The Drama Llama Needs To Mosey On

  I've had enough drama to last several lifetimes. So much, in fact, that I can say without malice, that if you are a Drama Llama you can just mosey right on out of my life.
  For years, and years, I put up with it from all sides. I mediated, listened, was a shoulder to cry on, a sounding board. I should have nipped it in the bud then, alas, I did not and am now saddled with the reputation of being a "safe" person to talk to. Which is true, whatever you speak in confidence stays with me and me alone... But, do you really expect me to fucking care? Especially when it is something you, with foresight, decided to do- even when you knew it was either none of your fucking business, or a really stupid idea to begin with.

  You know, if I want drama I'll go pay $9.50 for a comfy stadium seat. I'll sit back with my bladder buster & popcorn, enjoy the show and walk away. THAT dearie, is what drama is for. It shouldn't ever become a normal, daily routine for anyone. But, it is for you, and you, and you, and you, and you. I don't know if you prefer it that way, or if the cycle has you trapped.
  My ex provided me with an endless stream of unwanted drama which I will forever be linked to... It'll never go away until he is either abducted by aliens, or makes some typically stupid decision which results in his death. That said,  I have enough exterior pressure form it to make me implode, without your added bullshit.
  Sorry, but it isn't your business who got who knocked up. It isn't your business who someone decides to sleep with (or what gender they are!!!!!). It isn't your business who someone decides to befriend, how many animals they have, how they vote, what the eat, believe, or how they dress. It isn't any business of yours if they don't make the same life decisions you do- and it certainly isn't your place to stick your big ass right in the middle of it... FURTHERMORE, your hatred and intolerance disgust me. But, you'd never know that for all of the patience and reserve I exercise while dealing with you.
  If you could leave well enough alone, you wouldn't have drama- neither would I. Unfortunately, I gave you the benefit of the doubt... My bad. You're simply a Drama Llama, you always have been. You thrive off of the negative energy it creates.

  This is me, being finished with the fucking bullshit. Yes, bullshit apparently fucks.
  This is me arriving at the reality that I can't be good for you, because you aren't good for me.
  This is me taking a step back, reevaluating the situation and saying "Oh, fuck no!" which I should have done years ago.
  This is me letting go of the broken people who refuse to rebuild... I've been broken too, but unlike you, I want more out of life. I've rebuilt, I have a foundation to stand on- where's yours?

  So long, fare thee well...

Ouch

  I'm hurt. I believe any 'normal' person would be,  and some have even gone as far as to say 'red flag! that is abusive behavior!'... but they don't see the life I live, or understand how magically good it is, in spite of everything evil that has happened to prevent it.
  If there were someone for me to safely talk to right now, I would. There isn't, and I can't sit in my own thought stew and fester. Doing precisely that is what has lead to my current emotional state. Then that last straw drifted down from the sky and it's weight broke my back.

  Looking at all of these "Happy Couples", their smiling faces, cute kids, outwardly beautiful life makes me feel sick. For years, I looked like the happy little housewife when I was anything but- appearances really mean nothing. If I could just get someone to understand that.
  It is the little things that matter. The seemingly unimportant, mundane details of life which, when put together over time have a cumulative effect which forms a picture of reality. Not a facade, not the "Happy Couple". An actual mural of reality, expertly painted by all of those mundane details, remarks and events... Anyone can photoshop a happy picture, only reality can paint a mural on the walls of our minds and hearts.
  As much as I would like people to see us as the happy couple, not even a single picture of us together exists- Not one in 2 1/2 years (that I am aware of). Worse, is the fact that publicly I'm single. Publicly I can not distribute any information about the reality which exists within these walls, in our day to day life. I'm not permitted to present myself as a happily spoken for, content woman who is not on the market... He will not allow a "corporate identity" to be presented to anyone, for any reason.
  Meanwhile, I see the picture of what he still holds in such high esteem... the picture of the happy family, of what he feels he had- Even though it has been admitted otherwise- the perfect happy picture which he so very proudly distributed in as many places as he could. Yet he claims to "enjoy my company", he claims to "like having me here", which I can only assume is some warped, twisted, mangled way of saying he cares, or is interested, or in some way attached- because he will not say those things. Nor will he allow me to say them to him... that maybe hurts the most. Anything I say is perceived as shallow, misguided, a lie. That the words I speak are just words, they mean nothing... which couldn't ever be farther from the truth. Perhaps I am an anomaly in the world of women, I say the things I actually mean and I mean the things I say.
  When I use the word love, it is not tossed around lightly. It is never spoken in jest, it is spoken with reverence for all that it was designed to encompass.


  The years I spent trying to build the facade of a happy family, taught me just how fucking dysfunctional we all are. That even though a picture may say a thousand words, they are often a work of fiction.
  Trying to present a photoshopped picture to the world *is* something to be ashamed of. To try and create happiness where there is none is a lie, and I am ashamed, I was ashamed when I did just that. I know better now, and I knew better then. False representation of any situation has no good final outcome.
  On the same token, falsely representing something good, wholesome, beautiful even, by not representing it at all is even worse. Hiding a reality which can only be clearly seen over time, through the seemingly unimportant and mundane details, as the entire mural comes into view *is* something to be ashamed of.
  Our life circumstances are most definitely not ideal, but then, who's are? The "happy couple" with the corporate identity who are always putting on a face for the world?
   Most people would be ashamed, I guess. I'm not kidding myself there, I know what this looks like compared to what it is (which I'm not even sure of, since it hasn't been defined as anything). There is this saying though, that I have heard all too often as of late and found frighteningly true- "You make your own reality"... and we have, and it has been one of the hardest things I could have chosen to do at this point (even further complicated by his ex wife, who with malice attempted to wipe him clean from the slate of society), but we succeeded. We have something to be proud of. Something that most people will honestly never know they are missing out on. That *is* something to be proud of. That *is* something worth sharing even if it doesn't fit the societal norm, I've never fit any mold why start now?

  I refuse to continue to be ashamed of my mistakes. I made them, I own them. I learned from them. They do not define me, but they presented an opportunity for personal growth, and through them I have become who I am today. Without them, I wouldn't be equipped to appreciate life as I do now.
  I thought that was understood. I ASSumed that I was not something to be ashamed of because of it. I was lead to believe that I was of value.

  Is it so much to want honesty? Active exclusions of reality is, in effect, a lie.

 

A promise

  When we met again, I promised I'd never hurt you intentionally... but I've hurt you through the act of reaction, being rash before reason, I'm damaged goods baby- you cared for me gently.
  When we met again, I knew I couldn't let you go. We both needed safety, and freedom to simply be. It was was it was, and we are what we are- Which is beautiful, if not a little heart breaking for all it took to make this seem ok. We're still wary of the outside world, of what we are helpless to control, of the people in new strange places will say, think, or more importantly- do. We've got ground to cover, and uncover.
  When we met again, we were lost inside of our selves and wouldn't let anyone in. We were cold, hardened, afraid... and somehow made the fear slowly dissipate. We stood behind, beside, and in front of one another when missiles were hurled at us with then intent of destroying everything we knew to be good, or true.
  When we met again, something that had felt broken for so many years slid back into place and began to mend. It was the beginning of the end, and the end of the beginning. Now we're in the thick of it, we waded through shit, we fought for what was right, we were wounded but somehow survived- and those broken pieces are still finding the time to mend.
  When we met again, I told you how I had always loved you. I promised to always be honest with you, if not completely forward at least finding a small bit of tact- I'm prickly baby, but you know how to handle those thorns. I promised not to hold back the truths which should have been spoken so long ago.
 
  When we met again, I promised to be good to you. To never intentionally cause you harm. To be honest with you (sometimes to a fault). To accept your quirks, and love you all the more for them. I promised not to fault you for being you. I promised to be good with you.
 
  I'm imperfect, I've hurt you. I'm human. I love you as the treasure you are- for all of your imperfections, not in spite of them.

Gettin' My Bitch On

   I'm not your mediator, your therapist, your personal advisor or your life coach. I'm not here to be your personal dumping grounds. I don't give a flying furry rats ass what happened, who did it, or why. You played a part in it too, own the fault you should be rightly in possession of.
  I'm one of the most fucked up individuals you have the pleasure of knowing, even if you don't know it. Just so happens, that I'm also one of the most patient people you're ever going to cross paths with. I'll always lend an ear, but in exchange, you get my opinion. My take on the situation... Most of the time I refrain from telling you how badly your perception of reality has been warped by the pain you've survived. I get it, you're always going to project your unhappiness- the result is, that you're always going to make *everyone* around you unhappy.
  
  Say it one more time for me baby, I don't think I heard it hon... Okay, so this time it was her fault too... I see, you didn't say *anything* about her, her life choices, her sexual orientation, her parenting style- which, by the way, I don't agree with, but she doesn't agree with mine either. Live and let live.... No, it's not 'wrong' or 'fucked up'.... So, because you pay rent somewhere, and the other person has a few beers after work, they're stealing from you?.... Oh. Got it. You did *everything*, and you got fucked... Yeah, you know what? Really? You want to know something?.... When you walk around spewing hate, talking shit about someone, making their business your business, you can expect a backlash.... I don't give a fuck what you feel is "wrong"! People are born Gay, straight, bi, black, white, green, blue, orange, brown, yellow, or polka dotted. We are what we are, and there isn't anything that can be done to change it- you can accept that or move on.... But doesn't your very own religion preach love for your fellow man?.... Oh, I see that only applies when they believe the *same exact thing you do*.... But you're not going to burn in hell for ruining someone's reputation. For intentionally undermining their authority as head of household- and telling their children that they're a sick, bad person?... K, well... You can take it and fucking SHOVE YOUR HATE BOOK UP YOUR ASS...

 ^^^^^^^
THIS is what I *wish* our conversations sounded like. What I wish I could just come out and fucking say. Nope. Not me. Not the "Good friend". Not the person who always has the tolerance to sit through a couple hours of hate spewing, trailer park politics, scripture misquoting, rage driven conversation. Even when I *WHOLEHEARTEDLY* disagree with absolutely every thing that comes out of your teenie-itty-bitty-uneducated-miserable mind, via your southern, white-trash-speaking mouth. Yep. Always have the time, the patience, and the respect.
  NOT NO MORE. Not me. Nope. I do not possess the mental or emotional bandwidth to fucking accommodate your bullshit. In fact, I believe I'm going to pass on this year's bullshit-o-meter calibration. It's functioning just fucking fine and dandy, in fact, it is finally working properly... no need to fix something that isn't broken.

  If I *dared* to call any of you up, simply for the purpose of dumping emotional baggage you'd blow me off in a moment. You'd say you have your own shit to deal with, when I know damned well your "shit" is not having enough $$ for some stupid shit you don't actually need. Or having to be a responsible adult, and own up to your share of fault... Yeah, heavy shit man. *sarcasm*

  Well bitch... Here's the condensed version.
  While you were bitching about how someone "stole" from you, because they forgot to pay the rent on time and there was an extra fee- I was wondering if my child, who had been abducted was even still alive. But I sat and let you have your say.
  While you were distraught, because your boyfriend of two weeks bought someone else a drink- I was living in sheer terror while my ex threatened my life, and moved himself out in the woods behind my home so he could "keep a watch over me".
  While you were bitching about the 4th speeding ticket you've had in as many months- I was living day to day, wondering if I would be able to keep my family together.
  While you screamed about your roommates pets, and what a mess the house is, and how much you hate living there- I shared a dorm with 13 other women, and 20 children. I was videotaped 24/7 for my "safety", even while I bathed. I was exposed to illness, deplorable living conditions, and desperate to keep my children safe amongst it all.
   While you cried over having gained 60 lbs (which didn't exactly happen over night, and you *did* have something to do with), and bitched about not wanting to exercise- I gave up meal after meal to make sure my children didn't go to bed hungry. I lost 20 lbs in a month, just so they could eat.
  While you got drunk and dialed, incoherently complaining- I had to hide enough money to keep the water on, and take a good beating for it. 
  While you complained that you didn't get to go out with friends often enough because of work- I was literally a prisoner in my own home, and I was repeatedly beaten for talking to you at all.
   Through all of your bullshit... when have you ever taken a moment to consider the fact that you might just have it pretty damned good? NEVER.

  As bad as my shit was, someone else had it worse. As close as I came to being another obituary, someone else did. When bad shit wasn't happening, I made of it what I could... WITHOUT THE HELP OF ANYONE.

  Fuck You. Fuck you very very much.

Sprung

   See, I have this bad habit of writing something, then walking off of the platform and allowing my train of thought to leave the station without me. End result, 45 incomplete blog entries... yeah, I decided that if I haven't gone back to look at them in months, I likely am not missing anything. Delete.
  It's spring, though everything around me has sprung into foliage, flowers, and edibles, my mind is still a murky, muddled mess. 'Need' doesn't begin to describe the urgency of what must be, what has to be done... need to clean out the cobwebs that have overgrown the corners of my mind, where I stash away my personal goals, desires, and even happiness.

  If only my oven really were a time machine.