Continuation.
Aug. 18th, 2007 07:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
greenstormIt occurs to me that for so many years the men in my life were defined more by absence than by anything: my biological father who was simply not there at all for any type of communication; my dad who couldn't connect emotionally with anyone; my uncle Dave who took the father role in my mind and lived halfway across the continent and sent gifts sometimes; Kynnin who was there at first and then drifted to a distance that was emotionally safe; Jan who lived in Germany; Juggler who was married to Mouse and very much prioritised her; with CrazyChris where neither of us could quite take the full plunge to be right there in the thing, partially because I was scared to be so close; with Graham who was like being in a country where you don't speak the language.
Avi needed me, and I was afraid of that, so I ran away.
In the beginning of my relationship with Kynnin I was more traditional: codependent if you like, or interdependent. My happiness relied on his being there sometimes. I was always afraid, though, of his needing things from me. I never have felt like I can be reliable for anyone; indeed, I never have been reliable for anyone. I think on one level or another poly has been an instinctive kick in the teeth to anyone who tried to rely on me, a distancing mechanism. It's a way of saying look, don't trust me all the way, sometimes when you need me I'll go over there so you'll need to retain some level of self-reliance without me sometimes.
Because being needed gets up in under my defenses faster than anything else. It levels me. It's devastating. I cave like a sand castle in a tsunami and all those squishy inside bits that are normally kept well-disciplined stand up and they say Greenie, help this person. Make them happy. Protect them, keep them well. Cherish them, cradle them. And then inevitably I can't continue. I slip up, my time or attention falters just a little, and people who have been recieving that flow of care bruise. That's the part I can't deal with: the failure on my part, which causes hurt. So I wear my irresponsibility out on my sleeve, sledgehammer-big, and slam it at people when they seem like they are starting to not just like me around, but need me around in order to be happy. I channel my instincts into larger, impersonal venues like family dinner, or one-offs like petting people when they're sick.
I keep myself too busy to focus on one person. I date Bob, who is an extraordinarily self-sufficient bundle of closed-off bits and common sense self-reliance. I fall like a rock for subby boys who surrender themselves to my care.
Anyhow, while writing the other thing below, I thought of this. Wanted to put it out there.
I seem to be getting better with it. I can set limits on myself better, so I can live up to them better, but I also put myself into safer situations. If you look at the name call-out up there, things have been getting slowly better over time.
I need to keep setting myself personal goals. When I was really fucked up I had to work constantly just to get myself functional, and now that I am I've taken a big break. I'm done with that break now. I'm going to keep grinding away the nonfunctional bits till I've got what I want going on, or as close as mama nature allows. Me, and my life, feel like a sculpture where you look at a block of wood and you say: a unicorn wants to come out of that grain. The process of discovering the shape of the unicorn in there, carving away the unwanted bits, of polishing and shining, that's life. It's pulling the potential out of the ordinary until it's visible and out in the open and useful.
Anyhow, good morning. Welcome to another day.
Avi needed me, and I was afraid of that, so I ran away.
In the beginning of my relationship with Kynnin I was more traditional: codependent if you like, or interdependent. My happiness relied on his being there sometimes. I was always afraid, though, of his needing things from me. I never have felt like I can be reliable for anyone; indeed, I never have been reliable for anyone. I think on one level or another poly has been an instinctive kick in the teeth to anyone who tried to rely on me, a distancing mechanism. It's a way of saying look, don't trust me all the way, sometimes when you need me I'll go over there so you'll need to retain some level of self-reliance without me sometimes.
Because being needed gets up in under my defenses faster than anything else. It levels me. It's devastating. I cave like a sand castle in a tsunami and all those squishy inside bits that are normally kept well-disciplined stand up and they say Greenie, help this person. Make them happy. Protect them, keep them well. Cherish them, cradle them. And then inevitably I can't continue. I slip up, my time or attention falters just a little, and people who have been recieving that flow of care bruise. That's the part I can't deal with: the failure on my part, which causes hurt. So I wear my irresponsibility out on my sleeve, sledgehammer-big, and slam it at people when they seem like they are starting to not just like me around, but need me around in order to be happy. I channel my instincts into larger, impersonal venues like family dinner, or one-offs like petting people when they're sick.
I keep myself too busy to focus on one person. I date Bob, who is an extraordinarily self-sufficient bundle of closed-off bits and common sense self-reliance. I fall like a rock for subby boys who surrender themselves to my care.
Anyhow, while writing the other thing below, I thought of this. Wanted to put it out there.
I seem to be getting better with it. I can set limits on myself better, so I can live up to them better, but I also put myself into safer situations. If you look at the name call-out up there, things have been getting slowly better over time.
I need to keep setting myself personal goals. When I was really fucked up I had to work constantly just to get myself functional, and now that I am I've taken a big break. I'm done with that break now. I'm going to keep grinding away the nonfunctional bits till I've got what I want going on, or as close as mama nature allows. Me, and my life, feel like a sculpture where you look at a block of wood and you say: a unicorn wants to come out of that grain. The process of discovering the shape of the unicorn in there, carving away the unwanted bits, of polishing and shining, that's life. It's pulling the potential out of the ordinary until it's visible and out in the open and useful.
Anyhow, good morning. Welcome to another day.
