Newspaper Page Text
My therapist again: my whole life. I've been dominated by a
raging, disapproving, unpredictable man-first my father, then a
long string of bad men, right down to you. No matter how smart I
am or what kind of grades I get or how hard I work around here, I
could never be good enough for any of you guys. You're not going to
love me, no matter how unbelievably hard I try to win your
approval. It's a treadmill not a marathon. I've always been a little
odd and socially awkward and (lets be honest) I'm not a beauty
queen, so I try to beat the competition the only way I can: unlike
the other girts, I will love you unconditionally. I can stand more
pain—of any kind—anti I'll build you up, make you a man and sac
rifice myself to your insanity.
I have known you my whole life.
And I have no excuses. It's not about money, because I have
worked hard and saved well and for some reason, that's one place I
won't let you in. And no kids, so no strings! Except now you've fig
ured out that I want a baby, and you start trying to get me preg
nant. You're saying, think how smart and beautiful our baby would
be, but I know your real motivation: if we have a child, youll con
trol me forever. This would be the single craziest thing I could do
But the next day, I throw away my birth control pills.
So you’ve changed the rules again. You even start to tell me that
you love me, and now I'll get in trouble if I don't say it right? You
don't rea'ly love me, of course. It's control again. And it works,
again.
You dictate how and when and where I touch you. But my body
belongs to you. When we're riding in your truck, you reach over and
put your hand between my legs. It's not affectionate or even
sexual—just a reminder. *You belong to me." And I don't move your
hand.
As crazy as I am, I have a moment of clarity every now and then.
I think, “Thank God you don't love me." If you did, would I be dead,
or just destitute and desperate? If
you loved me, you would take my
money, my car and I'd get fired
and evicted from everywhere just
like you do.
But you can't love me, because
you don't think I'm good enough
for you. You may come fiom the
biggest most important family in town, but everyone knows about
your problems. Everyone loves and respects me, and you can't stand
it But why are you ashamed of me—because I'm older? Fatter? Not
as beautiful as you are? Fuck you.
You've got an amazing deal I'm your unpaid prostitute. You can
come over in the middle of the night do your dope, have a drink,
have the most amazing sex and conversation, maybe release your
anger and frustration, and then leave, no strings attached. You know
I will never make trouble.
I love the sex, too, you know. You're my religion, so to me,
everything you do is magical. My mind worships you, so why
shouldn't my body? Take everything. I barely even resist
I'm pitiful I know, but it's not like I'm not trying. My therapist
who seems ready to give up on me, compels me to seek help at the
local domestic violence shelter. You'd think this humiliating wake-up
call would stop me from seeing you, but it doesn't of course.
I agree to complete the program, but I adopt an uncharacteristi
cally belligerent attitude. I don't belong here, even though the
"intake" counselors are sure that I do. I defiantly wear my business
clothes, drive my expensive car to the shelter—and park around the
block and dash in, head down.
I tell myself that I'm way ahead of these other women here: I
have a job with health insurance, a college degree, someplace to
live. But in my insanity. I'm the inferior one here. See, their men
are out hunting them, but I know you're not looking for me, because
you don't have to. You just laugh and say, 'Go ahead. I don't care if
you leave me. I don't need you." This is the perfect thing for you to
say. Back to the treadmill.
But first: This fucking program I've agreed to. These women tell
stories much worse than mine. They ran away from their men in the
middle of the night with nothing but their kids and the nightclothes
on their backs. Some have broken bones. Aside from a few minor
incidents, you've never hurt me physically. It's almost all verbal and
emotional with you. My skk mind sees failure in this: If you valued
me, you'd hunt me and rage out of control tike their men apparently
have. I can't even be abused property!
I know I should be grateful These women have no jobs, nor any
prospect for one. If I leave this town, I can get a job anywhere,
doing all kinds of things, maybe even make more money. Forget this
shelter I have friends and family I could stay with.
8ut when I voice this to the counselors, they say: these women
had at least some of those things, too. They wam me that men like
you systematically separate women from their support systems. But
I already know that from experience. It's true this time, too. A close
friend or two stops returning my phone calls. Another says, "Don't
talk to me about this anymore. I give up."
Maybe I've given up on myself, too. Haven't I stopped dreaming
of travel or a better career? I look awfuL Everything suffers. I con
tinue my downward slide.
And you keep pulling me down. Constantly, you say, "You're not
as smart as you think you are; your friends are only pretending to
tike you; your work is meaningless."
I think I used to feel attractive. I sure don't now. In feet, when I
take a class at the college in our town, I feel nearly panicked as I
sit among the young, perfect girts. You would love any of them more
than you love me. Look at them. Look at me. I feel so ugly now.
You tear me down, and because I let you, now I feel not just
ugly but stupid, too. You say it's your job to knock me down off my
high horse, and you're pretty good at it You're the physical embodi
ment of the voice inside my head that constantly tells me I'm not
good enough. I wonder why I need you at alL
One of my friends says I'm addicted to the drama that surrounds
you and us. I don't think so. I'm tired of hospitals, police, drugs,
accidents, lies. I say I want a nice man, but deep down, I'm not so
sure. To me, what you do represents strength and confidence. I like
a strong man, I say.
Maybe I'm afraid of being alone. But I'm alone most of the time
anyway. My relationship with you isolates me, and even though I'm
stuck to you, you're not really here for me, either.
Remember the time we thought I had cancer and you said you'd
drive me to Atlanta for my scan? I fasted for 12 hours and waited
for you. You never came, so I drove myself. Scared, hungry, alone,
and driving myself to the big city hospital with the big scary
machine. I find myself lying to the technicians so they'll let me
leave. You went to get the car so I won't have to walk so far, I say,
and now you're waiting to drive me home.
So I can do alone, I tell myself, and it's true. I can.
But that doesn't stop me from looking for a good man.
You're angry, but vindicated, when you come back to me after
dumping me for the hundredth time and I tell you that I went on a
date with another man—an exec
utive I met You laugh, and I
guess it is pretty funny. I really
set myself up, saying, “See? A
j j nice man with a real job can be
attracted to the real me, the
whole package." I dress up and go
to his house, and he humiliates
me. He tells me everything is wrong—my clothes, rry accent my
job, my perfume, everything. I say "thanks for dinner" and cry all
the way home.
And then there's another man, and I like him so much. He sensos
my distrust and asks me to believe in him and bare my soul to him.
This "soul" bullshit should be a red flag by now, but I really start to
trust him, and he pulls your story out of me. He sleeps next to me,
makes me feel safe, promises to protect me—and he could do it
too. He's an elite military man who teaches other elite military men
to kill the enemy with their bare hands! Just my type. And as soon
as I relax and trust him, he turns out to be pretty much like you.
See? You laugh.
And so I go back to you, every single time.
So what's different now? How was it possible, when you came to
my office last week, for me to run away without talking to you?
Why did I not take your phone calls, and when one came through
by mistake, how did I lie to you, tell you I was in a meeting, hang
up as you demanded that I give you my new secret address and
phone number?
Well in the books and movies, the girt is always rescued by a
nice guy. But let's face facts: the guy on the white horse isn't
showing up for me, and anyway, I know it's wrong to want that. I'm
supposed to rescue myself, I'm told. I know this, but I also notice
that everyone who says this is loved and secure—happily married
with kids and extended families and lots of healthy friendships. Easy
for them to say. They get rescued every day.
So I'm trying to learn to breathe underwater. I'm going against
my every instinct, a hundred times a day, really trying this time to
do what I'm told is the right thing to do—the opposite of what I've
always done to survive. It feels impossible, but for several weeks
now, I've done it They say, 'One day at a time." It's more like one
agonizing minute at a time.
I'm struggling, trying so hard to have feith that my life can be
about more than this. I have no proof, no reason to believe that
this is so, but I guess that's what feith is. Faith and hope.
And, as smart as you are, I'm surprised you don't know the truth:
you're still in the game. If only you will keep trying—pull your old
tricks—persistence (call my office again and again), charm, the ele
ment of surprise (just march into my office when everyone else is at
lunch!)—you can win.
Just say the magic words: "I can't live without you."
I feel exactly the same way about you.
Anonymous
ACTION
C
iONCTCuNGATLANTi
ACnONCYCCKATLANTA
PEDALING FOR A PURPOSE
$46,000 was raised for
HIV/AIDS vaccine research
and support services.
Thanks to the following supporters:
Kiwanis Club of Athens
Zim’s Bakery and
Bagel Cate
Marti's at Midday
Johnny Carino's
Righteous Juice
Lumpkin Cate
Food Works
Daily Groceries Co-Op
Panera Bread
Earth Fare
Jittery Joe's
To leam more, visit
Action Cyding Atlanta at actioncyding.org
or AIDS Athens at AIDSathens.org
EMORY
vaccine
CENTER
EMORY
VAlMMItT
»orth*9$i g*<yr?is
f
Did you know that...
7~\
Classified Ads
foe Roommates
Rooms for Rent
Sub-looses
/week!
Cell 549-0301
te piece yoet ed
todeyl
JUNE 8, 2005 ■ FUGP0LE.COM 11