Riding in Cars with ?

— 28ème Juin, 2014 @ 23:00

He just declared that he is a mess. Is this who I take advice from? It’s not about that. It’s never been about that. It’s about hearing the advice. It’s about letting it reside inside of you and waiting for it to hook on to something that appeals to you, that is real to you. It’s about applying it to yourself wherever it fits. If it doesn’t fit, reject it. But does it fit? It might.

It fit, at least I think that it did. We can never ever actually be sure in these situations. But if there is one thing that is for certain, whether it fit or not, I acted on it. I probably acted on it in more ways than I should have. I decided that I was strong and that I was brave and I removed myself from this relationship. I let him know that I loved him but that it would never work

This destructive pattern of throwing myself into the arms of men I really just do not know. Men that are a projection of what I want them to be. That’s all they have ever been to me. Do I know any of the men that I threw myself at? I don’t think I did. I think I threw myself at Femi the same way I always do, right after Page. But instead of the usual cop out and lack of commitment afterwards, my curiosity took me to a different place. I decided to take my eternal itch of “what if” in a different direction. What if I committed? And so I did. I’ve never been patient and I committed without even knowing who I was committing to. I committed to my projection of Femi and not who he actually was. Because I didn’t know who he was. And I’m not implying deceit. I’m implying that I’m a girl that does not know how these things should work. And instead of checking into reality and digging inside of people to see who they are, I reside in my second and third and fourth childhood. That part of me that sees and creates what I Want to see and when the reality of a person contradicts that fantasy, I’m disappointed, even hurt. How dare you not live up to the person that I created in my head for you, to the character. But this isn’t one of my stories. These are real people. They are not puppets and I am not a puppeteer. I’m not the Puppeteer. I’m not God.

And maybe the same thing goes for Carl. I sat in the passenger seat of his car all of these years. Entering his house maybe twice or three times. That was the reality. All of this time, he sat on this pedestal, and I listened and I gazed and at times I rolled my eyes at the repetitive nature of his words, but he was always there, statuesque, perfect. His word was Gospel. All of this time I took his advice and applied it to every interpersonal relationship that I had… Except for the one between him and I. And one day I turned to look beside me at my pedestal of a father and it was gone, he was gone. Only he wasn’t. He was there, I just couldn’t recognize him. Because I did not spend all of these years loving and understanding him. I took bits and pieces of what he said and what he did and created my own image of him. Something that was not real. A projection. The best projection. My FAVORITE one. It was my masterpiece, I had spent years and years creating it, building and adding to it and most importantly defending it. And once reality set in and the flaws came crashing in, breaking down everything that I built, I had no choice but to face what was real. And I blamed him, but honestly… It’s not his fault. I sat in the car all of these years. Never once thinking about that. About sitting in the car. That wonderful advice, the gospel that I held onto so tightly that I couldn’t hold on to anything else. But I was sitting in the car. I was always in the car. I sat in the fucking car.

The way that i am sitting in the car right now.