truth

Nobody in my world tells the truth.  The truth about people – the man behind the curtain.  I guess when I talk truth it probably sounds like I am badmouthing everyone.  Gossip.  But it’s the post-game wrap up that I like to do after a party or gathering.   I am not speaking of the gossip that most women endure/participate in – who is fucking who and what shoes and her hair and his drinking problem.  NO.  I am speaking of the narcissists and passive-agressives in the group.  The disrespect and blatant encroachment over boundaries that happens underneath hihowareyou and whatanadorablepurse and youaresofunny. 

What I really want is for someone, anyone, to see what I see.  To see SEE what really is there.  What was truly being said with that glance – with that shrug.  To recognize, like I recognize, that the veneer of civility is JUST THAT.  Am I the only one who can see that the emperor is nekkid?  

It’s odd that I never felt crazy – that I always knew that I could see and smell what others ignored.  There is so much NOT said.  People stop short of saying the truth.  I want to SHOUT the truth.  The truth about the truth tho, is that it is usually very negative.  Because people don’t usually hide SWEET behind the veneer of SHIT.  It is always, in my experience, the other way around.  The dung ball in a nice candy coating.  And NOBODY will talk about it.  It spreads negativity!  No, it spreads the truth. 

I have no one to speak the truth to.  Nobody will listen, and nobody sees it.  I need a partner who can see the truth, and who will speak it to me.    I do not care (much) about your shoes.  I care about my soul.  You are sucking on it.  Please to remove yourself. 

On Little Cat Feet

After reading all this information about narcissists and all – knowing I was raised by two of them, one more gave birth to me – all of my decisions have been shaped by this.  My whole life had been shaped by these people.  They still rattle around in my head.  I thought I was through.  I have just begun.  I feel like I see them everywhere right now – but I also look back and see that I have been punching at them all my life.  Anyone who tries to manipulate ME is suspect and I have hated – yes, HATED and cursed and tried to poison and rip and tear.  I don’t know if it is hyper sensitivity or if it is hyper awareness.  Can it be both?  I may just have sensitive feelers, little silica hairs, that tingle at the first sense of these people. But maybe these alarms are too sensitive – like a cat walking across a car at night.  It trips the alarm but the cat is not stealing or bruising the car.  The cat is an annoyance of fur and footprints, but is not the reason the alarm was set in the first place.  Does my metaphorical car attract these metaphorical cats? 

The Jagged Edge

He doesn’t like it when I am excited.  It makes him uncomfortable.  There is an edge to the table and he will fall off, we will fall off.  I will create unhappiness by being too happy – too excited.  The Event cannot possibly live up to my expectations.  He simply MUST show me the dirt - the REAL face of The Event, before I become so full of happy helium that I float too high, then burst and fall.  It is the most uncomfortable place for him to be in, can’t I see that?  There is AN EDGE.  We WILL FALL.  And he will suffer under the weight of my disappointment.  HE will be made to suffer once things go wrong.  So I must be SHOWN. All he can do to save me (and himself!  From watching the fall!) is to disappoint me – he MUST make me see the jagged edge of the table.  I am creating a vast vacuum of expectations, and even though it is not his responsibility to make certain The Event is wonderful, he will feel horribly responsible if (WHEN!) disappointment is had.  My excitement is surely creating my own expectations of Glorious 100% Pure BEST DAY EVER and that simply will not stand.  There is NO WAY a day could be BEST.  So he must, MUST, show me how bad it could be.  And once I am properly scared/sad/depressed/no longer looking forward to The Event, then – THEN.  Well, then we can move forward.  I have been cowed.  I have been SHOWN.  See?  BAD THINGS CAN HAPPEN.  And the fact that bad things CAN happen, means we must assume that they WILL.  Tires will go flat.  Money will run out.  Rain will fall.  And ALL of these things mean the day will not be the BEST DAY EVER and therefore all of my expectations will not be met.  And now that I am upset, crying, beating my breast and saying YOU ARE RIGHT, the bad will happen, we cannot do The Event!  My Happy Helium Balloon must never even be filled! he tells me – stop, my darling!  Stop being so upset!  We will make it work!  We can eat stale bread and bad lunch meat – we can stretch a dollar!  We can bring an umbrella for the rain, we can handle it!  Now that I am only looking at the dirt, now he can show me HIS version of excitement.  His muted, pale, anemic version of happy.  I call him Eyeore.  This is an insult to Eyeore I think.

What he doesn’t understand – well, there are oceans he doesn’t understand.  He doesn’t understand me.  The essential me.  He doesn’t understand it, and he doesn’t like it.  For me, the rain, the flat tire – the jagged edge of the table – these things are all wrapped up in The Event.  They are a part of it.  Part of the adventure, the fun of it all.  Part of what I am excited about. 

For him?  They are the entire focus.  He prefers the perceived safety in his dread.

He got his way.  He won again.  But wheels are turning.  I am smart.  I am a Master Manipulator, learned at the lap of the narcissists who raised me.  And I am sick of this game.