Working my ass off

I've worked every day for the past two weeks. I'm tired.

It's 2:30am, and I am still an insomniac, still wired to sleep all morning and stay up way past when 30 year old, responsible, young entrepreneurs are supposed to be sleeping.

I just said young. Heh.

So I'm moving to the land of milk (duds) and honey (flavored cherries). Where the grass doesn't grow and 22 will seem old.

And today -- tonight -- I feel lonely. I just went and had dinner with my cousin, sister, and brother, after seeing Serino earlier today and hanging out most of the night with familiar faces at the gym. I saw that girl I went out with once, and the guy with short-man's complex, the fellows that trust me no matter what and those that only seem to see me tired and thus haven't noticed my awesomely better game.

But I still feel so alone.

I don't have the luxury of whining or complaining. I can't talk about how bad my life is when I'm going to earn more this month than my mother has made this year. I can't complain about girls when I can get a date with anyone that suits my fancy. It's just a question of how hard I want to work at it. Will she takes ten minutes of chatting, or can I get away with only three?

And I can't whine about my family because it just gets old.

--

So two of my friends, in their own little way, have conveyed to me in the last two weeks that I have a negative impact on their well-being. That I am, at times, too negative, and whether it be through empathy or just hearing it directly too much, they get tired of it.

They get tired of me.

Maybe that's why the girls leave too.

Ironic. Those that have the most power to put me in my place (as in, close friends and the girls I sleep with) choose not to do it. They don't tell me to shut the fuck up, or grow up, or get a fucking therapist and whine to that bitch instead, or whatever.

They just absorb. Or detach. Or walk. Or some combination thereof.

I wish I wasn't this way. I wish I didn't feel lonely for no reason, angry without cause, and pain without end.

I wish you told me before you got angry with me. Told me before you just bailed on me. Told me when I was acting out instead of acting well, told me when I needed to lighten up and have another beer, told me when I needed to chill the fuck out and stop trying so hard.

Told me I was wrong, was hurting your feelings, was harming our friendship.

--

Friendship is harder for me, I think. When they walk it hurts me more than most people. Sure, everyone is hurt, but normal people don't question their worth, their business being on the planet, and second guess their behavior when someone bails on them.

My happy ass, on the other hand, stews over shit forever. Replays conversations, relives moments, and... I wonder what is wrong with me.

Internalization. Abused child syndrome. Sigh.

--

So, speaking of internalization, an interesting thing occurred to me sometime in the last day or two (I was on the road for four hours today, so I had plenty of time to think).

My father blames everything that is wrong in his life on someone else. He cannot take responsibility for anything whatsoever.

Why? How is it that his type of abuse caused that response? Is that just the result of more damaging trauma?

Chrissy (my super-crazy ex) did that too. Hmm.

Is this one of the results of sexual abuse versus physical abuse? Because my cousin and siblings have that pattern, too. So does my mom. All were physically and emotionally abused, but not sexually. But my dad is a whole different species.

Let's see, Slutbag ex had sexual abuse, too, but later in life. And she had an inferiority deal with an elitist/snobby mask. Not unlike good ol' Alfie in some ways. No physical abuse.

So it's not the type of abuse, although one exception isn't really enough data.

Maybe it's just the intensity and duration. Maybe internalizing is the typical response (you have no control over your life, surroundings, or destiny, so you take control of it by deciding that you're a bad person; if you just became a good person, you wouldn't get raped/beat/tortured any more), and externalization, or displacement, is the result after many years. Or perhaps it's the result of both types of abuse over many years.

It's kinda hard to do an informal survey on this, because no one wants to talk about it, and it's not exactly socially acceptable to ask a chick you just met at a bar about their history of sexual abuse.

(Although that might have its fringe benefits. Oh? You were gang-banged by your 3 maternal uncles when you were 12 while your mom watched? Cool! Wanna come to my car and give me a blow job? Wait, here's some listerine... yeah, sure, your best friend can come too! j/k!!!)

--

Hmmm. Taking this apart like this is a little cathartic. I don't feel lonely anymore.

For now.