The Memory of the Blaze Burns in the Heart & Mind Forever

c969ddf708db2b4994d5b13bc7086db0I’ve been noticing that I’ve been framing a lot of my blogs in a ‘distressed damsel’ kinda manner, and I want to clear up that this is not the case. I do find myself in many pickle jars, but I tend to enjoy pickles, and don’t mind chewing my way through them. I have taken care of myself since the age of sixteen, and I am happy to reassure the public that I know what I need for survival & beyond.

I sometimes wonder if having the tease of almost-perfect relationships in my older days is karmic consequence from my insensitivity & cold behavior in my youth.

Before the age of 14 I wasn’t allowed to date, living in my father’s house. When I moved to my mother’s, she didn’t mind, as long as I stayed safe. My first boyfriend, Mr. Pepperoni was sweet and dumb… your normal teenage boy. I didn’t really fancy him, I was being polite when I agreed to date him, which was my usual way in the future… all of a sudden being thrust into relationships I had only halfheartedly agreed to in the first place.

I found myself becoming overtly rude when speaking to him, or acting irrationally irritable at small inquiries or comments… It was in an effort to corner him into breaking up with me, but the poor lad didn’t know what to do with himself. I finally told him in a phone call one night it just wasn’t working out and I wasn’t really feeling attracted anymore.
I still feel bad for him, I shouldn’t have been so harsh as a kid who knew firsthand about bullies and how shitty they can make people feel.
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Being shitty to people, especially in relationships, got old really fast. I changed tack, if I didn’t like someone, I told them & left. Clean, quick and simple.
Sometimes they didn’t leave.
Mr. Blue had to be police-escorted away because he refused to stop living in my apartment. He was an interesting time. Wild, verbally & emotionally manipulative, moody, but be damned if I didn’t want to have a body part of his in my mouth at all times. I suppose I can’t blame it on teen-aged hormones, since females apparently hit their peaks in their forties, but whatever it was, I wanted to bottle it up & sell it, and could have.

He was fond of telling me it was my fault he couldn’t get a job, and that I should get him one. I had at that point already done the ‘get a boyfriend a job for them’ thing, and I refused to do it again. Which of course meant I was a selfish bitch setting him up to fail and all that.
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Many times in relationships I am doomed to the ‘Selfish Bitch’ role.

The best one I’ve ever gotten is ‘You’re a fucking nazi…no, no…you’re the QUEEN of the Nazis!’ I thought that was fantastic verbiage of insult & incredible use of vocabulary. Obviously, it really stuck with me, I was genuinely impressed and delighted.

I suppose as one who grew up with other children pulling me down hallways by my hair, calling me unbearably mean names, asking me age-inappropriate questions due to carrying my father’s surname, and outright abusing me, as well as enduring both seclusion, confinement & abuse at home… People who try to hurt or insult me now are adorably laughable.

Ironically, growing up, there was a relative of mine who told me ‘A day will come when you’ll just laugh it off, and words won’t mean anything to you anymore.’
I thought they were absolutely insane.
Words are my everything.
Words are what humans use to communicate, words are all anyone has!

But I didn’t know at such a young age that some people are just mean, or don’t know how to ‘use their words good.’ I eventually figured it out, and now try to communicate as effectively as I can, while respecting another’s feelings or life path. I have found that genuinely respecting people goes pretty far, and that people know when you’re faking.
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