No More Fighting
For real though.
There is always something going on with me. In my own mind I’m always learning some lesson about how to live better, and better use my gifts for their intended purposes. On Friday night, at the ArtsInBushwick ’12 Launch Party, I regressed so hard: I got into scraps – physical altercations – not once, not twice, but three times.
The first time I simply smushed this guy in the face to get him away from me. Well, not simply. I mean I poured my drink on him at first. I always try to rationalize my bad behavior so here it is: First, I told him I wouldn’t talk to him and he shouldn’t talk to me and then we could both have a good night. Half an hour later when he approached me I put my bitch face on to maximum. When he continued to speak at me I poured some beer on him. I always assume pouring (as opposed to throwing) a drink on someone will get them to walk away. It escalated and I smushed him. Fortunately, we were able to hug it out the next day.
The second altercation isn’t getting salvaged any time soon. She asked me to hit her. She told me to. In fact, she said ‘Please.’ I still shouldn’t have done it. I should’ve been the bigger person. I’m big, but I’m not big.
I’ve got A History of Bad Behavior, and A Pattern of Inter-personal Failures.
At the start of 2011 I scrapped up with (more like provoked and attacked) a 19 year-old girl who’d gone all SWF on my life. We used to hang out, but I’d started duckin’ her, and she started stalking me. She misconstrued my words to make drama for me, and then she proceeded to fuck the guy I was in love with (though I’m still not clear on the timeline). That cut deep because everyone knew how I felt about him and what our affair had done to me, and it cut deep that he’d fuck something as hideous as her.
Anyway, I felt terrible for that fight for a combination of reasons: I’d left myself exposed. I’d let this girl unravel me to the point that I gave her an opportunity to potentially fuck up my whole shit. And she tried.
Also, I wasn’t proud of attacking someone seven years younger than me.
I’ve since apologized to her on several occasions – only to be hit back with verbal insult after verbal insult. I guess I deserve that. When someone as awesome as I am stops being friends with you and then physically attacks you you have to hit back any way you can right? I mean, whatever.
But seriously, overall, I’m tired of it
I hosted brunch this weekend and essentially interviewed all my friends on their greatest wishes in life, their passions. Finally, they put me on the spot and I had to answer the question. This was funny because I figured it was obvious to everyone that ultimately my biggest wish in life is to be likeable/loveable. I mean, this isn’t apparent? Can’t you all tell? Am I not actually, actively, clearly projecting that?
I wish I could get along with people better.
(you know, so I could make them like me).
But I don’t want to be that woman begging for approval. I want to be respected for who I am, and loved for being myself. I don’t want to keep losing friends. I don’t want to keep losing the men I fall in love with even after romance ends. For years none of my five deepest, past lovers would speak to me; only recently has the first made real and decent communication. I mean, do you know what it’s like when every person you’ve ever said ‘I love you’ to walks out of your life and refuses to keep a friendship? It hurts. But it also forces you to look at yourself long and hard.
I don’t want to be an unreasonable obnoxious terror.
But I also don’t want to be walked all over. I don’t want to be with a man who plays head games with me. I don’t want to be friends with people who say hurtful things to me, and about me. I don’t want to be involved with people who misinterpret my kindness and love as a weakness. I want to reconcile my awesomeness and capacity for love and forgiveness with my fears of being abandoned and betrayed. It would be nice if I could do this without having to slap bitches about. Because one day someone’s going to put me in jail. And I’m too pretty for jail. I wouldn’t last.
No more fighting.