Gentlemen prefer blonds but Gentlemen marry Brunettes

I was able to clear out my comment mail box from 500 to 3. Everything worth responding to (still timely) was, things worth saving were moved to another folder and everything else was trashed. I found a comment that referenced an entry I wrote back in January. Here is part of the entry:

How when you seize the moment, live for the day, that everything that was once good becomes incredibly fucked up in more ways than one? That you can’t undo which you have fucked up? That which seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, actually might have been some destructive mode to protect yourself even when you swore it’s not protection?

I had to jog my memory to find out what this was referring to and investigation proved it was about when I had called Patrick at the crack of dawn to tell him I was in love with him. However, my first reaction was “hot damn, that is some good shit!” and the context could apply to just about anything. Yet, I laugh to myself when I realize the rise and fall of my relationship with Patrick is chronicled on LJ. Though some thing have been left out (including a conversation I had with him tonight that I sent to a few close friends instead of lj’ing) because I wonder if sometimes I take the TMI a bit too far.

One thing I adore about darkdepths is her ability to give very rational and logical explanation to things. Being a psych minor, she’s much cheaper than a normal shrink and her analysis makes sense. I asked her today if she would find it weird if I was no longer interested in sex, and she said something to the effect that no, she wouldn’t. Due to when one closes down emotionally, they tend to shy away from physical interaction. See, makes sense.

Since puberty, I’ve struggled with the acceptance that someone could find me attractive. Like most girls, most of the fucked upness is in my head. Thinking I’m too tall, too fat (even when I was stick thin), too this or too that. Then it became a matter of baggage of things that have happened to me or were in relation to me. I felt like the ninth wonder of the world. Then it was a process of getting rid of the baggage, coming to terms with it and myself. Somewhere in my early-mid 20s, I had a long chat with myself about my own personal view on my favorite subject: Me. I came to gripes with myself. Took inventory in the fact that things I saw previously as negatives into positives. I knew that I was not classically beautiful, I lean towards the more exotic for attractiveness and was okay with my appearance. My body image has never been about “OHMYGOD I MUST BE THINNER FOR A HOT MAN” rather more like, “THE BLOODY FUCKING CLOTHING MANUFACTURES ARE MORONS!” I think that is where much of my confidence came from, is from that time and my ability to process, learn and move on.

Many of you, including myself and my other alter egos, probably can pinpoint many things wrong with the my relationship with Patrick. I’m sure, as I am, you are tired of hearing about it. But in the overall picture, the change in my relationship with Patrick is almost 180 degrees from where it began. I cannot believe he is happy — his disassociation and “slowing down” of the relationship has me, as I predicted, to do a complete emotional shutdown. I no longer treat him as a boyfriend and refrain from calling him anymore. But yet, he does not question my withdrawal or reluctance. Many of you have called me on the carpet about “Why bother?” Two reasons: I’ve removed him from my heart as a boyfriend and no longer refer to him as such so somehow this makes it okay and on the flipside, some small teeny part of my heart holds out for hope. Hope for what? Who knows — but it’s there.

I’ve also have known that I was a late bloomer in life and knew that I was never, no matter how much I tried, follow the same paths as majority of the population. I blame the fact I was born a month late, but, historically it’s been true. Those ages we use as markers are meaningless to me because I always tend to go beyond that — except for menustration. I got that when I was 8. It is because of this late bloomer attitude that I’ve not driven myself into a frenzy about meeting “age marker” goals. I knew that those things would happen at some point, and it didn’t have to be now. I’m okay with that, really.

As for me? Well, I don’t regret the relationship, falling in love or telling the world about it in gory details. I don’t regret chronicling the downfall, either. At the time, the future was so bright and clear, and I believed in it with all my heart. I don’t know what happened, in truth, but now I am weary of what is to come in regards to me and men in general.

I think katishna said it best. After hanging out with her in Ohio for nearly a week, she told me about how when she meets people around the age of 30 who aren’t married or in a serious relationship, she usually finds that they have neurosis up the ying yang. I’m not quoting verbatim here, btw. But with me, she didn’t find anything so offensive or atrocious that would scare away potential suitors or explain why i wasn’t shacked up and married with 10 kids. I was touched, as it takes one crazy woman to diagnose another, but she’s not alone in her analysis as I’ve heard this before.

I can’t explain my tendency to turn mild-mannered men into raging assholes. Or lure the potential asshole up to the surface. It’s a knack. Or it’s called confidence — take your pick.