached an entirely new low.  Pissed that I’d rejected him, I can only guess, anyway, he began to spread rumors himself.  People I had known maybe a total of two days were coming to me, repeating rumors, things that he’d said, and a little bit of homework put the origination point back at the Groper.

I’d had enough.  I was in the middle of the drama… Botboy had left me high and dry.  I’d been the victim of drama from several unwanted advances made by other people (that’s next week’s post).  My aunt was not feeling well – she had pneumonia, pretty serious pneumonia and I was 1000 miles away from all of that, unable to do anything.  I was trying to heal, I was trying to get my life situated.  And then I find out that work was no longer safe for me either?

My first inclination, really the right inclination, was to sit in my corner and mull it over.  I still had the text messages.  I’d kept them, not sure what to do with them, knowing that I could turn them in if I needed to.  I’d sat on them all this time, not sure if I wanted to.  The minute I started rocking the boat, I knew that the world there would change… at least for me.  Did I want that?  As long as things stayed reasonably under the radar, I could handle it.  But this time… this time it was too much.  Here were these new people, people I was trying to train, spouting things that people I didn’t even associate were saying about me… it had to be stopped.

It all had to stop, really… all this drama… and I could start here.  It was tangible.  I could fix this.  I could find the proper channels.  And so, I went to the one person there that was corporate.  A female (thankfully) who listened to what I had to say and said she’d talk to my supervisor.  I barely slept the next night.  I didn’t know what they would do.  I’d asked them to keep it confidential.  It’s a small company… the minute someone starts to talk, everyone knows about it.  And the informants were new – they were worried about being fired.  I was worried, I was afraid I’d get fired (even though there is a no-retaliation policy).  I was worried things would not be the same.

And I was right.  I came into work the next morning to find the woman I’d talked to and my manager in a meeting.  And I knew, the way I know things, that it was about what I’d said.  I got called into the office later in the day,  I read the texts to my boss.  He proposed a change.  They wouldn’t do anything to The Groper.  They couldn’t.  Unless I filed paperwork, which would launch an “official” investigation (what I didn’t want), he was safe.  He wouldn’t even be written up.  But, they proposed to give me an office so I could get out of the general population.  It was what I wanted.  I could go in there, close the door, be out of everyone’s way.  And if someone got out of line again, I could just go to them immediately and it would be taken care of.  It was a suitable solution.  I took it.

Last week, I got to move in.  I sit in there, headphones on, door closed.  There is no noise… I no longer want to kill anyone during PMS week.  I still want to rip The Groper’s head off when I see him strutting around the office like he’s king of the world (he doesn’t talk to me anymore at all… I can only assume that someone blabbed that I was talking myself – and that’s fine).  But I know that Karma will have her day eventually.  And in the meantime, I’m in that little room where the air conditioning doesn’t blow down on me all day like it did before, where no one can hear what I’m listening to when I want my music to be loud, and where, most importantly, no one can harass me anymore unless I leave that little room –which I don’t do very often.

I’ve been waiting for this since I started working there.  I have it.  Housecleaning Part I complete.

Onward to The Trifecta.

 

(To Be Continued)

I Am A Catch

This is going to sound like some kind of cover letter that would be attached to a resume (if a bit lengthy) but I’m writing this both as a foundation of what is to come and as a reminder to myself of a few things.

 

I am a catch.

I am a thirty year old woman.  I have a good job.  I drive a nice car.  I have some debt, but I make enough to manage that and have it all disappear within a couple of years.  I have been married once, but it didn’t last very long, and I have no children.  I am educated.  I have a Bachelors degree and half a Masters degree.  I write, a LOT.  And I’m ambitious.  I want a lot for myself, I expect a lot out of myself, and that motivates me to keep pushing for bigger and better things.

I have morals.  I do not go to church and do not define myself by any sort of “faith”, but I live by a personal code.  I do not hurt the innocent.  I do not steal.  I do not lie.  When in relationships, I have not and will never cheat.  When one of my friends needs me, they know I am there for them – even if the best I can do for the time being is a phone call because of the distance.  I work hard, I play harder.  I do not take even one second for granted.  I believe that I should treat others the way that I myself would want to be treated.

I have a good family.  I grew up with parents who are still together and who are still madly in love with each other – and have been for forty-one years.  I have a sister who I don’t talk to often, but who is usually there if I need a chat.  I have an extended family that I am also exceptionally close to.  My support system is huge, as it encompasses not only my family but my best and closest friends.  There is no shortage of people to turn to if I need something.

I believe that what energy we put out into the world is the energy we get back.  I believe what we put into our bodies and how we use our bodies will determine how they treat us later.  That said, I try hard not to hurt people.  I try to eat healthily.  And my bedroom does not have a revolving door.  My number is relatively low – single digits – and I keep it that way.  I treat my body as a temple and I keep my stress at a minimum so that it does not wreak havoc on my overall wellbeing.  I do not have any diseases and other than being perpetually nearsighted (that only gets worse because I read a lot), I am perfectly healthy.

I am a doer.  If I see something wrong with my life, I do everything I can to fix it.  My only fault, in this regard, is that sometimes I try too hard.  Sometimes I have problems letting go.  I am a control freak, but I try to harness that need for control into something productive.  It becomes problematic because sometimes I have problems recognizing that there are simply some things I cannot control.  I do not like to fail, and so I have problems letting go.  But I am working on this… both on recognizing that I cannot control everything and in learning to let go of the things that I have no control over – to let them take their course.

When I am in a relationship, I am a giver.  I give everything that I can, both of myself, and of what I have, to make sure that the other person has what he needs.  I bend over backward, sometimes a little too far, and often find myself being used and walked on.  But I keep trying, because while I am sarcastic and while I do have a dark sense of humor, I am also an optimist.  I believe in love.  I believe that true love can transcend even the biggest difficulties, and I believe that if two people want something badly enough, then they can make it work if they work together.

I am ambitious.  I work forty hours a week, but also extend myself into other avenues.  I write.  I model.  I create art.  I dedicate my spare time to those venues and I have been successful at them.  I set goals for myself in my personal life and I do everything in my power to see those things through.  Because I work hard, because I am contemplative, and because I believe in myself and in my own abilities, I see those goals come to fruition sooner or later.

I have everything going for me.  And as I prepare for re-release in the upcoming weeks, it would serve me well to remember this.  Despite what has happened, despite the things that have made me doubt these things over the last few days, I write this not only to affirm what I already know, but to remind myself that what happened was not my fault and that it had nothing to do with me.

I am not perfect.  Far from it.  I have my faults.  I am sometimes insecure, I am sometimes too hard on myself.  I have trouble letting things go sometimes and I can be argumentative.  But even still, despite all of those things, I know who I am and I know what I want.  And I am a catch.

Patience

I am losing my patience.

I never had much to begin with.  I’m the girl who wants what she wants, when she wants it, and if she can’t get it easily, she fights for it.  And while you might say that that is a form of patience, I disagree… fighting for it is my way of making sure I get it.  It’s progress.  It keeps me busy.  I am DOING something about it.

I am a control freak.  A control freak that has no patience.  A dangerous combination.  At least I’m not short tempered anymore.

It’s really quite interesting what goes on in my head.  On any given day, it’s full of plans for the things that I want and a strategy for making sure I get them.  Those plans float around alongside knowledge of all the things I DO NOT want to do – and ways to get out of having to do them.  Those swirl, clockwise, around a layer of frustrations I’m repressing because I do not want to lose my temper.  All crowded around a nexus of recognition – recognition of things, circumstances, situations I cannot control.  And the nexus often feeds back into my desires.  It’s a vicious cycle.

I can identify it.  I can’t navigate it sometimes.  My third eye can weed through it… at least it can see the eventual outcome of some of those uncontrollable circumstances.  But, as any sensible person knows, the third eye is fallible in the sense that it can see what IS and what WILL BE solely on the basis of current circumstances.  She is awake, and she is talking, and I am listening, but I am ever-aware that things change, and they change often, and that sometimes the things that change are changing due to circumstances beyond my control.

And having no control frustrates the hell out of me.  I don’t need full control.  I don’t need to have my hands on the steering wheel all the time (and I really do hate driving).  That said, if I’m not the one driving and I’m not the one navigating, I at least need to be able to call the shots on when I get lunch and when I get to have a pee break.  And when I don’t get that, though you’ll never see it, on the inside I’m the annoying little kid that kicks the back of your seat while you drive screaming, “Are we there yet?”

“Oh but you are navigating, and driving, it’s your life after all,” you’re probably saying.  But am I?   I am not a hermit, I do not live in this world by myself.  And because of that, I do not have utter control all the time.  On a more simplistic viewpoint, I don’t control the flow of traffic… I sit in it, just like everyone else, for some unknown reason.  More personally (and more complicatedly), some of the most intensive situations that I want to know the most about, and could really use some foresight on, are not solely up to me.  “If things stay the same, they’ll end up here,” she says.  But things DON’T stay the same.  That’s not how it works.  She doesn’t have an answer to that.

I live my life, but I also sit on the sidelines as an observer.  It’s like being the lifeguard of my very own swimming pool.  I am in the middle of it, swimming, but I am also in the chair with a whistle in my hand, ready to call it if I see some sort of infraction.  I should stop being so paranoid.  But then on the other hand, if I fire the lifeguard, and shit happens, there’ll be no one to tell me to get the fuck out.

The third eye has been restless lately.  I’m reminded of a quote that I read about the pineal and the third eye… someone who had awakened theirs described it like this:  “When it’s good it’s wonderful, when it’s bad it’s horrid, when I turn it off I am lost.”

I don’t know what it would be like to have a pineal that is not working.  Mine never turned off.  It’s how and why I can see what I see and do what I do.  But she’s been bad lately, and it’s been horrid, and it’s not even PMS week.  Which is why I’m paying a little more attention than I usually do.  I can’t turn it off… when it’s off, as I’ve said in an earlier post somewhere, it’s like being out in the middle of a crowded room, completely naked.  And anyway, likely it’s telling me that something is out of whack somewhere, or that something big is coming, and I need to prepare myself for it.  It just won’t tell me exactly what.  And so, blinded by the vagueness, I don’t know what to identify.  Though I have a few ideas.

I need patience to try to figure this out.  I need patience because I think a lot of it will turn right side up again very soon, in one way or another, and the only thing that is going to be able to rectify some of it is time.  But it’s gnawing at me in the same way that my once broken ankle gnaws at me when it’s getting ready to storm outside.

And my patience is wearing.

Crazy

There are voices in my head that tell me things.  They tell me what to do, they tell me what is, what was, and sometimes what is coming.  I’ll begin this entry with that, and also the affirmation that I am not crazy.  Not entirely.  Most of the time I trust the voices.  When they are at their peak, they have never steered me wrong.  They fuel my perceptions.  Together we are spot on.

There is one week out of the month, however, that I do not trust the voices.  I call it PMS week.  And during this week, they will say anything, ANYTHING, it seems to make me sabotage anything good that I may have going for me.  They will do ANYTHING to keep me on edge so that I lash out and yell at someone who is laughing a little too loudly.  During this week I am a mess of nerves, panic, anxiety, depression.  The conversations going on in my head are so ridiculous that I’m ashamed even to verbalize them and yet, what we make true in our minds becomes true whether we want it to or not.  And so it is a monthly battle to keep those demons at bay.  I certainly do not want to bring them out into the open.

I can’t really tell if it’s demons that take up residence in there for a week or if the voices just go on some kind of monthly hiatus and come back all amped up from their vacation, ready to wreak havoc on their usual digs.  I used to lose my temper a lot during PMS week.  My previous marriage, if it taught me anything, taught me to control my temper – at least better than I used to.  That’s not to say I do not get on edge.  When people laugh a little too loudly or when noises filter into my training office while I am working (and while it seems no one else is), I have to remind myself to stay calm and resist the urge to go out onto the floor and start screaming at the offender.  I keep my temper because I don’t like feeling guilty about things I would say or do at the height of it all.  That is enough motivation not to lose it.  My coworker’s laughter isn’t the only thing that gets me on edge, but it’s minor.  It’s a good example of how very extreme it can get.

But it manifests itself in different ways, too.  I am generally not an insecure person.  I’m not arrogant.  At least not most of the time.  But I am confident.  I model.  I write.  I do calligraphy fairly well.  I’m smart.  And I have a startup business.  I’m proud of all of these things, and I have every reason to be.  PMS week comes, though, and it doesn’t matter – none of these things, no matter how well I do them, are done well enough.  Last week I shelved the book I’d been writing for the last five years.  I did it because ultimately I had decided that going back and reliving the past, even fictionally, was more of a detriment to the person I was trying to become than I’d wanted to admit.  Like I said before, you can’t move forward if you have one foot stuck in the past.  I picked up the pen again and took up a completely different project – one based on fantasy, totally fiction, no basis in reality whatsoever.  (Because magical dwarves, demons, gargoyles, and gods/goddesses, and dragons don’t actually exist  – and people don’t travel on wooden ships either.)  I started writing it, the first few paragraphs… and then the voices started up.  They didn’t criticize the story.  They never criticize my writing (unless it’s warranted and in those cases, no matter what week it is, they are usually right). 

They got critical of other things.  Things I really can’t even be critical about because I do not know the whole story or have a full picture of the circumstances.  Logically I can’t make a judgment, but try telling them to be logical.  If they could jump around and laugh maniacally, they would do it.  Because for awhile, they were winning.  I got moody, depressed, insecure, anxious.  I panicked.  I stressed.  I hate the way that feels.

Worst of all, though, it fucks with my perceptions.  I felt distant this weekend.  Moreso than I have in months.  I don’t know if it’s perception or if it’s real.  The voices say it’s real.  If it were any other time of the month I would trust the voices.  And since I habitually trust the voices most of the time, it is difficult to tell them to shut up right this second.  I’m used to having perception.  I am used to being spot on about shit.  When I can’t be, I grasp for it because I can’t stand for it not to be there.  Without it, it’s almost like being naked in public (though probably worse for me, since I sort of enjoy being naked).

That’s why this weekend, particularly, was a struggle.  When less than favorable news came on Saturday, the voices went mad.  I tried to compensate for their madness.  I over-reached, and between their incessant screaming and my overcompensation for the fact that my instincts were way off, I did some damage.  I don’t know how much damage.  I’m not even sure if the damage I did was perceptible.  I hope it was not… damage that is imperceptible is much easier to fix than damage that is evident.  Irreversibly, though, things are different and once again, I’m in the dark.  I do not know if the difference is in my perception or if the difference is in the actual circumstance.  Logic and reason and the small tiny voices that are still in there that still have any kind of sense tell me to give it time, be patient, wait it out.  The ones in the forefront that seem to have taken speed or something over the last week want it NOW, NOW, NOW!!!  And when they don’t get it NOW they start pulling similarities between what is and what was – and what was is not a factor here.  I cannot, and I will not, apply the past to the present, even though they tell me that this is exactly what this is.  I think they lie.

It’s a waiting game.  I’m sitting here, because I called in to work today – I needed a mental health day, a day to get my shit together, a day to figure out what is and what is not.  I am taking steps to get this under control, once and for all.  I made some calls, things are getting done, but that will also take time.  Everything takes time and it is never my own time.  I sit, I wait, I observe.  I trust that sense will eventually be made – things will become clearer, because they always have before.  And whatever it is I blew out of proportion is probably not even remotely as bad as what I made it out to be. 

Patience is not one of my virtues.  It never has been.  I want what I want, when I want it.  My supply of patience has been anorexically thin most of my life – though it’s been gaining some weight lately out of necessity.  It becomes critically thin during this week of the month.  I’ve been doing better with it lately.  I slipped a little this weekend, but I am attempting to get a handle on it.  And praying that I didn’t fuck things up to irreparably.

Someone who read my blog once said that the reason they liked it was because it was honest, I take what is wrong with me, I identify it, and then I fix it.  Life is a learning experience, there is a learning curve here, though many times I have broken that learning curve, lost everything, had to start over.  I wonder sometimes how many second chances I’m going to be given.  And how many times I will take those second chances, do really well with them for awhile, then tear them to shreds and laugh at them while I watch them burn, only to look regretfully at their ashes once they are gone.  And then I realize that the only person who has any control over that is me.  And I laugh… not maniacally, but I laugh.  Because I am a doer.  I may not be able to have what I want right this second… the time for that may not be right now, though I cannot fathom why.  I can’t control the circumstances, but I can control how I react to them.  I may need some help this time, but even that is up to me.  So I’m making my calls, I’m getting this under control, and like everything else, I’m making it mine.

And, of course, praying that the voices will win this stupid mental battle sooner than later because I miss my Tarot cards.