Narcissism: Should I Leave Part III

Good Morning!

Digging a bit deeper today on the topic of Leaving a Narcissistic Relationship.

One thing I want to add to this post is that in no way should anyone feel pressured to leave a narcissistic relationship before you/they are ready. When it is ENOUGH you will know. When it becomes too painful to stay – it’ll be your time.

On Friday, I’ll be sharing the final part of leaving.

If you have any tips to add or anything that I left out, please feel free to leave it in the comments.

All love.

Ashley

What Attracts Us To Narcissists?

I could talk at length about every slide here because I have borne witness to each of these facets and have fallen for almost all of them. However, I have written at length about my relational experience. So if you are interested in seeing that more fleshed out, you can read pretty much anything I have on my website.

However, concerning this post, I want to talk about ME! C ‘MON it’s narcissism!

For a massive amount of time, I felt “ashamed” regarding how long it took me to realize the role I played in my narcissistic relationships. I was so chronically focused on “rescuing and repairing” them that I did not see:
A) how unrealistic and magical thinking I was
B) the damage it was doing to me
C) that I was a contributor

I didn’t EVER think about what I was contributing to the narcissistic relationships I participated in. Not for anything, other than simply being unconscious. Some examples of what I contributed: The enabling (drug and alcohol abuse), the assertion of control (I could see what was best for them and wanted to fix/rescue/save them), the unending forgiveness (I forgave and expected change, when change inevitably didn’t happen I stayed and forgave again and again – multiple infidelities), my fear of “failure” (I couldn’t “give up” on them – everyone else seemingly had – I couldn’t fail), lack of boundaries (tons of degrading disrespect and all of the above).

These relationships were so high maintenance, and I was so focused on keeping them “alive” that I didn’t/couldn’t focus much on anything else, even my own unhappiness. When you get so caught up in someone else, like this, you forgo paying attention to recognizing your own needs, wants & desires. I began dating Jerry December of 2003. According to my journals, by April 2004, I was “looking for a therapist,” wondering “why I was with him because he lies all the time,” and felt “I cared way too much about every detail of “our life” more than my life.” Yet, I stayed. I should’ve gone to college right out of high school. I had been accepted and claimed my spot, but when it came down to school or Jerry. I chose Jerry. We spent eight years together, which didn’t spawn from full honest love from Jerry. It came out of how great of a supply I was to Jerry, my giving and trying, my blind and futile tenacity, and Jerry’s refusal to give up a great supplier.

Luckily, by the time the next one came around (right after Jerry), Cameron, the climax came quicker and had the punch ending I needed.
Every page of these journals depicts the epic highs and lows of these relationships – the cycle of abuse, the love-bombing, the gaslighting, the devaluation & of course, rejection.

Even, after all we went through and all the time that has passed, NINE YEARS, in my “Sweet Creatures” series, I still try to redeem him – to the reader and myself. I want to find that one speck of redemption, for myself, I guess, because he sure as fuck doesn’t care what I think of him. And that redemption that I am seeking, honestly, is probably just my need for validation. Validation that the relationship wasn’t a waste. But as it goes, what you desire from others, you must find within.

In no way does my participation in these relationships justify the treatment that I received. And the same goes for anyone with which this resonates. We are meant to learn and evolve, not be abused.

All love.

Ashley

Book Post: “Almost Everything: Notes on Hope” – Anne Lamott

Book Post: “Almost Everything: Notes on Hope” – Anne Lamott

Hey!

Today the book I am sharing is Anne Lamott’s “Almost Everything: Notes on Hope”

I randomly picked this book while at the library with my kid; it seems the library is the extent of our fun outgoings these days.  

I read it in a day. Humblebrag and it’s an “easy read.” 

I found her writing inspiring as a writer because I understood her voice. Not to toot my horn AT ALL, but I saw my writing in hers. Her style. What she was expressing and what she had been through. I wrote down some quotes from the book that I found inspiring, but this book is so much different from all the spiritual books and psychological books because this is someone’s story – which, Hi, Hello – I love. There is so much we can learn from one another because nothing is unique. 

My favorite bits, “Life damages people. There is no way around it.” 

Or “…nothing has given me so many gifts of growth, expansion, and knowing myself, which is not always lovely, but it’s why I am here.” 

And my ABSOLUTE favorite, “And everything that happens to you belongs to you. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should’ve behaved better.” I swear I have said this before in one of my own essays. Lord knows – I have received so much shit for how I have written about people who were shitty to me (insert Sweet Creatures plug – link in bio).

As a writer myself, I don’t have it all figured out. Shit, I still fall for shit that I think I’ve dealt with or healed from. But I believe in the power, the importance, of sharing my/our experiences. Not because I am fucking unique or want to be popular or liked or make money, quite the contrary. 

Sharing my story has helped me heal. It’s given me the clarity to see the situation for what it is, not what I want it to be. I know if someone who reads what I write can find a pearl of wisdom or even just identify with something I say, it may be enough to help them move through what they are going through, which is also why I share these books. Their stories have helped provide clarity, a pearl of wisdom, in my healing journey.

Solidarity is another, awesome, aspect of reading other people’s stories, like this book. You see that we aren’t so different. That we have commonality with someone we don’t even know. Commonality that bridges a gap of gender, skin color, religion etc. Through solidarity and commonality we expand our empathy and hey, that’s kinda the best thing, right?

So share! Whether it’s through creating or talking or serving. Share to connect. Read other people’s stories. And maybe you’ll just find that pearl of wisdom. 

Comment, like and share and all that good stuff. 

All love. 

Ashley

Codependency and Empathy

So today obviously is a post about Codependency and Empathy. Yay!!! 

Personally, it took me a long time to understand what codependency meant, how I interacted with it, and how it affected my thinking/feelings, and thus my actions. I unknowingly enmeshed codependency and empathy with love and caring. This entanglement often kept me repeating suffering patterns and wondering what the hell I was missing? All I was doing was “loving.” 

In the past, I would enact the famous, “They had a really rough childhood” or whatever other fill in the blank. Which served to justify the behavior or treatment I was receiving from them. In turn, it stunted their growth because it avoided them from being responsible or accountable for their actions. It kept me from being responsible or accountable for allowing the behavior. All for love, am I right? Spoiler alert, it never worked out. 

 Possessing empathy is never a fault. (Quite frankly, I think it is needed now more than ever because we stank of division.) Only when we choose to sacrifice ourselves for it, and that is usually where codependency eeks in. BALANCE!!

It’s something I still work with today but to a much lesser degree. Codependency and empathy are a very interesting duo that can make things very confusing if we are unaware of our behavior. The combo can leave us as doormats for other people’s behavior, and then we victimize ourselves when we are actually full-on participating. 

Identifying my behaviors is helpful to me, so I know how to move with them, so I hope this sheds some light for you. 

All love. 
Ashley

Cocktails and Garth Brooks: A Brief on Resiliency

Resiliency is learning and making meaning from what happened

While in my earlier relationships, my therapists, friends, parents; shit, most everyone, but my earlier partners would always tell me how “resilient” I was.

It was a little hit of dopamine because it was internalized validation that I was doing something right.   

My resiliency, combined with endless well-shots of hope, was a blessing and a curse. If you’ve seen the Garth Brooks documentary (mockumentary??), you’ll know what I am talking about, if not, grab a drink and go watch it!

My well cocktail of resiliency and hope carried me through A LOT of traumas.  Buuuuuut, to a degree it also kept me in those situations. My hope that one day, his words and actions would line up. My hope that he would follow through on promises made. My hope that one day love would reign supreme and there would be no more lying, cheating, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, verbal abuse, mental abuse, and of course the punch heard ‘round the world abuse. My hope that one day I would be worthy of the love I felt I gave. Man, was I resilient.  

It was during my relationship with Jerry when I began writing seriously. I was trying to make meaning out of what happened between Jerry and me in our relationship and trying to learn from it  (hey-o still do). I needed to pour my heart out, even if it was into a void, it was better than either Jerry or Cameron because they were more incapable than a void. I needed to understand the role I played in those relationships so I didn’t continue to recreate the same shit sandwich.

Later (after massive depression and hella therapy) this same hope and resiliency, lead me to my husband. 

Resiliency isn’t something which merely applies to relationships which reek; although it’s the experience I am talking about. We see resiliency shine through massive amounts of trauma. Fill in the blank: war, abuse, neglect, injustice, all of the shit happening in our world right now, etc. Things of which I am privileged and fortunate enough not to endure personally. 

I recently read an article from the NY Times, “What Makes Some People More Resilient Than Others,” by Eilene Zimmerman. She interviewed Dr. Southwick who co-wrote a book on resilience and he stated, “Many resilient people learn to carefully accept what they can’t change about a situation and then ask themselves what they can change.”

I write because I have to. Whether or not it’s absorbed. I write because it is my way of trying to make sense of my past and often failing (Sweet Creatures plug – Link in Bio) but I am learning A LOT! I’ve learned while in a relationship I co-create a reality with another person. Meaning if they suck, well, I have to accept that because I cannot change it (Lord knows I have tried. I have tried) and I must instead draw my attention inward to change what I can control and that’s me. 

Each person is unique. We all need to find our way and at our time. Resiliency allows us to challenge ourselves to go within and learn about ourselves. To question. Which leads to more questions. We then use community and resources to advance our knowledge and then we share it because at the end of it, were all transmitters of what we possess within.

As per usu – I hope you find a nugget in this. If you do or know someone who will share it. I ain’t making shit off of it. We’re human. Life is tough. Whatever we can do to help each other out – fuck it, let’s do it!

All love.

Ashley

8-21-2020 Post

 

So, for those who don’t know – I am obsessed with Dr. Ramani. Ever since I found her (thank you YouTube) she has provided me so much clarity concerning my past relationships. 

Recently, I watched one of her Youtube videos (link in bio) where she discussed personalization vs. taking it personally. She tackles all things narcissism, however, I found it helpful for other relationships in my life too. 

The work I have been doing as of late is working with my inner child. 

Growing up, there were 3 different careers I wanted to pursue and my dad told me they all sucked (literally) and since my dad, in my eyes, was the career master I personified all my ideas as dumb. He loved me, he was smarter than me so I listened to his advice. Here I am 35, no career. Being a lawyer (are douchebags), psychologist (too heavy), or fashion designer (dumb because no bachelor’s degree) don’t seem so dumb now. 

Recently, I was talking to my dad about going back to school and he told me to imagine what my career would do to me. He said, “You can’t just check-in and out of that. You’ll have to look at these people in their eyes and listen to horrible stories.” Since I know myself better than I did at 17, I feel confident in the path which honors my strengths as a person. So I was capable of not personifying what he said.  Instead, I was able to put myself in his shoes to examine the root of what he was communicating, he was worried about me; that it would affect me negatively and as a parent that is the last thing you want for you kid. He’s trying to protect me.  

Our upbringings provide us with varying degrees of tools. Some of us have an electric saw some of us have a butter knife. Again to varying degrees, some of us make do with what we’ve been given, while others try to upgrade our tools to make life easier. And it’s super important to remember this. 

He was raised in a volatile alcoholic family – minimizing meant you went unseen and therefore unscathed. It meant safety. His tools are the tools his parents gave him and their tools were non-existent. 

Suffice it to say, do you – follow your heart and every other cliche in this realm. Personification can get you stuck, unable to heal, move forward, feeling unworthy, and full of self-doubt. Even if the intention is good.

We can’t undo the past – the bell has been rung, but it has given me clarity – I wasn’t dumb. My dad just couldn’t say what he felt and instead, he said it the best way he could. And I was 17 and didn’t possess the awareness and the voice I do now to articulate how it made me feel. 

I have been paralyzed in making a bad career decision because of self-doubt created this exact scenario. But who knows, not dead yet. 

8-15-2020 Post

 

 

My daughter is currently obsessed with shadows. We often play a game, when we’re outside, in which I make her shadow “disappear” simply by casting my obviously larger shadow over hers.

In my twenties, I unknowingly played this game all the time. I dated people who casted larger more complicated shadows and I constantly disappeared into their shadows. Now, it took YEEEEEEARS of work to identify while I disappeared in those casted shadows, it also became an uncomfortably comfortable spot to hid. Top that with feeling unseen and man, what a casserole of irony, huh? 

This all was an unintentional creation. I didn’t consciously scheme to have this be my plight. I dated people with large wounds and I wanted to love them so much that they started loving themselves and seeing in themselves what I saw in them. And y’all can guess exactly how that turned out. Or you can read anything I write about because I talk about it all the damn time. I was lost in the sauce. Searching for love and some sort of completion external of me; through my boyfriends. With the beauty of hindsight, I was giving all the love I was seeking a way to people I felt needed it more. Never factoring in that they wouldn’t be capable of reciprocating love because they didn’t even have it for themselves. So I eventually found myself out of gas with no one to help me out. DISAPPOINTED.

Coming out of the shadows, means casting light which exposes EVERYTHING. It means dusting yourself off, getting burned, and finally seeing yourself, for better and for worse. While I was definitely on the receiving end of a lot of terrible crap, being in the shadow didn’t allow me to see myself as anything other than a victim. Someone who was at the mercy of another person’s actions. I never fully realized that I could move out of the shadows – I literally had to be forced out. 

And it’s the best thing that has ever happened. I am grateful every day for the opportunity to see myself more clearly. I’m grateful to all the boyfriends who unknowingly taught me more about myself than I could’ve ever imagined knowing. 

If this resonates with you, let me know. As always, feel free to share – it helps according to marketing people. 

All love. 

Ashley

You Want Me To Do What?

You Want Me To Do What?

 

[Originally published in 2012]

Relationships are tough. They have always been, right? When things become complicated in a relationship, we all know the best thing is to complicate them more. That’s where pornography comes in. Take a good relationship — add porn usage, and you have the potential for a whole heap of problems. Are you having enough sex? The right kind? Are you sexy enough? Tan enough? Have big enough boobs? Have a giant penis? Can you last all night? These questions are raised through the medium of pornography, and they create false expectations about the body and about sex. Objectification becomes the importance; love is no longer the main factor.

Now, I am not saying it is impossible to watch porn and be in a healthy, loving relationship. However, like most of our society, the consequences are not considered before the action. I believe there is a strong correlation between porn, expectations, and normalcy. The game has changed. Expectations have changed. What was expected from sex before the pornography explosion was something which merely joined the union of two souls into one — love-making. Now, there is still a union of sorts mixed with a combination of the gymnastic skills you had back in seventh grade, the eating habits of a bird, and the willingness to be of service.

There is no longer mystery with the illustrations we have of sex through pornography. I was recently asked, “How would you explain sex to an eight-year-old?” (Let me preface by saying this was during stand-up comedy, which I performed.) I answered, “I would make the kid watch porn because the reality is that that is what sex is now.” It’s filled with perfect hair, tanned bodies, tattoos above the ass, and of course, perfectly fit bodies. It’s like still believing in Santa Claus when you know it’s fake. It’s delusional — unrealistic. So when we have people using pornography as an education tool — a point of reference that ultimately sets expectations that are not real and evades boundaries. In a sexual scenario that’s embraced through the lens of pornography, it is challenging as a woman to not begin to judge yourself. Being I am not a guy, I cannot speak for one, but I imagine there is some form of insecurity that forms as well.

Turn Me Into Gold

Sex is supposed to be fun intimate. Out of all the places in a relationship that get critical or complicated, one would like to think sex would be the one place that would maintain its sacristy. Now we’ve allowed porn to turn all of us into commodities — part of porn’s money-making machine adherence to capitalism in its truest form. As a person, if you are viewed as a commodity, you become upgradable: plastic surgery — for the small breasted girl in you, vaginoplasty — to tighten you up, phalloplasty — for your small penis, anal bleaching — for the detail-oriented person in you, exercise — for the fat that makes you unlike the billions in the world, and tanning — for the Charlie and the Chocolate factory fan in you thus increasing your personal value. Men appear to not be judged as critically because they are merely part of the scenery in porn; juxtapose this against the saying “women’s bodies are just more beautiful,” and men become interchangeable. In being a commodity, you can also become an old model or never even make it on the market because you’re not seen as valuable. God forbid you to get old — you might as well pack yourself up in a box along with your ShamWows. All this markets to the consumer is you’re not good enough how you are; therefore, you shouldn’t value yourself because no one else will. You are somehow subpar in contrast to the billions of other people in the world. Now in relationships, people will often seek someone to make them feel of value or to make them feel happy with themselves; after all, as long as you know someone loves you — you matter. With the infiltration of porn and its ability to make the ordinary person feel inadequate or as if they are interchangeable, how would any person ever gain the confidence and assurance alone? Say goodbye to healthy individuals and relationships.

Now, This Is Getting Uncomfortable

Now I have seen a fair share of porn, and I have to say the way these women manipulate their bodies makes them part-time human contortionists in my book. I, for one, know that shaping your body in these ways can be extremely uncomfortable. Why is sex become about being uncomfortable? Both people are supposed to be enjoying themselves, sharing, and experiencing love — both being satisfied. When a woman’s legs are situated behind her head, only one person is enjoying himself while the other is cramping up. However, this is the expectation: women should be able to take it and enjoy it.

On the other hand, men should be able to last all night. They should be able to satisfy their women first, all the while holding back from feeling any pleasure which would cause a sudden premature release and thus a disappointment. The reality is these ideas and expectations are all a part of the fantasy which porn sells us on, but when are we going to be smart enough to realize there is a difference between fantasy which is bought, and reality which is inescapable. To be the woman a man wants isn’t just about putting your physical body into uncomfortable positions but also in uncomfortable costumes. The cost of these costumes, which transform you into a sexy woman, is quite frankly — expensive. But men want to see a woman in lingerie. The problem with that is it costs a fortune, and it’s only on for five seconds (and it’s dry clean only!). On one such occasion, I found myself giving in to this idea of a sexy costume idea, and I ventured to purchase lingerie for my then-boyfriend Eric. So I went to the classiest place I knew, Fredrick’s of Hollywood. After shopping, I reached his house and greeted him at the side gate.

“Hey, you! Guess what?” I told him eagerly.

“What?” He responded.

“I have a surprise for you!” I told him eagerly.

“Oh, really. What is it?” He asked inquisitively.

“Well, let me into your room, and once I have your surprise ready, I’ll let you know, and then you can come in,” I said excitedly.

So, I walked into the house, and Eric let me into his room, and I began pulling out my Fredrick’s of Hollywood expensive paraphernalia. As I sorted through the stockings, garter belt, panties, and corset, I realized I had no idea how to put this puzzle together. I took the challenge on. I undressed and put the corset on, which took me about five minutes because of the placement of the back clasp. Luckily for me, my double-jointed elbows finally came in handy for something other than scaring small children. After managing to get the corset on, I noticed that my body was getting really red from all of the commotion, and I was sweating profusely. I proceeded with the panties, as that’s basic. I then put on the garter belt and the stockings. The point of the garter belt (yes, there is actually a utility purpose for a garter belt) is to hold up the stockings. So, attached to the garter belt are four hooks, two on the front and two on the back. The ones in the back took up most of my time. They are conveniently located right below your bottom in the center of the back of your thigh, and there is no way to effectively view, thus affix, the hooks to the stocking. In the middle of securing the second hook, there is a knock at the door.

“Hey, are you okay in there it’s been like twenty minutes?” Eric asked.

“Ya, I’m fine, almost ready. Hey, can you do me a favor? Can you turn on the air conditioner? It’s really hot in here.” I replied.

I checked myself out in the mirror, and I was lobster red, my whole body. This color was contrasted against my blue and black ensemble, which only accented the redness. Since I was also sweating, my legs began to itch incredibly bad under the stockings. This, of course, spurred a violent scratching session which subsequently ripped my twenty — six dollar stockings. I sat on Eric’s bed for a few minutes hoping the redness would diminish — it didn’t. Needless to say, I wasn’t really feeling sexy; I was feeling tired. I finally let Eric in the room, and he was happy about his surprise but laughed at me for how long it took me and how red I was. When things finally started progressing, I realized there was more technique in putting on the panties than I was aware of. You are supposed to put them on over the garter belt. The situation became less about being sexy and more about the moment being funny.

Porn and its Sticky Situations

Porn is perfect for the selfish and for the lazy love maker. It makes it easier for a guy or girl to masturbate than to put effort into having sex with your partner. Sex becomes a selfish, in its truest form, task. Again, it is about the release and not about a shared, loving experience. A previous boyfriend of mine was an avid porn watcher. I didn’t mind the porn as an activity, but the daily use was ridiculous. He was an addict in many fashions. It came to the point where I would wake up in the middle of the night to an empty — previously occupied — bed. I could hear the computer mouse clicking and see the bright fluorescent light from the screen, but all else was quiet. Like a search and rescue team, I shout, “Jeeeeery” The light from the screen instantly fades. He came into the bedroom butt naked bearing an erection. “Ya?”

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Just looking at stuff on Craigslist.”

I knew he was lying. Knowing from your gut and knowing from the evidence isn’t that different; one just provides proof. So he climbs into bed next to me and goes to sleep. The next morning he is in the kitchen, and I walk into the office — where Jerry’s computer and a desk are set up. I step in something wet. It’s not a big spill, just a small spot. Now, I know I shouldn’t touch it — or smell it — but I do. When I touched it and smelt it, I knew instantly what it was and couldn’t believe it was on my carpet. With my fingertips covered in the film, I walk into the living room carrying the inquisitive attitude of Olivia Benson with my hand cocked like Diana Ross from the Supremes.

“What is this?” I ask.

“What are you talking about?”

“This wet stuff that I stepped in on the floor in the bedroom. It smells like jizz.”

“What? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Well, there is something wet on the floor, and you were in there, so what is it?”

“It’s probably water.”

“Oh really? It’s water? It doesn’t smell like water.”

“It’s water, Ash.”

“Okay, well, if it’s water, then lick it.”

I held out my hand, open palm in his face. I wish for my story’s sake I could say he licked it, but he didn’t. Now, the problem in this situation is not the porn per se, but the selfishness that is tied to porn. I cannot say we had a healthy relationship in any sense of the word because, as individuals, neither of us was particularly healthy. This situation became my alarm clock every morning. It was through these particular months my five senses were tested and heightened; I would lie in bed and listen to the various sounds to make out what was going on, I would carefully crawl on the floor from one room to the other to peer into the office to see what I could see. It wasn’t so much I wanted to catch him; I just didn’t understand porn’s lure.

On the times I would try to talk to him about he would just reply, “I just like looking at porn.” I still didn’t understand. At the time, we had been dating for about seven years or so, and we were engaged, and we weren’t really having sex. The reality was that we were not having sex because I hated him. I mean, I loved him more than anything, but he had hurt me so badly in the past (cheating, lying, drug use, etc.) I couldn’t have that intimacy with him even though I wanted it. I tried to understand the problem: not having sex. So now I felt like it was my fault he was watching porn. I wasn’t having sex with him every day, and he is a guy, so he does need it every day, right? So this was the repercussions of my lack of action. While that was not what I really believed, it was how it was made to seem. On occasion, he would leave the house; I would search the computer history files and look at the stuff he was watching. Truth be told — if at any point I was sad or furious about the act of watching porn, it wasn’t that I woke up to this every day, but it was the fact that the girls he was watching were the exact opposite of me; typically blonde hair (which he always said he hated), huge boobs, tan, and it was degrading. As we were approaching our demise, it became clear to me I was never going to be what he wanted. I have always been the type who doesn’t worry themself with the superficial exterior. I am concerned with the kind of person I am, and it remains vital to me to stay true to my beliefs and values. I felt this wasn’t the type of person I wanted to be legally bound to for the rest of my life because then not only would I be sacrificing my self-esteem, but I would also be compromising those values and beliefs.

“Oh, the Humanity”

In 1964, our country established the 14th amendment due to the Civil Rights Movement, which desegregated African Americans and whites and alleviated racial tension. Yet, in porn, it is still okay to use derogatory racist and misogynistic terms to describe a white woman with a black man or vice versa. Porn instructs us in the way that power dynamics are to be established during sex. Men are supposed to dominate the woman, and women are supposed to be subservient to the man allowing them to do whatever they want, and the role of the woman is just to take it. Spanking and gagging is another part of porn that dehumanizes the one on the receiving end. Spanking directly suggests a division of power — think of your parent spanking you as punishment — I bet you never spanked your parents. Gagging in porn becomes an issue of literally gagging a woman (often to the point of tears and throwing up) with a penis simply for a man’s pleasure. Anal sex has become another trend in porn that has been showing up in sex. Shockingly, men who want to have anal sex think that women want to also. It appears that it has just shown up on the menu of sexual expectations. I was dating Tommy, a catch for me for sure, at least I thought. He was a law student at Loyola Marymont, and we shared a kiss on the big screen at a Laker game. Match made in heaven, right? Well, one afternoon, after having lunch together, he asked, “Well, do you want to go back to my house?”

I replied, “Well, sure. What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking we could have anal sex.” He said assured I would accept his offer.

With great hesitancy, I replied, “Um, sure, I guess.” I had no idea why my mouth had betrayed me with its response. We drove to his house, and I told him I was on my period. I thought that would kill any sexual desire — but like I said, the game has changed.

He replied, “Not a big deal. We can go in the shower.”

I was entirely anxious. It wasn’t about doing anal; been there done that. It merely was I didn’t want to do it with Tommy at the time. I was thinking, how can I get out of this without just saying no? I think about it now and wonder what that poor little insecure girl was doing. I would tell her, “um, you say NO.” When we got to his place, he instantly got naked and got into the shower, and I stood at the sink fully clothed. He was serious, and he thought I wanted to do this. What had I done that made him think I was that kind of girl? I was instantly in a moment of reflection. He liked watching porn while we were having sex. I never understood it. Wasn’t having sex and being in the moment good enough? Why would you want to be watching other people having sex while you’re having sex? Your reality is that fantasy that you’re watching on the computer screen. Isn’t it?

“Are you going to get in?” He said while pouring lube onto his penis and a look of intended seduction.

I caught myself out of my reflection and was immediately turned off, not just with him and this situation, but the fact I had put myself here with this person, and I was now in this situation. I had officially become a person who was seduced by the ideas which are portrayed in porn — I wanted to be wanted sexually — but it wasn’t really what I wanted. I just went ahead with what I was told I was supposed to embody — sex. I was looking at myself in the mirror above the sink; I couldn’t do this.

“I have to go to the car first to grab an extra tampon,” I said quickly, so he didn’t have time to respond. My intention was to leave. I walked to the living room, and I gathered my things quickly from the living room and ran out of the apartment. My anxiety continued as I reached the car. I got into the car, and I thought, “this isn’t right. I shouldn’t just leave like this.” But I knew I had to in order to not only escape Tommy but also what I had become. I started the car, and I left. I sent him a text message and said, “Hey, I’m sorry, I just can’t do this.”

Twenty minutes later, he replied, “No problem. But you owe me a bottle of lube.”

There is no doubt there are fetishes that people enjoy (even power dynamics), but it’s when the fetish becomes an expectation it becomes a problem. If porn depicts people as objects, then humanity does not become an issue.

Getting Turned On to Get Turned Off

David Mura argues, “The addict to pornography desires to be blinded, to live in a dream. Those in the thrall of pornography try to eliminate from their consciousness the world outside pornography, including everything from their family and friends or last Sunday’s sermon to the political situation in the Middle East. In engaging in such elimination, the viewer reduces himself. He becomes stupid.” The reality is if we are engulfing ourselves in pornography, how are we to pay attention to anything else that is going on around us?

Furthermore, how are we to pay attention to our inner selves and consciously evaluate what it is that we are doing? The answer is we can’t. When we thrive off of anything, or we are addicted to anything, we develop a tunnel vision that prevents us from seeing anything else — including the consequences of our actions. Thus, if we are not evaluating and considering from a simple point — sex — how can we expect we would be able to consider anything larger, grander, and more poignant?

I’d Like to Solve the Puzzle: Hedonism.

There is no doubt the pursuit of pleasure is a huge part of our existence in our society. However, an individual pursuit is a selfish pursuit that considers no one but the self. I am not saying that one is not entitled to that pursuit, but we should balance it with awareness to others. Sex within a relationship, even outside of one, is now not enough. It’s about the kind of sex you’re having, how much, the sort of skills you have between the sheets — sex has become a demand. Sex in a relationship is about wanting more, having more sex, putting a penis further down your throat, cramping yourself up for the pleasure of your partner, and regular sex becomes boring sex. It complicates the relationship not just in the sense that one person may be viewing porn but the way it tries to rear its head into the intimacy of our relationships. In our relationships, we should possess integrity, conscience,, and an empathic mindset that allows us to consider the things we expect from others or from ourselves. We should question porn material we watch, what it depicts, and how ultimately it will affect us — individually, in a relationship, and culturally. It is partially the allowance of self-indulgence that has turned our society into a “me society” where we expect our needs to be met before anyone else’s. How is that good for anyone?

Maybe I’m Just A Prude, But This Is Real

Porn has become a virus to relationships. Sex has become the relationship. It makes me angry that the formula for a ‘good’ relationship is based on sex. And since I refuse to accept that policy, my relationships suffer. I will still keep believing not everyone is so hung up on sex and wait to find a guy that actually has substance and something to offer besides cunnilingus. In order to maintain some form of balance, we must understand the difference between reality and fantasy, and ultimately, we should just keep it real. The idea of reality in this sense has to do simply with perception and the use of our sight. We are allowing ourselves to be tricked by society, the salesman, and then blindly buying what they are telling us we need; no real thought or consideration or minimal critical thinking is happening. We are doing no examination of ourselves, no reflection of history is happening, and noticing that pornography is and has been a slippery slope. We are accountable for this perversion of our society, culture, and eventually our children. We must also maintain our individuality and know our value and worth are not contrived by society; instead, it is our own culmination of beliefs, values, and experiences. And that cannot be bought, yet it makes one invaluable. It’s real worth and real substance. What we must encourage and coddle is not our sexuality but our individuality. People argue there is power in sex, but power is never equally distributed, nor is it permanent. This balance will remind us we are all people cut from the same cloth, that we all have focuses of our bodies which we struggle with, and it is okay to not meet the expectations set by an industry that creates cookie-cutter men and women.

 

Sweet Creatures – Part II

Jerry and I

Slight digression. 

I met Jerry on December 20th, 2003; I was 17 and in high school, and he was 19 and a musician. We spent the better part of eight years together. In the first year and a half, I was given a promise ring one night at a fancy romantic dinner. Shortly after that dinner, I found out he was sleeping with my best friend after suspicion led me to snoop his cell phone. I broke up with him, and then we got back together. We tried and did, to an extent, build a life together. Unfortunately, massive portions of that life were filled with lying about anything and everything on his part and disrespect. He constantly lied about who he was talking to, where he was, money and bills that were paid or not paid, weed use, and in general, who he was. We fought a lot because of all the lying. I could never trust him. There was no recovering since another lie was just on the horizon. We were always slipping. I never felt secure. I was never considered. Things that were important to me were disregarded by both of us. We both put him first. I’ve beaten our porn issues to death, but it is a perfect example of how everything in our relationship went. I had an issue with Jerry and porn, not because I had an issue with porn. I had an issue with how the porn affected Jerry and thus me. I wouldn’t sleep with him because his lying directly impacted my ability to be vulnerable or intimate with him. I didn’t feel secure or loved by him. He’d watch porn to compensate and then lie about it. So I wouldn’t want to sleep with him because I was hurt that he lied. My feelings were rarely taken into consideration. So, I was always on the defense. Therefore, we rarely we’re on the same team. Yet, I loved him so much. We had these cycles, which became our norm. We’d have months filled with good times and love (cards, flowers, and wonderful words) but, then a month would come up, and it would slip us back to the last slip up, and then we would start all over. Wash, rinse, and repeat. I later learned this is classic love bombing.

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Note from Jerry

At this point, you may be asking: why did I stay? My blind love, his promises of change, his pleas for me to stay, my lack of self-respect, naivety, my love of personal torment (chaotic childhood/attachment issues), the glimpses of hope, and my thoughts on his potential are what kept me hooked. I did truly love him; I know it says a lot about me. Failure is a huge childhood issue for me. I felt, if I gave up on my relationship with Jerry, it was a mark of personal failure. 

Another core belief of mine is actions speak louder than words. I told you, my core beliefs are so fundamental they are kindergarten lingo. I even tattooed, “they can say they love you, but it still won’t change a thing” on my back. Jerry would say, at times, the most wonderful, nice, and validating things, but (big but) he never toed the line. He could talk the talk, could never walk the walk. I always saw him as having untapped potential. If he could just stop lying, things would be better.

After five years of dating, we broke up. He moved to Maui in 2008, and I flew to Maui to get him back. On the heel of that, he cheated again. Broke up and got back together. He wrote me a song and proposed; I got a ring! And at 25, I decided to go back to school to finish my degree. We needed to relocate for me to finish my degree. I was, for the first time in our relationship, in the driver’s seat. He couldn’t hack the move. He felt his music career was taking a back seat to my goals. He began texting about meeting up with a “lesbian” who sent him multiple pictures of herself in lingerie (lesbian is in quotes because it was a copout). He set up a dating profile looking for a girl who possessed both my personality and physical qualities, but just not with the knowledge of him, which I unfortunately possessed. All of this I, of course, found out on my own. I confronted him. We cried together on the floor of our bedroom. We realized we were nearing our end. We came down to LA to visit family, and I slept with someone else and lied about it. 

End of relationship.

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L- Promise Right R – Engagement Ring

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In 2017, I wrote a poem, if you will, concerning Jerry and I emailed him about it. Got no reply.

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Then in the Spring of 2018, Jerry and I corresponded through email. At this point, it had been nearly 2 years of rolling around the idea of amends. We talked about a lot of different things; my emails were reserved. Still, I put it out there that I was feeling bad about a lot of things—mainly how things were between us. To sum up Jerry’s emails, he was thoughtful, kind, and sensitive to my expressions of sadness and remorse. He was worried about me,

“I really hope you are okay. It worries me whenever you reach out to me. I always feel like you are going through something and can’t really tell me. Life is weird as shit but were not strangers. We’re the same dumb kids we always were but with adult lives to live.”

Taking this as a sign of personal growth and change for him, I felt some safety, and I dispensed pieces of pain that were on my heart in those emails, moving towards amends. He said all the right things. Things that should have been satisfactory, but I found myself doubting if he were put face to face with me, what would he say? It’s easy to respond to an email because you can type whatever. Being face to face and on the spot is a whole other thing. You can’t calculate. You can’t delete. He also shared with me that he got a new dog and “was totally in love” with the dog. (Keep this in mind for later).

We also talked about music his new band was putting out. He sent me a few demos, and they were really good. Seriously, good. But hearing and reading his lyrics got me so caught up in how he was really doing. You see, one of my regrets with Jerry is, while I was dating him, I was constantly feeling frustrated that I didn’t know who Jerry really was because he always lied. Arguably, he clearly expressed who he was or how he felt in writing his heart in his songs. And if I listen back to the stuff he recorded while we were together, he was communicating how he felt about all the issues we were having. The issues he was having. But in my self-righteousness and pain, I never heard what he was saying. So, when he sent me over these songs, one in particular, “lost in my head again — avoiding existence — but I stay trapped in the same routine — push everyone I love away — and I felt my best — when I was all alone” I couldn’t help, but listen.

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In my email to him on August 7th, 2018 (shown in part I of this story), I asked him two questions. His reply to my email came a week later, only addressing the first question. I could labor on about our email exchanges and how much frustration it gave me, but in full transparency, here ya go:

Email exchange

The amount of gratitude I felt for getting the opportunity to see and talk to him, I cannot put into words. What I felt and thought this would do for me was quite frankly the opportunity of a lifetime—healing for a disease that seemed as if only he had the cure for.

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All the way to meet him on that Thursday afternoon, I was full of nerves. I came prepared with notes. Yes. Notes. I really wanted my intention to translate and I wanted to do the work. Take responsibility. I tried to brace myself for whatever was going to happen, including him not showing up. I got to the restaurant. Grabbed a beer. Sat alone at a tabletop in the rear of the restaurant. I didn’t see him come in the door; I just felt his presence as he approached the table. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Here he was, this stranger I knew better than most. I was utterly overwhelmed with nerves, anxiety, love, and familiarity when I saw him. He looked different. A lot different from how I remember him. He looked burdened, heavy. His chest was more barreled. His hair was bleached, fried. He was dressed in all black, per his norm. The lines in his face had gotten harder. Time will do that; my bags have gotten worse. But he looked like he’d let himself go a bit. I am not saying this to be mean through judgment, but I felt concerned. His light had dimmed. His birthday was that Saturday. So, as a gift, I offered to buy whatever beers he drank. I had a few myself to calm my nerves. I also brought him a few crystals, specifically Rose Quartz, which is for the heart chakra. I told him he “could throw them away” if they didn’t resonate with him. I told him about how he was coming up for me. I said, “You are like cancer in my brain that I cannot get rid of.” I told him how sorry I was, and I read off my notes:

My sorry notes

I told him I will always accept him for who he is. A failure and regret of mine. That I will always love him for how/who he is. He did not reciprocate. Not even with apologies. Just like in our relationship, I apologized and tried to undo everything I had seemingly done to him in an attempt to restore him.

We caught up on his family and friends who have drifted through my memory. We talked about his mom. My only conversation with her is carved into my mind. Where I was and what I was wearing, and what she said to me. It echos time and again. Like when we found out, she had passed. Jerry and I were sharing a twin bed at his Grandpa’s house in Ontario. Sitting on our bed one night, his brother calls, and he doesn’t answer it. I tell him, “call him back; it may be important.” I will never forget his face and the reaction he had. It was heartbreaking. In the time Jerry and I spent together, while it was fractured, we saw each other through many life changes. Particularly loss. He was there for me when I found out my uncle committed suicide. He was at the funeral. Helped. I was there with him when his beloved Grandpa died like died. I was there when his mother passed. Our memories are intertwined. Moving on is more than moving on from each other. It is moving on from everything because it is all enmeshed.

We talked about our respective relationships, which I will keep sacred. We joked. We were happy in each other’s company. We only had an hour since he met me on his lunch break. He was working at the same job, I submitted his resume to years ago. When we got to our cars, I popped a white head on his face that had been bothering me the whole time we talked. Hugged and said goodbye. After I left him, I sent him an email with the notes I had read to him before heading home. Jerry replied, “I think we were probably sending each other an email at the same time. As I keep saying, you have no need to be sorry but I appreciate your effort to apologize. I will try my best to not be a stranger but in reflecting, it was pretty hard to see you. It brought back so many memories and feelings. I do have so much love for you too and I hope you are able to get yourself into a positive mental state. I’m here if you need anything. Just let me know.” 

And “I genuinely miss you.

To which I replied, “We need to have another lunch, there is so much more to cover.”

He sent me a text and said, “Lets have lunch again tomorrow.”

Fuck me.

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