Please Sir, Can I Have Some More? More. I Want More Dammit.

My initials are SM. During a particulary yucky time in my life when I enjoyed inflicting large amounts of emotional pain upon myself, I used to wonder in a cutesy, witty kind of way if maybe my initials were a sign that I enjoyed a sado-masochistic lifestyle. After all, I seemed to want to immerse myself in misery and sorrow and constantly remind myself of things that I no longer had, or want the things that were either beyond my reach or shouldn't be reached for anyway.

Like boys. Like romance. Like emotional and mental stability, for crying out loud. Like love.

I think that the sad part is not that I (used to) do this to myself, but that I'm not alone in this behaviour. So many of the ladies nearest and dearest to my heart (and myself) are caught in these stupid struggles with stupid boys, and so much of the time is spent lamenting over how awful they are, how inconsiderate they are, how spineless and selfish they are. But sometimes I wonder if these struggles are really struggles that we have not with them, but with ourselves.

This isn't all about Jerky McStupidface (formerly known as Cutesy McGreeneyes) - nothing is going to be about him anymore because it slowly dawned on me that's he not worth another inch of my time. He is (sadly) being filed under the It Was A Stupid Crush That I Could Have SOOO Avoided category. Oh, heart, when will you ever learn? We're still 'friends', but this evening I unleashed my wrath and fury upon him in a fit of fucking honesty like he's never seen before. What did I tell you about messing with me, huh? Looks like I have a spine after all.

So the situation isn't so hot, and I'd like to say that I'm better than said situation, that it's all garbage and that I'm at least five feet above it all, but every now and then I don't feel so sure. If I believe that everything is a choice, that we are ultimately responsible for our actions and feelings, then doesn't that make at least half of this my fault? Why did I let this happen? If I sincerely felt that I'm better than this, if we all believe that we're better than the shit we're dealt, then why does it keep happening to us? Why are we letting it?

The scary part is, what if I believe that this is all that I'm worth? That, for some reason beyond the reaches of my current imagination, that I deserve, that I want, this? What if we all think that?

I once wrote to someone that they deserve no less than the very best of what the world and it's finest people have to offer. I honestly, honestly to the core of my bones, believed that he deserved at least all of that. Why don't I wish that for myself? And even if I do, even if I just say it, why don't I go out looking for that? Why don't any of us? It's not easy, I know that much. But it's necessary.

I know that I don't want this. I don't want my dignity and esteem mashed into the ground by a string of guys who don't know any better. I don't want anyone in my life who makes me feel like I'm not worth it. Not worth the trip, not worth the walk, not worth the phone call, not worth the apple and hot chocolate in my mailbox on a Monday morning because I know that I am. I am. This is only one-third bitter-tirade - the other third is out and about wondering, Where the fuck did my dignity go? and the last is rubbing the sore spot where Reality smacked into it too hard.

Reality: There's nothing remotely cute or witty about being sado-masochistic and about putting yourself into shitty situations and thinking, thinking, that you can't get out of them because you can. I can. If only we try and if only we want it fiercely enough. Want it more. Want it enough. Want it to be better. Want it for you. Because I want it for me.

Sometimes you just have to sit up and recognize that being good enough to fool around with, but not good enough to date, is just not good enough. Period.
11:37 pm