a real break

breaks are funny. sometimes you need them, sometimes they hurt, sometimes they get through everything else to what's really beneath everything and sometimes you can't catch one.
sorry, it had to be done.
so 1 week into studying for classes that i've hardly gone to i find myself sitting in the library (haven't been here this much since my first undergrad degree) past 9pm, typing away in a computer commons room amongst facebookers, youtubers, webCTers and essayists. this past week has been harder than usual as i came to a stark realization that shattered my thursday: i've never had a normal emotional romantic relationship. it's a hard pill to swallow and nothing (not even arahova) made it go down smoothly.
some might think that i'm embellishing and that the above can't be true. i've confirmed my observation with my sister. if it isn't true, we've both been duped (i'm sure all ex-girlfriends would tell you it wasn't normal with me. . . except for one but that may be because of her own dysfunction. . .).

so upon the heels of this revelation i sat in the library and read textbooks about asinine psychology. i worked over the weekend, saw friends, enjoyed food and spent some time with family. at least my attention was diverted.

i did something a little out of the ordinary for how my life has been going recently: i wrote a short story. i haven't done that in about 6 months and the last one i wrote almost abhors me; it climaxes in the protagonist hanging himself from a reinforced ceiling fan while the sister of his exgirlfriend comes into his room for sex. . . of course the protagonist knows this and is thus erect at time of hanging. . . enter necrophilia as the postscript.
i have no idea where that story came from but the one i wrote this weekend was in many ways cathartic. It centered around feelings of belonging and my mother. i wrote it at work and sometimes had to suppress tears. overall, it was a good thing to do.

but i think between the deflating realization of my own dysfunction and the exploration of deeply-seeded feelings something came together for me. hey, sometimes you'll see the silver lining despite a downpour so heavy you can't really look up at the sky (you see it, however, in the reflection of puddles).

in a moment of clarity over the mundane event of eating hunan dumplings out of an aluminum container, i figured out why my past history is so fucked up. it's really obvious and i'm a little disappointed i didn't see it earlier.
it explains my issues with emotional attachment (hesitancy towards commitment, pursuit of emotionally-distant people, self-protective tendencies, etc.). it explains the reason i pursue meaningful relationships in the way that i do (sex comes after mutual care except for in times of distress).

Here goes:
i fear abandonment

simple hun? it makes so much sense.
i'm hesitant to commit to willing partners because if i do i open myself up to experiencing loss (rejection isn't really a problem for me; i don't have those self-esteem issues). i pursue those unavailable because it mimics my main model for a loving female relationship (that with my dead mother; i can love but cannot feel it reciprocated). i try to establish a deep personal bond before sex because i feel it'll prevent abandonment. . . trysts are fun but since the dynamic is casual i'll likely start having feelings (only if they're unreciprocated) which is bad. If the tryst causes her to have feelings i'll be hesitant to commit since it's 'casual', avoiding the potential for loss. That leaves me to forge something real on personal levels until such point as i feel comfortable enough with the other person to develop attachment (this minimizes the fear of loss by feeling that the other person accepts me and also opens myself up emotionally since by this point i'll actually like the other person) and then get freaky since i (a) feel accepted, (b) care for the other person and (c) wanna jump her bones more than grave-digging pirates.

yay! i've got a fairly straightforward blueprint. it's comforting to know why you do what it is you do. . .