I Do This Thing

I do this thing.  Can you see that picture?  That’s kind of like the thing I do.  I don’t do it openly though.  I don’t destroy things that people can see.  In fact, I try to preserve the things that are outwardly evident.  I try to cherish and nurture the visible, the tangible.  My home, my child, my job, my friendships.  Those are the things I protect from destruction.  That thing that I do, I do on the inside.  That way nobody can see the devastation.  Nobody sees the fury.  Nobody sees the violent aftermath.  It’s all inside.  Since it’s not visible, I don’t ever have to worry about cleaning it up.  I don’t ever have to rebuild.  I can just let the dust settle and go around about my life.  Nobody will ever be the wiser.  Because they can’t see it.  Much to my dismay, turns out that just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

So, this thing I do.  This emotional annihilation.  It surely seems mad to most people.  Some of the closest people to my heart often say to me “Angela.  Why?  Why do you keep doing this to yourself?”  Well.  I don’t know.  I’ve lived a lot of life.  I have a lot of experience.  I’m marginally well educated.  Logically, I should know when enough is enough and when it’s time to move on before any more damage is done.  That’s true.  But emotion is very seldom accompanied by logic.  I guess that’s why I do it.  I am an emotional person.  Perhaps, even, boarding on crazy.  But that’s neither here nor there, really.  Ok.  Yes  it is.  The point is I make these decisions to sabotage myself.  I have this really special gift to question EVERYTHING I do.  My parenting.  My employment.  My relationships.  And once I have questioned ALL of it, I usually come to the determination that everything I have done is wrong.  Then, as a special reward for all of this thinking, I berate myself for doing it all wrong.  That’s where the destruction happens.  That’s when I press the detonate on myself. 

Now, don’t get me wrong, sometimes I find victories after defeat.  Like when Radley actually brushes his teeth or the time the school called to tell me about the student of the month thing.  Sometimes, at work, people acknowledge that I am actually competent and capable and probably the best person for the job.  And sometimes, in matters of the heart, I make a good decision.  Ok.  Never mind.  That’s the exception.  In matters of the heart I always make the wrong decision.  Always.  That’s usually when that thing happens.  That thing that I do.  Sometimes, I honestly believe that I am the only person, who at my advanced age, still does that shit.  I probably am. 

Anyway, after I am doing that thing.  Usually in the wake of some emotional upheaval by a man who has made it a priority in his entire existence to remind me that I’m not worthy of his love, I do this other thing.  I read books.  Or I listen to music.  Or watch movies.  Never happy books or music or movies.  Always self deprecating shit.  I may as well have a broken hearted play list:  Heart of Stone. 3 AM.  The Pretender.  Forget About Us.  Don’t Bother.  Somebody That I  Used to Know.  Oh and don’t forget Every Rose Has its Thorn.  That’s a classic heart broke song.  Thank you Poison for immortalizing pain in lyrics.  Anyway, there’s no better way to punish yourself when you are already hurting than with music that reminds you that you’ve failed at everything you’ve fought so hard to protect. There’s also no better reminder that you are at fault for your failures.  Time to do that thing, again.  Ka-BOOM. 

Alright, so after I do that first thing.  Then I do the other thing.  Then I do the first thing again.  I do this other thing.  It’s not cleaning or rebuilding.  It’s not taking preventative measures to ensure that the pain doesn’t prevent itself in future bad decisions.  This last thing I do is what I like to refer to as begging for attention.  And that’s what it is.  Me.  Begging for attention.  That way I can divert my focus from the problem at hand and have everyone I know tell me how amazing I am. Now.  In my defense, when I do this, I am not begging for attention under the guise of humility.  I never beat around the bush when I need attention.  For example, when I speak in front of a group of people and I don’t feel comfortable with it, I always end with “You may now tell me that I’m smart and funny and pretty.”  And when I say that, I am NOT trying to be funny.   I actually want them to tell me that I’m smart and funny and pretty.  Because I am feeling insecure and I need other people to validate me sometimes.  That may seem pretty shallow and pathetic to some people.  I can absolutely accept judgment for that.  When I tell you to compliment me, I want you to compliment me.  Because I feel like shit, so even if you make something up, it doesn’t’ matter.  I just want to hear something complimentary.  And I’m fucking serious about it.  Ok.  Not that serious.  But kind of serious. 

So, anyway.  I do these things.  I put myself in emotionally compromising situations.  I foster a really unhealthy attachment to them.  Then, I demand that the people I love pull me out of the dark with delusions and half truths.  But it’s what I do.  These things.  Then one of the most miraculous people in my life sent me a text today.  The message read:  “You know, it amazes me sometimes how the powers that be force a change so that we can evaluate what we have.”  But wait.  What?  Changes? Forces?  Evaluations?  I was confused.  I already have things that I do.  Those things have nothing to do with changing or forcing or evaluating.  Was this woman trying to tell me there might be a different way?  Was she saying that maybe there’s no need to detonate my soul every time I feel defeated?  That just sounded like nonsense.  But maybe….MAYBE…she’s right.  Maybe there is a different way.  But, you know, I do these things.  But maybe I should be doing different things. 

*Disclaimer:  I’m not so shallow that I will ever outwardly ever hold you accountable if you do not compliment my shoes when I feel shitty, but a mental note will be made. 

-Inner Peas