Played like an out of tune harp
I've known, for a very long time, that I'm particularly vulnerable to manipulation. I'm sure part of it comes from growing up deeply immersed in an extraordinarily manipulative religion. And part of it comes from my own manipulativeness. We are always weakest right behind our biggest strengths. I manipulate the shit out of people, mostly in an effort to make them happier and healthier (I comfort myself with...), but it means that I'm prone to be drawn to other manipulative folks. Who do not have my best interest at heart, but rather their own. (That begs the question if I actually have the best interests of others at heart when I manipulate them, or if I'm just creating a world that is in my own best interest, of course)
So, knowing that I'm vulnerable, knowing that I'm drawn to these people, doesn't make much of a difference in avoiding them. Or at least, it hasn't so far. Every person I've ever loved, every person I've ever let myself get truly close to, has been an emotionally manipulative human being. That sounds like hyperbole. But I can chart them back to the beginning. Both my mother and my father, in their own different ways, were remarkably manipulative. My mother through guilt and fear, my father through anger and deliberate weakness. My sister Leah, who I lived with for years and who I imagined I'd grow into a crotchety old lady living by the sea with, used my strength shamelessly. The whole time we lived together, I payed most of the bills. Because I was willing to work in shitty jobs, and she was an artist. She didn't make me do that, it just sort of worked that way. We fell into those roles, and never left them. All the boys I "loved" growing up were manipulative little shits, who worked hard to make me feel bad about myself for being a girl and thinking I was strong. (Except one, David, who was fascinated by my strength. Man, I wish I hadn't been a Witness when I met him. We'd have had some amazing sex.)
And when I moved to Portland, thinking to get away from my past, who did I draw to me? Bianca, the absolute queen of manipulation, as she'd admit herself. She was very, very good at it. And when she was happy with you, she used it to remarkably good effect. She did so much that was positive for me, and she did it very deliberately. But I watched her with other people, watched her with men, and knew that my time was coming. Then there was Joel, the jovial, hyper-depressive alcoholic I "dated" for a short period of time, but who I felt so strongly about, was so intensely drawn to. And Jake. Jake, who wants me to be strong for him but spent years subtly turning me into his mother so he could despise me.
And now there is Trevor. Trevor is the amalgamation of all of these people. He's strong, and uses his strength as a weapon. He's incredibly weak, and uses that weakness as an even sharper weapon. He's incredibly good at hooking people in. You're special, you're not like anyone else because he hates everyone else. He's physically strong, and he'll make you safe, whether you want to be safe or not. He'll lift you up with lavish compliments, and praise that hits on your every desire. And his insults are subtle, built up over time so that they aren't insults anymore, just facts being stated. His anger is like a storm, unpredictable and powerful, so strong that you find yourself being willing to do anything to avoid it. Even becoming someone you're not, just to keep him happy. Because his happiness is just as strong. And his need of you becomes hidden under your need of him. Your need of his approval, your need of his happiness. His need of you, of your strength, your money, your comfort, and your joy in life, is hidden and unacknowledged. You KNOW it's there, but he'll never acknowledge it. Because that makes him weak. And you're so caught up in trying to boost his self esteem that you believe exposing his weakness would be wrong, would be bad. It becomes enough for you to know. It doesn't have to be out in the open. You help him pretend, because that's what he needs from you. Classic, classic behavior.
The oldest story in the book. And it doesn't make me the strong one, the one being used. It doesn't make me a martyr, giving so others can be happy, even if it's too much. It just makes me a cog in the mechanism of his fucked up life. Of all their lives. Being used, being manipulated... while it doesn't make you inherently weak, it does make you inherently smaller. It makes you a bit player in somebody elses drama. Because while you're so busy "helping" them, while you're so busy trying to create a better life for them, your own life shrinks away to nothing.
I find myself scrambling around right now, trying to refill the space left by giving too much to someone else. I'm desperately searching for a way OUT. I want to run away. Because that's what I do, right? I run away. I ran away from my family, or so it felt like. Even though it was a well planned out move, it felt like running away. Because I wasn't honest before I left, I left under false pretenses. "Oh, I'm just going to experience life on my own for a little while. I'll be back in a couple of months, a year at the latest. I won't have changed." And I never went back, and Oh, did I change. That's running away.
But there is a part of me that is completely unwilling to run away. A part of me split into two halves, one healthy, one oh so not healthy. The healthy half doesn't want to run away because it recognizes a pattern of weakness, a desire to avoid conflict by just leaving it behind, and it doesn't want to encourage it. That part of me wants to confront Trevor, tell him he's an adult and is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Wants to get him out of this part of my life before I move on to something better. Wants me to have true freedom before deciding where I want to go.
And the other half? That half believes it's wrong to run away, no matter what. That's the half that points out that I have SIX CATS. 6 of them. And that you don't run away from things that need you. You just don't. You stay, and you take care of them, and you sacrifice your happiness because you took on this god damn responsibility, and you will by god stay and see it through to completion. Why is that part unhealthy? Because it's informed by childhood trauma. It's unbalanced, and it creates responsibility in order to enforce stability.
It's the part of me that was left behind to take care of 20 years of detrius in a 250 year old farmhouse because my father couldn't take it anymore and had to run away. He put it off and put it off for years, and when he snapped and enforced his own happiness, it was at the expense of others. I don't blame him for enforcing his happiness, I just blame him for the way he went about it. And there's a part of me that recognizes myself in his actions, and insists on never going down that path. And it does so in the most unbalanced way possible. I create untenable situations for myself, and then I challenge myself to not walk away. 6 cats, and a desperate desire for freedom? Which will win??? And if you chose freedom, you lose your moral high ground. A man/child who makes you miserable? Run away to Arizona! Or better yet, Costa Rica! And wallow in the knowledge that you never found the strength to tell him the truth. Or stay, and tolerate it, try and make it better. And revel in the tiny, desolate patch of moral high ground you carve out by doing so.
I see my part in creating these scenarios. I recognize why I do it, and I want to burn them with fire. But it doesn't work that way. There's a strong little part of my brain that preserves these other parts of me, because they are me. Self preservation at it's most fucked up best. I know that I need outside help to weedwhack these brambles into submission. I KNOW that. But therapy seems like such a sad waste of time. I know it's prideful, but what does a degree confer when it comes to understanding me that I don't already have? I've never met a therapist who didn't tell me what I already knew.
Of course, I've also never given a therapist a chance to help me, so there IS that.
So, knowing that I'm vulnerable, knowing that I'm drawn to these people, doesn't make much of a difference in avoiding them. Or at least, it hasn't so far. Every person I've ever loved, every person I've ever let myself get truly close to, has been an emotionally manipulative human being. That sounds like hyperbole. But I can chart them back to the beginning. Both my mother and my father, in their own different ways, were remarkably manipulative. My mother through guilt and fear, my father through anger and deliberate weakness. My sister Leah, who I lived with for years and who I imagined I'd grow into a crotchety old lady living by the sea with, used my strength shamelessly. The whole time we lived together, I payed most of the bills. Because I was willing to work in shitty jobs, and she was an artist. She didn't make me do that, it just sort of worked that way. We fell into those roles, and never left them. All the boys I "loved" growing up were manipulative little shits, who worked hard to make me feel bad about myself for being a girl and thinking I was strong. (Except one, David, who was fascinated by my strength. Man, I wish I hadn't been a Witness when I met him. We'd have had some amazing sex.)
And when I moved to Portland, thinking to get away from my past, who did I draw to me? Bianca, the absolute queen of manipulation, as she'd admit herself. She was very, very good at it. And when she was happy with you, she used it to remarkably good effect. She did so much that was positive for me, and she did it very deliberately. But I watched her with other people, watched her with men, and knew that my time was coming. Then there was Joel, the jovial, hyper-depressive alcoholic I "dated" for a short period of time, but who I felt so strongly about, was so intensely drawn to. And Jake. Jake, who wants me to be strong for him but spent years subtly turning me into his mother so he could despise me.
And now there is Trevor. Trevor is the amalgamation of all of these people. He's strong, and uses his strength as a weapon. He's incredibly weak, and uses that weakness as an even sharper weapon. He's incredibly good at hooking people in. You're special, you're not like anyone else because he hates everyone else. He's physically strong, and he'll make you safe, whether you want to be safe or not. He'll lift you up with lavish compliments, and praise that hits on your every desire. And his insults are subtle, built up over time so that they aren't insults anymore, just facts being stated. His anger is like a storm, unpredictable and powerful, so strong that you find yourself being willing to do anything to avoid it. Even becoming someone you're not, just to keep him happy. Because his happiness is just as strong. And his need of you becomes hidden under your need of him. Your need of his approval, your need of his happiness. His need of you, of your strength, your money, your comfort, and your joy in life, is hidden and unacknowledged. You KNOW it's there, but he'll never acknowledge it. Because that makes him weak. And you're so caught up in trying to boost his self esteem that you believe exposing his weakness would be wrong, would be bad. It becomes enough for you to know. It doesn't have to be out in the open. You help him pretend, because that's what he needs from you. Classic, classic behavior.
The oldest story in the book. And it doesn't make me the strong one, the one being used. It doesn't make me a martyr, giving so others can be happy, even if it's too much. It just makes me a cog in the mechanism of his fucked up life. Of all their lives. Being used, being manipulated... while it doesn't make you inherently weak, it does make you inherently smaller. It makes you a bit player in somebody elses drama. Because while you're so busy "helping" them, while you're so busy trying to create a better life for them, your own life shrinks away to nothing.
I find myself scrambling around right now, trying to refill the space left by giving too much to someone else. I'm desperately searching for a way OUT. I want to run away. Because that's what I do, right? I run away. I ran away from my family, or so it felt like. Even though it was a well planned out move, it felt like running away. Because I wasn't honest before I left, I left under false pretenses. "Oh, I'm just going to experience life on my own for a little while. I'll be back in a couple of months, a year at the latest. I won't have changed." And I never went back, and Oh, did I change. That's running away.
But there is a part of me that is completely unwilling to run away. A part of me split into two halves, one healthy, one oh so not healthy. The healthy half doesn't want to run away because it recognizes a pattern of weakness, a desire to avoid conflict by just leaving it behind, and it doesn't want to encourage it. That part of me wants to confront Trevor, tell him he's an adult and is perfectly capable of taking care of himself. Wants to get him out of this part of my life before I move on to something better. Wants me to have true freedom before deciding where I want to go.
And the other half? That half believes it's wrong to run away, no matter what. That's the half that points out that I have SIX CATS. 6 of them. And that you don't run away from things that need you. You just don't. You stay, and you take care of them, and you sacrifice your happiness because you took on this god damn responsibility, and you will by god stay and see it through to completion. Why is that part unhealthy? Because it's informed by childhood trauma. It's unbalanced, and it creates responsibility in order to enforce stability.
It's the part of me that was left behind to take care of 20 years of detrius in a 250 year old farmhouse because my father couldn't take it anymore and had to run away. He put it off and put it off for years, and when he snapped and enforced his own happiness, it was at the expense of others. I don't blame him for enforcing his happiness, I just blame him for the way he went about it. And there's a part of me that recognizes myself in his actions, and insists on never going down that path. And it does so in the most unbalanced way possible. I create untenable situations for myself, and then I challenge myself to not walk away. 6 cats, and a desperate desire for freedom? Which will win??? And if you chose freedom, you lose your moral high ground. A man/child who makes you miserable? Run away to Arizona! Or better yet, Costa Rica! And wallow in the knowledge that you never found the strength to tell him the truth. Or stay, and tolerate it, try and make it better. And revel in the tiny, desolate patch of moral high ground you carve out by doing so.
I see my part in creating these scenarios. I recognize why I do it, and I want to burn them with fire. But it doesn't work that way. There's a strong little part of my brain that preserves these other parts of me, because they are me. Self preservation at it's most fucked up best. I know that I need outside help to weedwhack these brambles into submission. I KNOW that. But therapy seems like such a sad waste of time. I know it's prideful, but what does a degree confer when it comes to understanding me that I don't already have? I've never met a therapist who didn't tell me what I already knew.
Of course, I've also never given a therapist a chance to help me, so there IS that.
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