Song Challenge Day 4: A Song That Reminds You of Someone You'd Rather Forget

Time for Day 4 of the Song Challenge, "A song that reminds you of someone you'd rather forget."

I'm going with this one:

If you've been following this blog for a while, or know me in person, you know who this song is about- I wrote about our breakup before.

Gomez sings about a man who started out wonderful, but whose narcissism took over her world, whose behavior trained her to put his needs before hers at all times. A man who had a somewhat carnal need to cause her pain, who would sabotage things she cared about simply because she cared about them. A man that kept holding her back and tearing her down.

And she sings about herself, a woman who tried. A woman whose idealism kept her hanging on, only causing her more pain. But who eventually lets go and realizes she's none of the things he made her think. That she's worth more.

Funny enough, the only part that's off is the, "In two months you replaced us," bit- in actuality, I found someone new in about two months, and he's the best thing that has ever happened to me. 

I left that ex out of self-preservation. But getting away from his toxicity has helped me gain a new perspective about myself, and started me on a journey with more self-love than I've ever felt for myself before. I still struggle with my self-image, but knowing I did my best but still made the best choice I could, helps me lean in a positive direction. 

Still, I don't really like thinking of him, if for no other reason than I've moved on and am in an astronomically better relationship, and dwelling on my abuser can lead to some pretty low lows. Thinking of him frequently takes me to dark places, so I try not to.  

Abusing is a Choice, and Johnny Made it, Too

Mild Spoilers for Big Little Lies- because let's face it, I think errbody knows the deal with Nicole Kidman's character by now, but just in case you have NO IDEA and just CAN'T be spoiled in the least, you may wanna skip this one, kiddo

In Big Little Lies, season 1, we are witness to the abusive and toxic  relationship between Celeste (played beautifully, heartbreakingly by Nicole Kidman) and her husband Perry (played hauntingly by Alexander Skarsgard (sorry, I legit can't figure out how to do the little doodad over the second "a" in his name :( )). While we can see Celeste getting something out of it, the show tries to make it pretty clear that Perry is the abuser and Celeste is the abused.

Then season 2 happens.

And while I can't find any super useful clips online (good job, HBO, you bastards), it complicates this dichotomy more. Because during the course of the second season, Celeste admits to having also hit Perry, and that the abuse made sex with him more exciting and satisfying. In the end, she still proves that this does not make her an unfit mother, and that she did what she had to do to adapt to her situation and survive. Ultimately, she admits some culpability while still maintaining that she lived in a constant state of fear and anxiety for her own safety and the safety of her twin sons.

In other words, the show moves from painting her as 100% a victim to having somewhat of a hand in her situation, while still maintaining she was, overall, a victim. I can't remember all the ways how, but I know between the two seasons, as well as the combination of Celeste's descriptions to others plus the times we're actually shown the violence, it's made clear that Perry used his greater physical strength and size against her by pinning her, lifting her in a way that made her prone and defenseless (by her hair at least once, for example), and/or trapping her in places from which she had no escape (although it backfired in the shower that one time, but it's likely that was a fluke and who knows? a predator like that, he'd probably hit her in the shower before; it's at least not hard to believe, especially given how utterly terrified she is that time he gives her a necklace in there). So even though there are a few times where she stands up for herself and essentially "starts" the fight (which is, of course, messed up- it's not like she deserves to be punched for trying to set a boundary), in the end, he would use tactics that rendered her helpless and overpower her before she even had much chance to physically harm him. Still, even though she accepts and works through the fact that she wasn't 100% innocent, that doesn't mean she deserved what happened, nor that her treatment of Perry is equivalent to how he treated her.

I bring this up because this news about Amber Heard and Johnny Depp reminds me of it. And what's so fucking frustrating about it is from the moment Heard published her op-ed in the New York Times, the idea that she's making it all up has been pretty damn loud. So now that there is audio where she admits some culpability, there's suddenly this huge "Justice for Johnny" campaign that entirely exonerates him from his part in the abuse.

Not even that. It paints him as 100% the victim, as Season 1 Celeste. Like he was entirely innocent and did absolutely nothing to harm Heard.

And I'm over here thinking, "Fuck, did these people all read the same stuff I did before?"

Me, to the whole Internet lately

Because this "free Johnny" stuff ignores that she has photographic evidence of abuse, has corroboration from friends who took her call when she was upset over him getting physical, who came over and saw the aftermath, or called 911 for her because they could hear it happening. 

Also.

Listen to the audio. His language is frequently one of mutual culpability. Lots of "we," lots of "you and I"-ing. And "...physical abuse on each other." And having been afraid of a partner, I know that yes, sometimes a victim will claim some fault in order to placate them during reconciliation- I've been there. But if this is all we have, then conjecture and assuming that's all he's doing is... reckless, at best. 

And yes, it's important to acknowledge that he does talk about leaving... once. One night, out of the eighteen months they were married, plus their time together before nuptials. 

Unfortunately, this isn't a television drama. This is real life. Unlike Celeste and Perry's story, we can't see everything- every fight, every instance of abuse. So we have no way of knowing exactly what happened every time they got physical with each other.

But.

Heard admitting she would "lose it" does not mean Depp never did, too. Heard admitting she hit him doesn't mean Depp never hit her. 

And folks, I've been around abuse. Even if he didn't start it every single time, he always, always had a choice. The fact that he made the right one once doesn't mean he did it every time. 

I've said (or maybe implied, I guess) before, I got out of my abusive relationship probably within a few days of being phyically abused. I was lucky. But when we were still together, I could get pretty nasty when we were fighting.

My ex-boyfriend has a son that, at the time we started dating, he hadn't seen in well over a year. When I left him, he still hadn't- so by then, it had been closer to four years. And as awful as I feel about it, as un-proud I am about it, I used that against him. I would say things like, "Maybe if you got your fucking shit together, I'd finally get to meet the kid you claim you want me to be a mom to!" and, "You think you deserve to see your kid when you act like that?" or even, "He's better off without you."

You, to me

I know. I hate me a little for it, and I always will. I apologized to him as I was leaving, but I'll probably never forgive myself. I lashed out, said things I knew would wound him severely as a result of and in retaliation for the wounds he had given me. In other words, I made the choice to hurt him back.

As I've said before,* being good is a choice. Doing the right thing is just that: An action verb, a gerund**. It's not passive. No one is good, we do as much good as we can. Just being oneself is a process, and all we can do is make it a process focused on doing the "right" thing every time we're given a choice not to.

I bring this up to point out that while I'm more of a Season 2 Celeste, someone that was hurt and maybe did some stupid stuff as a result/way to cope, Heard isn't automatically a Perry- essentially evil, nigh irredeemably so- just because she admits she was also abusive. Mutual abuse is, by its very nature, never one-sided. And it's horrendously, uncomfortably, disturbingly complex. It's not black-and-white, it's all kinds of gray, and not that 50-shades ball-hooey.

Unlike the Entire Internet, I don't find it hard to believe that Heard could have hit Depp but that he also hit her, too. Her admitting culpability does not absolve him from his. Worst case scenario: They're both absolute trash and neither deserves a career anymore because fuck that. But that's just it: BOTH OF THEM. Because if Heard deserves to be "canceled" or whatever for hitting Depp, then the same goes for him. 

And of course, I have no doubt Depp was hurting, too, and not just physically. It's obvious in the recordings (and stands to reason) that he loved her and wanted to make things work. Because another thing about abusive relationships that people tend to gloss over is that someone can, in the best way they're capable of, love the partner they abuse. Yes, it's twisted, it's selfish, it's toxic, but it's still their version of love. And so I do have some sympathy for both, because by golly, I can't imagine how fucked up it would be to have that much extremity involved with the person I love- the guilt, the shame, the anger, but also the joy, the bliss, the passion. But is it so hard to believe that they both chose to hurt one another? At least subconsciously, if not overtly?

Apparently it is!!!!***

Honestly, though, what this whole "free Johnny" crap demonstrates is the deep misogyny embedded in the public reaction to all of this, and the double standards women face when they try to come forward about abuse of any kind. Because like I said, since Heard first came forward, the court of public opinion has basically put her on trial the way victims are treated in real court rooms. Take Taylor Swift's case for example: The opposing attorney was basically just trying to gaslight her the whole time she was on the stand (and how glorious it was that she was not having it) (you may dislike her music, but that's fucking badass, come on). All sorts of shit about how Heard could have left sooner, it wasn't like she didn't have her own money, if he was already abusing her why did she marry him, etc. It's just disgusting.

So now? Now, there's an excuse to just brush her off entirely.

JK Rowling must be wiping her TERFy forehead with relief right now, I tell ya. 

As a slight aside, too- I know from experience that toxicity is never there from the beginning. It seeps in, slowly, gradually, until suddenly you realize you're covered in it and basically this guy:

So this idea that she "should" have got out sooner if he was so bad is hogwash. Saying stuff like "leave the first time he disrespects you" and "the moment he tells you what to wear, get out" is a form of victim-blaming, and it's easy to say from the outside. Nevermind the fact that so much of what makes domestic abuse so difficult to get away from is the unhealthy dependency that gets conditioned into both parties- no, just get out as soon as he's a little mean!

But that's just it: It always starts small, in little ways that are easy to explain and forgive. And when you're in the thick of the relationship, you're seeing the forest and missing the trees. And eventually you're so busy staring at the canopy, you fail to realize that 90% of the trees are actually rotten. And even though maybe you see dying trees in your periphery, you focus like a lazer on the one or two that are still green and beautiful, because it's the only way you can keep going, the only way to justify to yourself the fact that you fell for it. 

And honestly? This could genuinely apply to both Heard and Depp. They're only human. Neither of them was throwing stuff or pulling hair the first week. It started with a nasty remark, maybe a slap or pulled puch that was legitimately meant to be a joke. And as time went on, they both started doing things that were worse, darker, progressively less and less okay, less and less funny. Until POOF! their behavior got so extreme there were bruises and blood. As Depp put it, it was "a crime scene." It evolved into that, though, crept up on both of them.

But to assume it's all made up when Heard is the victim, and then that everything she says is suddenly true as long as it pertains to hurting Depp is downright gross. There's a recording of Heard admitting she hit him, there's also at least one third party that says they witnessed Depp hitting her. 

I want to reiterate that last point- a THIRD PARTY witness has given statements about the abuse inflicted on Heard. Ignoring this while taking that recording at face value is willful hypocrisy. 

I don't give a damn about either of them individually, no more than I would anyone else I don't know- I don't wish them harm, no, but I don't stay up at night worrying if either is ok. But this wave of "free Johnny" stuff, that I care about, and that has literally kept me up at night- because it's another example of a woman's case being nitpicked and torn apart in order to exonerate the man that did her harm. And even if she hit him, he hit her, too (and, according to that friend of Heard's, even ripped some of her gorram hair out). Sure, she should be held accountable- I'm not saying she shouldn't. But so should he. And if you think for one moment that he's innocent now, then just get your head out of your ass, or admit you're a sheep that's too easily duped by misogynistic narratives that are formulated specifically to preserve male hegemony. Please, people just....

*Oh me from a few years ago, admiring Hillary so blindly........... We all make mistakes. Le sigh.

**I fucking love gerunds. About as much as my Oxford commas. 

***Pardon my terrible MS Paint job. A more skilled person would turn it into a gif somehow. I am not that person. 

Abuse is No Excuse: An Overexhausted Trope in 'Stranger Things' and Onscreen in General

I know I'm suuuuuper late to the party, but I finished Stranger Things 3 a few weeks ago, and, well, I noticed a gap in the "hot takes" and stuff floating around the intertubes, one I would think is pretty obvious, but I guess not?

Ok, so let me get this out of the way: I agree with everyone else on the internet criticizing the behavior of Jim Hopper pretty much the entire season. He's abusive towards everyone with which we see him interact- male, female, adult, child, whatever. And this is especially egregious on the part of the writers because it's almost always played for laughs. I'm not saying this analysis isn't true, nor that it isn't important- trivializing that kind of behavior contributes to the discourses that perpetuate it, and having lived with someone who treated me that way in particular, it was pretty hard to watch (calmly*) at times.**

But.

I think a different male character's behavior deserves some critique. And that's Billy.

You see, Billy is a complete monster that does absolutely nothing in the show, in either season in which he's present, to earn any sort of empathy or concern. Rather, the writers simply slipped in a Freudian excuse for his being so awful, but because they never included a moment where he earns redemption (up until the very end- I'll get to that), it just comes across as a cheap appeal to pity and has, at best, no effect. And if you're anything like me, that sad attempt at garnering sympathy only made you hate him more- so, you know, it had the opposite effect from what they were going for. 

 Part 1: Billy Doesn't Earn It

Watch this supercut of all of Billy and Max's scenes from season 2; keep in mind, these are all of his establishing moments, if we think about season 2 as the setup for 3.

Since this is just the scenes between him and Max, this doesn't show the one where the dad is a dick towards him. But... Does it matter? Things he does here, in no particular order:

1) Is just generally a dick to Max at all times.
2) Is demonstrably racist.
3) Nearly kills a bunch of kids on their bikes.
4) Uses physical intimidation and implied threats of violence in attempts to control Max. 
5) Assaults Lucas.
6) We also see the very last bits of his fight with Steve, one that happened as a result of 5. 

All of this, and especially just how these scenes are filmed, with ominous music and lingering camera angles, sets him up as a secondary villain, of sorts.

And then, by season 2, even though Max does get him to leave her alone in:re Lucas, she seems genuinely afraid of Billy, more so than in the first season, where she stands up to him on more than one occasion. I don't know if this is just shitty writing or direction, or if it's more like a deeper look at her underlying emotions about him- after all, much of season two could be viewed as a "brave face," so to speak.

Aside from that, he also deliberately tries to incite a married woman into having an affair with him. And it's not because he cares about her- he doesn't give a shit about her as a person. It's framed entirely as an example, so to speak, of his reprehensible behavior. We're meant to be kind of disgusted by the whole thing- by the grown-ass ladies who while purportedly watching their kids spend the whole time at the pool trying to flash dem tiddies at a teenager; by his absolutely shameless innuendo; by his super-accomplished, machismo-infused swagger once he thinks he's nailed it (or at least is about to, 'natch).*** Again, you can tell by how it's shot and the sound/music production around it all. When he's driving to meet her, it's filmed more like a villain on their way to kill the hero as opposed to a protagonist about to get a little ass. 

All of this demonstrates, then, that every action, every single thing he does, is morally and/or ethically bad, and that he's, thus, a Bad Person. So much so that when he gets attacked at the end of the first episode of season 3, I actually cheered and fist-pumped. 

This made me so damned happy

And while sure, not everybody was as glad as I was to see Billy get what was coming to him, I find it hard to believe anybody was as sad for him as they'd have been if it was, say, Nancy. 

And here's the thing. They could have included more scenes with the dad being abusive toward him. They wouldn't have mattered. 

Because up until the moment he gets snatched by the Mind Flayer, he does absolutely nothing to actually earn any positive feelings. And I really do want to emphasize that the cinematography, sound design, and score all feed into the idea that he's a Bad Dude we aren't supposed to have positive feelings for to begin with, all through season two and during episode one of season three. 

Then, in the sixth episode of season 3, El taps into his memories. 

Part 2: A Shitty Appeal to Pity

El actually sees a few things from Billy's memories: It starts with a memory of him on the beach, surfing, while his mom watches and cheers him on- so happy! Then, she sees his dad abusing him (notably, calling him a "pussy") (uuuuuugh),  then his dad beating his mom (accusing her of cheating and calling her a "whore") (uuuuuugh), and then young Billy calling another kid a "pussy" as he beats this other kid up. She also sees him pleading over the phone with his mom to come back and the later introductions he had with Max. 

So as if him parroting what his dad yelled wasn't enough to say, "SEE?!!? HE'S DOING WHAT HE WAS TAUGHT!!!" we're supposed to feel sorry for him because his mom left, and the fact that he'd had a happy moment with her is supposed to humanize him in a positive way.

This latter part is especially crucial because it's the basis for his "redemption."

Because when El describes the memory to him, while he's actively trying to kill her (granted, while under Mind Flayer control), that somehow makes him decide to do the right thing for a change, and he protects her at the very last second and dies.

You know what that reminded me of, though? At least the "lemme bring up your mom to give you a change of heart" part?

MARTHAAAAA!

And so I just... didn't care. It was at the very end, and it was too little, too late for me. Maybe that makes me heartless, but I have personal reasons for feeling that way, which I'll get to. But I didn't care. If anything, I was kind of annoyed. Like, really? Y'all went there?

I will say, I liked the choice to focus on Max's reaction to his death more than anyone else's. Her face got the majority of screen time during that scene, at least among the living/not dying, and that worked for me. Sadie Sink did a damn good job with that, and she deserves WAY more props than she gets, people. Seriously.  

Part 3: Analytically Speaking, It's Bad

So okay, from a storytelling, screenwriting perspective, it's bad. I know there are pro-Billy people out there, but my feeling is the writers picked a lazy, overdone method to explain his behavior and try to garner some sympathy. TVTropes by no means has an exhaustive list of all of the times where the Freudian excuse has been used, but if you try to read through all of them... Look at how damned long it's taking you! It's overdone! It's old hat!

And just like they talk about with their appeal to pity entry, the Martha mom stuff falls flat. Or, at least it did for me. Because it's an exaggerated example of even bad men love their Mamas. Look, he was happy with her! And look, he was sad when she left!!

But they're memories- they aren't reflections of his actions in the present narrative. I guess we're to assume the dad beat all of that joy out of him, but again, Freudian excuse, dude. I don't care. It's so overdone. So many movies, particularly horror movies, have super asshole-ee bullies, always male, that are just absolutely horrible. The main character(s) are scared of them, not just annoyed by them, and these kids to absolutely awful things. Then at some point, there's a scene that follows said bully home/ takes place at their home, and we see the dad slapping them around/ beating them up/ questioning their masculinity. Now, it's a crapshoot, but I feel like usually the bully ends up getting offed by the killer/monster/whatever after this "reveal," and it's supposed to not only explain the bully's cruelty, but also garner sympathy/make us feel sad for him when he dies. 

A pretty current example I think a lot of people should be familiar with is Henry Bowers from It (2017). And it's also a really good comparison, because I suspect Billy is modeled very deliberately on Henry. This video goes through the entire history of Henry, based on the book (and using clips from both the 1990 miniseries and 2017 movie, as well as direct excerpts from the book); and while the whole video isn't necessary to understand the parallels, the first four minutes or so give you an idea: Henry's dad is abusive, so much so that his biological mother left when he was little but without taking her son, and it's clear that he projects his anger/pain onto the people he bullies, but also that he's pretty unhinged, even before whatever evil influences start affecting him; and I think most importantly, it's blurry as to how much of what he does after the evil entity starts influencing him is a result of that or his own desires, or if the evil entity is simply exacerbating those desires and pushing him to act on them more. Much like how Max has to divert Billy's car from hitting the boys in Stranger Things, Victor in this scene thinks Henry is taking it too far when Henry wants to carve his name into Ben's stomach in this scene:

Henry dies as a kid in the 2017 film, but as an adult in the book and miniseries, and it's that 2017 interpretation I think is closer to the more common trope. Admittedly, I've never read the book, but from the sound of it (from what I've seen in research, like that video explaining the character's history), Stephen King's original vision for the character, that we see him as broken and washed out, is a richer, fuller examination of The Bully than we seem to frequently get.  

My guess, with respect to Stranger Things, is that the Duffer Brothers wanted to "subvert" the idea of a bully via the memories El taps into, as well as his last-second sacrifice. But they had done such a good job of making us fear and loathe him that by the time that moment came, it didn't matter to me. Like I said in comparing Henry to Billy, it was unclear to me how much of Billy's actions after S2E1 were purely a result of the Mind Flayer's psychic direction. He tells Heather not to be afraid just before the Mind Flayer does its thing, "it'll all be over soon, just stay very still," but why would the Mind Flayer care whether its victims were afraid? And the last shot of episode 3, for example, is Billy smirking as Heather knocks her dad out with chloroform- does the Mind Flayer experience pleasure at its ends being achieved? I just find those sorts of things hard to grasp. Billy says he "tried," but how much of what the Mind Flayer was getting him to do did he not want to? Given his sadistic nature before, it's hard to tell, and that almost makes the choice of having Billy be the Mind Flayer's conduit worse- because the line between Mind Flayer's direction and Billy's inherent desires is too blurry. 

I'm not saying it would have been impossible to do, either- but again, given how awful he'd been before, it's hard to tell what's Billy and what's Mind Flayer. So then his "humanizing" and "redemption" fall flat.

Part 4: My Own Hangups

Now I do want to admit I've experienced abuse, in multiple contexts before. And I know for a fact that this is influencing my feelings on the matter. After all, I'm not an asshole or a bully- I'm the opposite. And while the prevailing theory in the cultural zeitgeist says that abusers beget abusers, there's actually not much research to back that up. If you look at that report closely, basically they figure that results are often somewhat cherry-picked, samples aren't great, and variables aren't isolated enough to really say abused kids end up abusing their own offspring. Some of the language is kind of jargony, but the overall conclusions are important to note because they underscore the weakness of the trope of the abused bully. 

And I guess you could say I'm a case study in a kid becoming the opposite of what they grew up around, as well as the opposite of a partner perpetuating what a previous partner did- and this is entirely deliberate on my part. I choose not to drink regularly, I actively seek to be understanding and keep my temper in check, and while I don't have kids of my own now, I certainly wasn't a bully as a kid- quite the opposite, actually, since I was often the kid getting bullied.

So there's a part of me that doesn't have sympathy for a character like Billy because, well, I didn't bully people, so fuck that guy, so to speak. I acknowledge this fully. 

I feel especially disgusted with his treatment of Max. As a kid, I put myself out there in the line of fire and took the brunt of the negativity in my household in order to shield my siblings from it. I've come to terms with all of it and stuff by now, as much as I can, anyway, but similarly to the "I didn't become a bully!" bit, part of me feels like he should have been protecting her, not scaring her and intimidating and controlling her. Instead of trying to prevent what had been happening to him from happening to her, he does it to her himself, to a degree, and that just... God, it makes me so angry, on a personal level. 

It's kind of stupid- it's just a TV show, after all. And yet, it drags up memories and feelings and yeah, I judge Billy as a "person" and compare his actions and choices to my own, finding he comes out wanting. I don't think I'm a saint, by any means, but in making the comparison, I end up putting Billy in the bottom dregs of humanity. 

That still doesn't mean the memories El uncovers were really enough for earning Billy the redemption the writers clearly wanted him to get. 

Part Five: Is it Necessary?

One could also argue that the memories and abuse he experiences simply serve to make Billy more complex. I'll buy this a bit more than the fact that they're supposed to make me actively feel sorry for him (at least in season two- the way the memories are portrayed in season three, they're obviously meant to make us feel sorry for him, so I'm not sure if this was a change in direction or what). But I think TheMarySue did a good write-up about whether redemption for complex characters is really necessary via Catra in She-Ra and the Princesses of Power. And it's kind of great because I was going to basically say some of the same things.

Why does Billy need a redemptive moment? 

I think it's scarier to consider a dude that's just irredeemably awful, even to his family, for one thing. Like the guy in the video about Henry Bowler says at the beginning, when it's not just the Big Bad that has to be contended with, the tension and fear are heightened. There's no safe space, or at least far fewer, for our hereo(es), and this raises the stakes.

Like Catra, Billy has a right to be angry at the world- his dad is abusive and his mom abandoned him, leaving him with that abuser, at a young age. But it's what he does with it that makes him irredeemable, and that's okay, from a writing perspective. Or at least, it should be.

And don't get me wrong- I do think there's something to be said for demonstrating a Bad character's humanity without turning it into an attempt at earning them redemption for their Bad Behavior. In the real world, actual abusers are still people, after all. I've forgiven anyone that's ever hurt me, and I wish them no ill will; I still grieve the loss of my dad, and I still hope my ex will someday get to see his son again, despite the custody battle he was dealing with when we were together. But I can still acknowledge that my dad never did anything to atone for his treatment of me and my mom, and that my ex remains a narcissist and will probably never be capable of a healthy relationship, as far as I'm aware.  

Like I said before, aside from that moment when he sacrifices himself, he does nothing to earn redemption. And the trouble is, I can't really think of anything he could do that would earn it for him, while not seeming like a cheap Pet the Dog move or, worse, come across as patronizing. Because while I mentioned that he perpetuates the household abuse by being so awful to Max, at the same time, it would have been really hard for the writers to show him protecting her from their dad without it coming across as super sexist.

Part Six: Masculinity and Gender and the Abused Bully

I mentioned before that the abused bully is pretty much always a male. And again, in some rather on-the-nose, Hammer of Subtlety slamming, Billy's dad calls him a "pussy" as he beats him in one memory, and then in pretty much the next one, Billy calls a kid he's beating up one. Plus, there's the whole sexuality aspect, his enjoying the attention from the moms at the pool and talking Nancy and Mike's mom into meeting him at a motel, as well as how he saw his dad call his mom a "whore" when he was a kid. 

And while The Bully is often a storytelling device- in It, the way the adults look away when the Bowler Gang is torturing the Losers signifies the denial said adults are in on the general level, and it helps increase the danger of the atmosphere in which the story takes place, since it means the Losers have no one to turn to for help, for example- I think the fact that they're almost always males at least inadvertently is making a statement about masculinity. I don't know what this trope is supposed to be saying about masculinity, but a pretty generic analysis reads that hypermasculinity is bad, and that oft' used term "toxic masculinity" leads to all sorts of problems- emphasized in the back-to-back uses of "pussy" in Billy's memories, and the "whore" line from the dad.

But I think a more nuanced look really comes down to the struggle within contemporary men over, well, what to do. And that without a proper, positive model, men who have been abused and told by their father(s) and society that they're bad and "toxic" have little to no recourse. They don't really know how they're "supposed" to behave, only that everything they do do is "bad."

Natalie Wynn talks about this kind of stuff in her most recent video:

And I think this actually garners more sympathy than having El tap into a memory of Billy laughing on the beach. 

The problem with this, naturally, is that it's pretty difficult to incorporate a male character's perceptions of the hegemonic discourses surrounding men and masculinity into a TV show or movie without it getting dry and/or feeling like it's derailing the plot- and in a TV show or movie, the plot needs to keep moving forward. 

 Part Seven: I Dunno

I'll admit, I don't really know what to do about it. Like I said, The Bully often serves as a storytelling device- an easy, convenient one. I think my best notion is that we don't always need the bully's backstory. Why does it matter that they're being an asshole to the main character? I usually feel less frustration with bullies in movies and TV when they're just tertiary obstacles the protagonist deals with, when they're outside the main conflict and are presented more as another inconvenience the main character deals with regularly.

To bring it back to Stranger Things, the group of kids that go to school with and pick on the main characters bothers me a lot less than Billy does. Because I don't need to know "why" they're bullies- it's middle school, there are going to be assholes like that. I don't need to hear about how one of them lost his dad in a car accident or armed robbery or something, I don't care whether one of them has an older sibling that beats them up or not. They exist as a realistic obstacle middle schoolers would deal with, but that's it. Middle school bullies as a Thing don't need an explanation, and the show doesn't bother giving one- and I'm fine with that.

Another thing I can say is I accept the times when the person that used to pick on the main character(s) ends up being chased alongside the latter by the Big Bad and they end up teaming up/allying themselves to take Big Bad down a lot more easily than the appeal to pity approach. I'll take a pragmatic partnership over a generic sob story any day.

What may be interesting is if the "cycle" gets directly confronted. I can't say I've really seen this before, but if someone finds out and uses that as a way to get through to the bully- if they express their sadness for the bully and desire to help them, and this gets the bully to stop bullying, that could potentially work, if done right. It could very easily just end up super fucking cheesy, but a "don't be like your dad" speech has at least some potential. 

But overall, I'm just not sure. I'm not a screenwriter, and like I said before, I'm somewhat personally invested in the trope itself, so I'm probably too "close" to the issue to come up with a decent solution.

Still, I think it's something that has the potential to be really interesting, but usually falls flat. And as much as the rest of the internet seems to think Billy's arc was "great," I didn't, and this comes from both just a general pop culture consumer perspective, as well as that of an abuse survivor. I just hope I'm not alone in it. If I am, that's fine, but if you, reader, thought it was good before, I hope this longass rant of mine helps you understand why I felt the way I did when watching it unfold, and maybe even helps you reconsider your position. Either way, thanks for reading. 

*There was a lot of vocal "WHAT THE FUCK" and "fucking ASSHOLE"ing whenever he was being a shit.

**And while I didn't bother reading all of the above-linked critiques of his behavior, just in case none of them mentioned it, the fact that he's 1) police chief, and 2) beats multiple dudes up- in front of Joyce, nonetheless- only adds to the terribleness. Having witnessed what he's capable of, a woman not in a TV show written by men would have been absolutely terrified about what he'd do if she crossed him/pissed him off/etc. "If I don't do what he says, he could kill me and get away with it because he's the chief of police." Hell, any reasonable person would think that. 

***There is some interesting film symmetry in how during both of his first scenes in the two seasons, females are oggling him. In the first season, as you can see in that supercut, it's highschoolers; in the second, it's the moms.

On Bravery

If you haven't read it yet, at least skim my last post, otherwise a lot of this will make  zero sense to you. 

I want to address something important. While I keep hearing that I'm "brave" and "strong" for leaving my ex, I want to speak as a victim about what all of this bravery is, and where it started.

I started out brave. Like I said last time, I knew abuse at an early age. And I came out on top, stayed a good person, even make efforts every day to be that way. Even when it's hard, I try to do the right thing, do right by others, and help decrease Worldsuck, as some* would say. And despite seeing some of the worst of people, even having that aimed at me directly, I continue, to this day, to usually by default expect and see the best from them. 

So I was brave for trying. I've been hurt every time I attempted at even a chance at love before. When I first met  the person I discussed in my last post, I had no intention of letting him in. I had big, thick walls up, with trebuchets and a moat with a big goddamn dragon. I've talked about this before. Obviously, that post was before I met him.

I took a leap of faith, like what I talked about there, when I let him in. I was scared as Hell, but I did it. Because I was brave enough to try again. And you know what? It felt good, at least for a while. I'm reminded of a line from The Nightmare Before Christmas, "Well what the heck, I went and did my best, and my God I really tasted something swell. And for a moment, why I even touched the sky..." There were moments where I was flying, where I thought I'd die I was filled with such joy. I did feel safe, and loved, and beautiful. And I was happy. With myself for having taken a chance, with my situation, with him. And as I said in that last post, at least I was actually loved- I never doubted he loved me, which just made the bad parts hurt more. But I kept on, and hid it from the world, because of that love.

So I was brave in staying. It isn't just that I kept telling myself it (i.e. the abuse**) would never happen to me. I also cared for him, even in the middle of his worst outbursts. That Joan of Ark aspect of me... I know a part of me  wanted to help and save him. He didn't want to be saved, of course, but that didn't matter to me, not until I found my line again. I kept loving him, even though it was often hard. I hoped and prayed that maybe  my love for him would be enough, that he would see the damage he was doing to himself and us and me, and that he would then turn a new leaf, and we'd be happy more, I wouldn't be walking on eggshells.

But my love wasn't enough. I was a saint, but it wasn't enough. I comforted and forgave, but it wasn't enough. Belle was brave when she tamed the Beast; I was brave in trying, in holding him when he fell, in picking him up when he had finished crashing. I was brave for wiping his tears before my own. 

I was brave to start getting my own help. Therapy and mental health issues (not to mention medications for "head stuff") are so stigmatized, it's easy to feel like you're less of a person for going in and seeing a professional. I had known I needed help for a long time. I kept making excuses, but I eventually ran out of them when I was promoted to full time and thus had corporate benefits (as opposed to state). So I started going. And it was (and still is- my counselor is amazing) hard. It was brave for me to open up in that office. About the things that have been haunting me for years, say nothing of the relationship of focus, here. And as I said before, I was hoping I would eventually feel ready to get back in touch with my dad. I think a part of me also hoped that if my ex saw how much I was improving because I had and maintained a self-care plan that was working, he would want that  for himself, too. Naive, I know. 

And no, I wasn't stupid. I just hoped, because I believed in him. I wanted to, I needed to, otherwise what was the point of letting down those walls in the first place? I didn't want that risk I had taken to be for nothing.

I was brave to be as honest as I was with  the friend I talked about in the last post. I kept as much as I could hidden for a long time, but I know most, if not all, of my friends knew things weren't good with my partner and I. I was afraid to tell my friend what was going on, but I did it, trembling and crying. That's bravery. It's strength.

I was brave in telling the ex not to come home. In all of the time we had been together, during all of his tantrums, I had stood up to him maybe half a dozen times before, most of them being on behalf of my dog (because, as said, he would get unnecessarily and unwarentedly*** mean with her when he was grumpy). But I did it, I found my line, set it, and told him exactly what it was. It wasn't a request, I didn't downplay it (with something like, "I know this is going to be  hard/ I'm sorry but..." etc.). And it was so hard to do. My hands were trembling as I sent the text. And my chosen method being text may seem cowardly, but that I did it at all was huge. IS huge. And I knew that if I heard his voice, I would be weak and give in, lose that line, so I texted him. So sue me. That I told him an any way at all I didn't want to see him again that day was a HUGE act of bravery, yes. That's the main one everyone thinks about. But there's more.

I was brave somewhere in the middle there, when he was at the house the second night to get more stuff. At that point, I was still thinking it would be a break. And I was brave in two big ways then. First, when he was saying goodbye to my dog. It was like my heart was breaking again, as if it was possible, watching him kneel there as she gingerly licked his chin. She knew something was wrong, and the way his voice cracked... She's my kid, and he was her Daddy. It was as if I was getting a divorce, and my child was saying goodbye. Involuntarily, I jerked a little bit toward them. In a flash, I saw myself throwing my arms around both and having that be the end of the episode. But I didn't. I grabbed the counter, squeezed it so tight that my hands and forearms were sore the next day, and I didn't move. That was brave.

And then, as he hugged me goodbye, he said, "I've fucked up big time," I said, "Yep, you did. Now fix  it." I was brave for saying that. SO fucking brave. The older me would have taken some of the blame off of him, "No, honey, it's my fault, too, it's not just you." But it WAS all just him. And I knew he wanted that, wanted me to absolve him, at least partially, right there, because that's what I always did. But the difference this time was I saw it for what it was: manipulation. And I was brave for standing my ground in the face of it. It was hard, it hurt like Hell, but he left. No matter how badly I wanted to say it was okay, I didn't, and that's bravery. 

I was brave in finally saying the word "abuse" out loud. I didn't even mean to say it, it just came out, flowed naturally with where I was going when I was on the phone with him. And it clicked. It made sense. It gave me the momentum to be firmer. I was brave in standing by that, too, because of course, while he didn't say much to it then (it was the first day that happeend), he had all sorts of nasty comebacks  later about how I was overdramatizing it, how that wasn't what he was doing, he says  and does those things in anger, that's not abuse. But it is, it was, so I didn't back down, and that was brave. He was yelling at me while I was on the phone with him in my counselor's office (I really wouldn't have survived this without her, too), and I was brave for not letting him gaslight me, change the topic, change the goal posts during that conversation shouting match. 

And I've been brave for not asking his mom (whom I've needed to have some contact with for logistical reasons) or brother (still good friends with him and his girlfriend) where he is, if he's okay. Do I worry for and about him still? Absolutely. But I can't let myself go down that path. And the braver, stronger part of me is protecting the other side of me while she heals. 

But I want to clarify something, too.

I didn't stay out of weakness. I don't think anyone has even remotely implied that, except possibly me, maybe, here and in person. Because while in the middle of being emotionally and psychologically beaten down by my significant other, I became a better version of myself. I improved, against those odds. I do owe a lot of that to getting professional help, but as she told me, she's only helping me tap the resources I already have within me. So little did he know, even as he was wearing me down, I was building up. If that isn't strength, I don't know what is.

Also, it wasn't weakness, the falling for him, falling into his net. Like I said, it was brave to try. Letting someone in, even if that person does end up hurting you (like all the rest, in my case) is brave.

Bravery can mean trying to save something because you thought it was worth it. And yes, it's admitting that thing isn't worth it anymore, giving it its proper name, and letting it go.
Love always comes with a risk. I took it. It got me down, but...

I'm getting better each day, like I said, but I'm not  brave enough to try again yet. I will, sooner or later. I still want a family of my own. I mean, my dog is great and all, but I want a husband and kids and the whole nine yards. Call me a traditionalist, but, well, there it is. 

And it's already brave for me to think about that future. I know I'm not ready to try for it again, no, but even being able to consider it again, in the face of what just happened to me, is brave. And someday, I still want to believe, that bravery will pay off, and I'll get what I want. I know I'm worth it, I know I deserve it, and for fuck's sake, I HAVE EARNED THE SHIT OUT OF A GOOD LIFE. Amirite?

You, right now.

So it'll happen. I'm still swimming through all of the emotions. But I'll take that brave step and open those gates again. 




*Nerdfighters, aw yeah!

**And again, let me say, I was never deliberately physically harmed. Sometimes intimidated, but he never hit me, pulled my hair, nothing like that.

***Totally just made that word up, yo.

Finding Your Line, or, Why I Hate Christmas

This post is going to get pretty heavy, but while I don't have the strength to share this individually, I want the people who care about me to really know what has been going on in my life the past few months. I will warn you now, I will discuss suicide (in multiple contexts) and emotional abuse in this post, so if you fear it will be too difficult for you, due to your own lived experiences, that is entirely valid, and I am so sorry; I hope you know that I am here for you and willing to talk, if you think will help you. Otherwise, hang in there with me and allow me to elucidate some events that have had large effects on me. Understand, I am not "seeking attention," so much as using this as an easier way on my own heart and mental health to share this with people- I've dealt with and come closer to reconciling the first big thing, and talking about that is easier now. But that one was easier to keep close to the chest, while the most recent events are still visible right now, in my bedroom.

So, to use the line I have used before and think is just so damn applicable when talking about this dramedy that is my life...

I officiated a wedding in September, for a dear friend from college, in our college town, to wit. It was beautiful, and superbly relaxed, and even though I only knew about 10% of the guests, my speech during the ceremony wowed them all with its wit, charm, and earnestness. I even opened with a joke* that led to this picture being taken by one of the photographers:

 The reception was pretty fun, and the food was amazing- a little old lady was pressing tortillas for the taco bar, and the sangria! It was at a bed-and-breakfast, so the party was in the backyard, and as the sun set and the little lights started to twinkle, I kept warm by snuggling close to my date, the person I had been with for nearly two years at that point- it was our first wedding we were both able to attend together, so it was one of those Big Steps in an adult relationship. While he was inside in the bathroom, I was alone at our table, far off from the dance floor where everyone else was. I saw my phone light up and crinkled my eyebrows. Mom? Why would she call me now, of all times? I gave it a second, thinking  maybe she had butt-dialed me and it would stop ringing, but it continued. Well, this doesn't make any sense, she knew I would be here and  unavailable... So I picked up, and instead of saying hello to me, she demanded I put my boyfriend on the phone. Wait, what? She repeated, a little urgent this time. I explained that he was in the bathroom, and she repeated the original request, more urgently. I said I didn't know when  he would get back, so she asked me, "Are you alone?"

"Well, I'm at a table by myself... Why? What's up?"

"Honey, are you sitting down?"

"Yes.....?"

"Honey, your aunt went to visit your dad today, and she found him in the bathtub."

"What?"

"Honey, he killed himself."

I felt my chest tighten and my face get hot, my hands shook and my voice cracked. I started to ask questions and panic. At just the right moment, I looked up, tear-stricken and still babbling, to lock eyes with my boyfriend. Even though it was dark, he somehow knew I needed him, so he beelined to me, nearly taking out a chair (or himself) on the way. I held the phone out for him, and he stepped away without saying a word as I put my head on the table and sobbed so hard (but silent- I didn't want to draw attention) I could hear the wine and champagne glasses bobble. After a few moments, which was enough for him to get the necessary information, my boyfriend gave my phone back  to me, took me by my hand, and led me around the side of the house so that we could walk through the neighborhood around the B&B instead of disturb my friend's wedding. After a struggle, I was able to get my mom to tell me my dad had shot himself in the head with his mom's gun. We sat on a park bench for a while, his arms around me as I sobbed and tried to talk to my mom, before heading back to the reception.

My boyfriend told a couple people, the small spattering of those that realized something had happened and were asking after my well-being, but I tried to avoid the wedding guests as best as I could- again, this wasn't my night, and it was supposed to be a happy moment for someone I hold very close to my heart, and I couldn't in good conscience tell her then. That night, I cried instead of slept, and my boyfriend held me the whole time. We had to drive home the next day, but I spent most of the car ride and the rest of the evening in tears, and the same with the next two days, before going back to work. He had to change his shirt a few times each day  because  of all of the tears and snot I was getting on him.

As my life is a dramedy, it wouldn't be complete without some mildly morbid comic relief here: I had started seeing a counselor in July, and we had arranged for bi-weekly appointments to start. I had seen her two days before the wedding (which was a Saturday), but on Tuesday, amidst the crying, I got a reminder phone call from the clinic about "my appointment" two days from then- apparently she had accidentally scheduled me for the next week, so I didn't even need to call ahead to squeeze myself into her schedule!! AAAAND, I also happened to have an appointment with the person that handles my meds for Wednesday, too- so I was able to walk into my already-scheduled appointments and let then know what was happening.

I've had weekly counseling appointments ever since.

Flash-forward to about a month ago. I was having a heart-to-heart with a friend whom I love dearly, opening up to him (or rather, elaborating) about my relationship with my boyfriend. While I still had never been entirely open with him about my boyfriend, he knew things weren't as good as I tried to make them out to be, and as I cried and made excuses, I admitted that while I had thought I knew where my "line" was for "how much" I would put up with, I had lost it. We talked some more, but as he was leaving  he said, "Look, I can't tell you what to do, and I would never try to do that. But all I have to say is," and he put his hand on my shoulder, "Find your line. Just find your line again."

Then a series of necessary events happened last Monday/early Tuesday morning:

1) I received  a check in the mail from my mom for Christmas that morning. I sobbed, first because I feel guilty taking money from her, since  she works retail, too, and then second, because I didn't want my boyfriend to know about it, because I knew he would want me to cash it and give the money to him. So I tore it up.

2) That day, we were supposed to go on what I came to call an "errand date" where we spend  spare time together by getting stuff done together and helping with each other's errands. We did this before, and it usually ended with making dinner together and spooning while watching Netflix. On  this day, he decided to take a nap instead.

3) Later, he started getting irritable because he didn't have any cash, and he kept snapping at my dog. She started shaking, and I didn't feel comfortable with trying to comfort her until he was out of the room.

4) That night, he couldn't sleep, so he kept thrashing and grumbling right beside  me in the bed, getting up and laying back down, going in and out of the room, and about once an hour even getting dressed and stepping outside. He became gradually more and more vocal during these little tantrums  as the night progressed, and at about 2AM he got up and grumbled about how he's "tired of holding on just to hold on" and that I "don't need to worry  about the holidays" because he "wouldn't be around for that shit." And he left the  house again and I heard him peel off in his car.

5) When he got back to the house, he started rattling the door knob, and I thought maybe he  had  taken  shots or something quick to get sloshed. But he sent a text demanding I unlock the door, and it dawned on me: I had gone to the bathroom after he left, and apparently had subconsciously locked the bedroom door. 

I refused to talk to him or let him cuddle (his way of apologizing) that night and the next morning. He left before I got up, so I sent him a text demanding he get his stuff out while I was at work.

The short version of the rest of that is while I started out hoping to take a break so he could get himself together, I realized I needed to cut all ties completely after some pretty horrible stuff happened and two more days passed. I realized he will never care about himself enough to care for me the way I deserve, and I cannot save him. The last time I saw him was Thursday, and I hope it's the last time I ever see him. 

I know, it seems odd, that the man that was so supportive when I found out my dad killed himself would be thrown out just a bit over three months later, but I need to explain some about both.

First, my dad. I hadn't seen him since 2013, summer. And the last thing he said to me was, "You bitch," while I was helping my mom pack up the house in which I grew up so she could leave. See, my dad had changed once I hit 16. A lot of life happened, and his depression won over: He went from being Dad of the Year to a non-functioning alcoholic that was emotionally abusive and manipulative to my mom, myself, and my younger sister. It took time, but he was a completely different dad to me than he was my younger siblings, something I apologized for all the time after leaving for college. By the time I was a sophomore (and thus only home for breaks), I hardly ever saw him sober. And he would pick fights whenever he could, however he could. The house became toxic, and I hated going home for breaks and found every excuse I could to make the visits home short or avoid them altogether. When I found out it had evolved to physical abuse, I finally begged my mom to leave him. I, and she, had held out hope he would get better, would seek help for his mental illness, but he didn't, and Mom had to draw the line somewhere. 

But even after that, I had still hoped. Hoped he would take that as his wake-up call and seek a therapist, medication, whatever. That he would sober and up and get serious. That he would come back to us and be that dad I remembered, the one that sprained his ankle fixing a swing at a park for me, that let me stay home from school to play video games. The dad that used to make me laugh, (gently) stop my tears, and made me feel safe. I had had visions of him barbecuing with my boyfriend at our wedding reception.

So him killing himself, and in such a way, was an even more complex situation for me and everyone else. I had, in a way, already been in mourning over the loss of the dad of my youth, but now I was in mourning for a man that was so broken, in so much pain, he decided to end his life. "Forgiveness" isn't the word I have for how he treated us later on, but that doesn't make the loss of any chance at better memories less painful. Add to it the fact that I had hoped to reach out to him myself, once I had been in therapy for a while and felt more in touch with who I am and at peace with my past traumas (not just caused by him), and you have a huge ball of awkward and pain and uncomfortable and confused and anger and hurt and... Pretty much everything you can possibly imagine. 

So this leads to the now-ex boyfriend. He, too, is mentally ill, and he, too, refused to get help with it. And, like  my dad, he took his pain out on me. Don't get me  wrong, both men had legitimate reasons to be angry, to be hurting, but they projected it and it manifested in passive aggressiveness, unpredictability, manipulation, and isolation. My ex never explicitly said I couldn't spend time with friends, but the way he moped, texted me nonstop about how he missed me while I was gone, and/or picked fights with me over text trained me not to do it. With his mood swings, I never knew how he would react to the same kind of joke (or even exact same joke) from day to day. And the above scenario, where he turned his frustration with himself  over having no money and not being able to sleep into rants  about how  unhappy with me he was, happened far too frequently. He "broke up" with me at least once a month. I would make excuses, hide it from most people, tell myself he didn't mean it, he's just angry and in pain, he loves me more than anything.

And like with Dad, it didn't start out that way. He was charming and attentive and kind and warm, and the first man to see me as a woman and treat me like a human  being. Even though he loved me selfishly, he at least proved to me I can be loved, and for that I am forever grateful. And even up to the last few weeks, it wasn't always shouting and tears: when he was doing better, he could be disgustingly thoughtful and sweet, and he did take care of me during some of my darkest moments, like what happened with my dad. He was good in a crisis... when it wasn't his own. And when he started to boil up, he would gaslight me, change the topic, snap for no reason, act like everything was my fault. I was losing myself, and willfully blind to all of this because I had seen it before. That could never happen to me, I wouldn't let it, I'm far too smart for it. I knew exactly where my line was, and so help me, no man would ever cross it.

Except he did. He crossed so far over it, I lost sight of that line. He loved me, but it was a selfish, jealous love. It wasn't nurturing, not overall, even though it had its moments. It was draining, and it hurt to love him. I was always the one trying to make us work, yet I would be blamed whenever something was bothering  him, something he wouldn't tell me about until one of his blow-ups, something that was his fault in the first place. (Like remember how I said he napped instead of went out with me? That was a patterned behavior, too, backing out of plans- yet he would yell at me he was "tired of never doing anything" with me during his rampages.) So later on during the height of the drama last week, as my ex was saying he was sorry, that he missed me, missed us, missed the family we had made with each other and my dog, my friend's words echoed through my head.

"Find your line."

That same friend has been my rock through all of this, and I will never be able to repay him the kindness and selflessness he has shown me. Remembering that advice helped me find the strength to admit the truth  to myself, out loud, and to my ex.

"You want to know what that is? It's abuse, that's what it is."

And once I said it, I felt myself gaining strength, at least in that first moment, and I kept going. That wasn't the end  of it, but it was the start for me. 

He even kept throwing that it was "almost Christmas" in my face. That fueled my fire then, and I held that line, but once he was actually gone, Christmas was even worse for me than usual.

When I was little, Christmas was always great. Our family had our little traditions and rituals, but we had fun, and we loved each other. As time went on,  things got more and more prickly and fake, and we went from spending all of our waking moments Christmas Eve and Day with each other to barely speaking and staying in our own designated areas of the house. And now that I work retail, I won't get a chance to repair with my mom and siblings. I get that about my life, but I still mourn it. Even before I left my grad program, Christmas reminded me of everything I had lost. Then all of the breakup stuff happened, and I felt more alone than I ever thought possible. I could force myself to enjoy a moment (after all, I wasn't physically alone- I had people willing to take me in, and that wise friend of mine was there, too), but staying up until 2AM (again)  on Christmas  Eve rewrapping because I had written both of our names on the "From" line with Sharpie on all of the presents I had bought (the one year I wrapped as I purchased, I didn't bother to get tags I could attach... nooooo, I had to write directly on the gorram wrapping paper of all but two gifts) didn't help. 

I haven't slept more than a couple hours at a time since the first night he wasn't beside me, and waking up to an empty space in the bed on Christmas morning was awful, even though I had only woken up beside him once on Christmas. I miss the Christmases we'll never have, so I keep seeing  them, the ones I dreamed about, where we had our own home and family, our own traditions and rituals. I would be in charge of the Nativity scene, he would do the lights around the house. And I keep remembering my dad and how much he used to care about his Christmas town, meticulously placing every piece, re-attaching limbs and chimneys whenever necessary; how he gradually let it crack and break before he was too broken to go on anymore. There was a drawer he would put the broken  pieces until he was able to fix them. I don't think any were there for more than a day when I was young; by the time we were packing the house, there were some in there from before I graduated from college. 

And  it hurts. It hurts so much. The truth is, while I never planned to kill myself before, I had thought there was no point in living, the the pain is too much, that others around me would be  better off without me. Those thoughts stopped a while ago, but it hurt so much that it flickered through my mind a little. I know it's irrational, and I will not actually do anything to hurt myself, but this is how much pain I am in right now. I am in so much pain, I can't bring myself to clean the mess he made while packing, just when I had finally started to keep the room cleaner.

I will never get my dad back. I will never be able to reconcile with him, no matter how much I had wanted to. He was in too much pain and valued his own life so little that he didn't try to get any help. Eventually, he killed himself. It has nothing to do with me, and there is nothing I could have done.

I will never take my ex back. I will never reconcile with him, no matter how much he wants to. He will never have my trust again, even if he does get the help he needs (and a job). Because  I will have no way of knowing for sure that it's not to get me back, but because he values himself enough to do it- and it's the latter that is necessary for him to be a true partner, not a dependent. 

I told a few friends that "my Christmas gift to myself this year is freedom." This is true. But freedom comes with a price. I will be in pain for quite some time, and I have no idea when I will be ready to try to love again. But, as my  mom said, it's better to be lonely and alone than lonely and with someone. 

I don't have a witty, funny way to end this. But I can say that I have been thinking of a quote from my favorite movie:

"There are no happy endings, because nothing ends."

That sounds dire, but for me, right now, it means my story is still going, and this isn't my ending, happy or otherwise. My life will go on, and while a part of me will always mourn both of these men that were so similar, both in good ways and bad, I have learned what I deserve, and, importantly, what I do not deserve from a partner. The kindness others have shown  me during both times has helped remind me how good others can be, and that even though I may feel alone, there are people that would more than happily ease that pain. 

I don't expect a happy ending now, and I never have. But I do expect to find some happiness again. And, someday, I'll enjoy Christmas again, forge a family in whatever way I can, to make better memories. 


*Question: What did Batman say to Robin  just  before they got into the Bat-Mobile?  Answer: "Get in the Bat-Moble."