Wednesday, 4 March 2015
The Layers under the Ache
And what is interesting for me is that ALL the boys that are around me right now seem to have a similar behaviour. They'll respond to me in their own time, if ever. Read my message. Leave it. And respond to it maybe. Berlin is probably the most responsive of the lot, but even he isn't particularly good at it. Not my girls. My girls respond almost always once they've read a message. It's just my boys that seem to be fucking rude.
Is my expectation out of whack? Or is this part of me picking remote and unavailable men? Surely, if someone is as fond of me as I am of them, then they would WANT to respond. Like I do. My heart and face lights up whenever one of my precious people connects with me. I get a thrill out of hearing from them. And responding to them enthusiastically with my full engagement seems like the most normal response in the world. I don't understand why they wouldn't comfortably want to do the same.
What's also happening for me is that the sadness I feel when my boys ignore outweighs the happiness I get from talking to my girls. I asked my shrink about that yesterday. Howcome their non-response is so much bigger for me than my girls who do respond. With love and care and support. Why does it feel so fucking horrible all the time?
The answer was a 'Duh' moment that I have honestly never thought about before. She says I am constantly recreating my father relationship with them. Dad was a nice dad. But an absent one. He just couldn't respond to me as a needy child, and escaped his bullying wife as much as possible, leaving us alone with her. And even when he was there, he abandoned me, escaping to his studio to paint for hours on end. Unavailable. Distant. Caring, but not engaging. So I'm recreating that. And the pain I'm feeling as it all plays out is that old pain. Missing dad. Needing dad. Having to settle for no dad and lonely sadness instead.
So this stuff is pressing all my buttons right now. Because I'm moving through that phase in my healing process. I'm craving that masculine connection and protection. Remembering my Brut-covered Pink Panther from yesterday is part of that. How interesting, she thinks, that I'm remembering that now. And how interesting that, even at 12, I worked hard to make that Pink Panther masculine, by actually purchasing Brut aftershave to douse it in. So very consciously making it NOT my mother. Masculining that. But also making it not my father. Who never smelled like that. And how many more Pink Panthers am I creating in my adult life? Trying to make every boy in my life fit into that fantasy mould of protector. Holder. Soother. Comforter. So that I can let go a bit. Be feminine. Softer. Weaker even. Instead of having to do all of that on my own. Inside myself. I taught myself very young to not crave mothering. So my girls touching in with me is so good and rich for me. But the craving is for the masculine.
And I'll not tell any of those boys how much I'm needing that. Or how much it hurts when they ignore me. Because I am terrified that they will feel like I'm being too demanding and needy and discard me, cruelly maybe, like Berlin did, and I'll be left knowing for sure that I'm just not tough enough (or something) for them. Not good enough. Not loveable enough. Get rejected and be harmed by feeling inadequate. And discarded.
Ugh. This is sore stuff, people.
So I'm not going to educate Mark on what's happening here. I feel like if he wants to talk to me and be with me, he'll make the effort. If he doesn't bother, then I'll find ways to support myself with my other people. But I miss him. I ache for him. I just want some time with him with no expectations other than just hanging out together for a bit again. Because we enjoy that. Or I do anyway.
We're both out of town on business trips. Tomorrow our business will bring us into the same meeting together. So we're staying in the same town tonight. What makes me sad is that I don't think he'll even think of spending the evening with me. Whereas I would have moved heaven and earth to make that happen. I feel like I need him close to me for a bit. But I guess I don't. I guess this needy ache is just daddy stuff coming up. Nothing to do with Mark at all really - he's probably just a place I'm putting these sore things right now. So today and tomorrow will pass. And life will carry on.
I fucking miss him. Need him.