Today I killed a clown, or did a clown kill me? I was feeling so fucking great waking up with someone holding me again, wrapping their arms around me and kissing me and kissing me and kissing me. Someone massaged my shoulders and made me breakfast again one morning…I was doing everything better. I wasn’t seeing this person or talking to him every day. I wouldn’t allow myself to spend all day in bed love bonding with orgasms to fuel the toxic formula which has been proven to be the downfall of most codependent relationships…
[If you treat me like shit] I will NOT love you LONG TIME. Nope. Definitely not. This I know from experience, especially if someone causes me so much pain in such a short period of time. Luckily all this stuff goes in vicious cycles, so if you missed it the first time it hit you [me] in the face, rest assured it would come around again and again and again and as you kept trying so hard to juggle all the balls, they kept being thrown at you and all of them falling faster than the music, faster than you could chase after them down the hill, onto the freeway, lost forever….
I found out today that I have codpendent tendencies, but no, I am not a hopeless codependent. I am becoming less and less so with every romantic partner. They are following a vicious cycle, but they are coming in and out of my life like acid rain storm clouds. Messing up my atmosphere and then it clears up faster and faster and faster disappearing into another bright and sunny Los Angeles day. Rinse. Repeat.
Love and Sex addicted I am not. My counselor is always suggesting I go to meetings of different types. I look up the definitions and read the meeting descriptions and laugh. the funny thing is that once I stopped using weed, the sex between us changed. it was sooo amazing the first night and then it was decent, but he still needed to be trained. It was the intimacy/cuddling/affection and passionate kissing is what I live for everytime. It’s what I turn my phone off and drive across town to get even for a little bit. Even if it means sleeping on a mattress on the floor in a messy 23 year old’s room in his mama’s house. I had temporarily quit using marijuana for most of this affair, which was related to me catching a cold and wanting to have a different relationship to substances of my own accord. Now that I look back on it, that’s how I should have seen that he was an addict. Because he was in no way trying to respect my desire to try to be sober, trying to get me to break and give in to using weed every time we saw each other. It was pretty easy to resist as I was determined. Even when I told him it was for the future baby (not his necessarily). This is why he didn’t drive. This is why he had a broken collarbone and a broken heart. I only went back to MaryJane tonite but I don’t feel guilty about it. I knew I would break down and use when it was “absolutely neccessarily.” I felt stronger instantly. It was Maryjane or the clown. And I chose wisely.
This affair was short but sweet sixteen days, because we went through all of the same bits and pieces faster for some reason. He flaked on me again. Twice in a row, the second time was the last time. He was unapologetically drunk again and I did not desire to pick him up and make things better with his alcoholic embrace. The last time was to fix my pathology and this time would be to appease his, and I was able to refuse it much easier. An obnoxious drunk is easier to turn down than a slick romantic abuser manipulator. If he had called me up drunk telling me that he was sorry he didn’t mean to hurt me, he needed help or some other smoother story like my other abusers were able to come up with other than the sorry pathetic one he presented I may have gone to pick him up instead of cut him off.
I did not imagine that he was massaging his female friend’s shoulders in front of me the other day. She was low key challenging my worth, even asking me where I went to school. (I have a Master’s Degree actually, I told her). I didn’t like the situation at all. I felt like I was amazing artist Frida Kahlo watching her asshole fat ass non deserving but talented husband Diego Rivera paw her sister in front of her (“I know I don’t believe in monogamy, but I know I don’t feel good right now”) It challenged my views on open relationships and non monogamy even though me and the clown were not yet in an official relationship he knew that I liked him and should have talked to me about her before touching her in front of me. Jealousy and pain. Too much too fast. Do they do this on purpose just to see if you will still be there after they shoot daggers at you?
He actually told me that he wanted to keep fucking me and stop kissing me when I told him I had herpes. I burst into tears and cried so hard all day that my eyes hurt at night. (you cannot automatically get herpes from kissing/fucking someone with herpes, even if they have an outbreak on their lip (tho of couse MORE risky indeed as any open sore is), but it is especially not risky if they don’t though the “always contagious” and “even condoms won’t protect you” doctrine is still prescribed by some doctors and sex educators). I don’t even get those big open sores that you often see on people’s lips. And condoms don’t protect you when your making out with someone, that is the reason behind that statement.
I did not use weed to feel better that day. I called him and asked him to make it better, to kiss away the pain he had caused.. I do not kiss my clients because I want every kiss I give someone to mean something. I want commercial intimacy and personal intimacy to always be different and mostly but not always something special. It makes making out with someone as exciting as it was when I used to do it at an 8th grade dance at times. I don’t have the strength to fight the whore stigma anymore these days. I really really don’t, even though when I wear my fancy sexy whore revolutionary outfit it appears as if I do. And I do on the outside. A trained warrior. Just not on the inside. I’d been through too much lately. Had a shit of time internet dating on several sites, so I had literally just given it up before I met him. He was like a godsend when I met him at a Burningman party. I stumbled into someone I had been looking for on the internet in the “real world.” The first day he made me cry so hard was the first time I asked him to make things better in his embrace. “You need to make it better.” I cried, knowing that that was just a band aid solution and that I was willingly following an unhealthy relationship pattern that was too familiar to me. I am a survivor of relationship violence, so I will always have a tendency to seek comfort in asking the violator to heal me when I can. And of course, he did, gave me a colorful lollipop to cheer me up (in one hand, and a can of Modelo beer in the other) when I picked him up and kissed me passionately, holding my face like I love, filling me with hot flames of desire, making me feel whole again as I rocked my hips towards him. Later that night as we were walking to the protest (it was awesome that we were both activist/artist types), he was laughing while I was telling him about my feelings from the day and I guess I punched him pretty hard in the chest to stop his laughter. I didn’t think that I did but he acted pretty wounded. It’s likely since I’ve returned to martial arts and he made me cry earlier that I could have hit him harder than I thought. But this is another codependent trick, to flip the blame on the victim. (An ex abuser has started an argument based on the fact that I “accidentally grazed him in the balls on purpose”) Now I am the abuser. I have been the person to hit my boyfriends in the arm or chest (the way you may have seen teenage couples fight) or make violent motions towards their face without touching them to express my anger and desire to tear into them for the pain they have given me. This is still violence I know. I know. If a man did this to me it would be equally problematic. Now I am the one who should apologize profusely. Good trick. Do it again. Again! Again! Again!
But the later offenses weren’t fixable with an apology or an embrace. I had seen it before and I had walked away before. Except the last time it took me 2.5 months and way, way more damage than this little affair had caused.
I went to (my best friend that died at 26) David’s burial ground and held my palms out and stared into his gravestone, hoping to channel his love and support, hoping like I have many times before to get his ghost to appear and talk to me for a few minutes. I needed a friend bad. I needed a lover and this floppy clown came along. It was super fun for a while and taught me so much about me. It was because I was more sober I was able to see his addictions with a clearer lens. But I am no classic codependent, and he was a classic case of a borracho payaso drunkard. Big clown shoes and sad story of time and creative potential wasted, lover after lover of his gone lost and walked away in sadness and anger before me and after me too no doubt…Promising talent, dedicated to his craft and a heart with the potential to shine a room full of children or make even the smartest, sexiest female in the room take him home. But he clearly had no self esteem only self hatred that filled his belly which was not fat with food. not fat with love. Addicts make it so hard to be loved but they want and need it the most. I know this because I have fallen in love with too many of them, except that they were closet addicts able to hold up a facade much better than this clown so our affairs would end up being longer. No mas. Where is my self efuckingsteem? I still have it apparently. I would rather be codependent with Maryjane than an alcoholic. What I was proving to myself lately though was that I wasn’t a drug addict, I could exist without cannabis medicating through traumatic times, through the triggers, through the sadness. But tonight, I took comfort in her vapor and through the steam cloud I was able to dry my tears and open my eyes and see again. I am going to use weed differently. I am still committed. I am going to love and do relationships differently. I already have been. I mourn for the loss of him and placed his number on my wireless carrier block list. The familiar block list that I put all my ex boyfriends and lovers so I do not have to cave into them calling me in the middle of the night with sweet promises, even if they talk of them after the pain has subsided months later….I will not go back.