D-D-D-Drowning

I went into counseling wanting to fix myself. Over the years I have noticed patterns in my dating relationships that keep resurfacing, and with the new knowledge of "the thing that happened that I cannot talk about," everything started coming into place. So far instead of learning how to change, I'm learning that I'm not messed up to begin with. Sure, the things that happened to me were, but I myself am strong, not weak, and whatever weaknesses I think I have are actually strengths -- or at least two sides of the same coin. This is not just words of wisdom for me, but for all women out there who think we have to be a certain way or do a certain thing (or more often, not be a certain way and not do a certain thing) to find love.

When I have an awesome date with a guy and he kisses me at the doorstep, I naturally expect to hear from him again. When I didn't hear from D for a week and a half I was sure he changed his mind, and I wrote him an email asking just that. He responded pretty quickly and we've gone back to our friendly facebook banter and the mutual understanding that he isn't looking to be with anyone right now. In the past such a statement meant that the guy was gay, which was always later confirmed. In those cases the guy always thought I was the greatest, most beautiful, and most talented woman alive, but wasn't looking for anything because he wasn't looking for a girl. In this case, D is -- from what I can tell -- as straight as they come, and his reserve really is because of what's going on in his own life, and has nothing to do with me or a lack of genuine interest. Instead it comes from interest itself and a desire not to get in over his head. At least that is what I took from our conversation.

The counselor's first successful lesson was teaching me that it's okay to have needs. Her second lesson was to help me learn that what I thought was bad about myself is actually good. As I explained to her, my usual PMDD pattern with relationships is to stop treading water and to instead flail my arms around madly as I cry out "Help! I'm drowning!" Of course the drowning is only made worse by my panicked response. After therapy I learned that that response is not just a weakness -- it's also a strength. I flail around for survival. Instead of letting myself drown into a resignation or depression I fight for what I know I need. It may not always be the best thing to do in relationships or even a necessary one, but it's gotten me where I am today. As I related this realization to my best gay friend J over a hot dog and a hard cider, a light came on over his head and he said, "Yes! It makes sense. You're a fighter." I've fought financial odds to get college degree. I've fought against abusers who told me I was nothing. I've fought the graduate department to let me get a (harder) assistanceship that would work with my illness. I've fought the Department of Social and Health Services to give me benefits, and I'm continuing to fight Social Security.

Sure, when I don't hear from a guy I like for a week and a half I panic just a little bit. But it's that exact desire to get what I need that has gotten me so far in life. I don't let my arms go slack and delve into the depths. Instead I flail around until the storm calms down and I can once again tread water. There's no lifeboat out there, no light house or vest or even rations. This is not to say that there aren't people -- even family -- who help me along the way. But at the end of the day it's just me and the storm. And I always win, even when I think I've lost.

3..... 2..... 1.

The older I get, the more obsessed I become with finding some magic formula to make a man love me. Last year I read Why Men Love Bitches, Why Men Marry Bitches, Flirtexting, Make Every Man Want You, and How to be Wanted. I read countless articles about the clothes men like, how much makeup men like, the sexual positions men like, the kinds of things you should and shouldn't talk about, if you should wear your hair up or down, if you should or should not wear nail polish, and if you should call him or wait for him to call you. Then today I had my first therapy appointment for that thing that happened in my past which I cannot talk about. After the therapist heard the half hour version of my dysfunctional past, she said she would help me learn how to get my needs met in relationships. My tough and flippant facade was torn right down as I said between tears, "I can have needs?"

There are, of course, some needs that I've known I can have for some time, including the need to be emotionally and physically attracted to my partner. Unfortunately Captain SmartyPants was great on paper and great on the phone, but the spark was just not there in person. He texted after the date saying how much fun he had, and I texted back to be polite and because I want to give it one more shot before throwing in the towel. But as it's been four days now with no further contact, maybe he has realized that there is just nothing there. D, on the other hand, seems to have moved from "are we friends or something more" to "something more." I regret that I cannot tell you the details of this particular date due to us having mutual friends and my unexpected desire to maintain his privacy, but I will say that it was the best date I've had in a long time, and perhaps the most traditional date ever. The sparks were there, serious conversation was there, joking around was there, and mutual respect was definitely there.

I've been hooked on this season of The Bachelor, and just like with the self-help books I study and analyze who gets roses and who doesn't. On the surface it seems like the most unemotional yet emotionally available girls win the guy's heart. In romantic comedies it's the girl who runs away from love as it chases her down the street. But in real life, it's probably more akin to the episode of How I Met Your Mother where Lily falls apart at the sight of Marshall with another woman -- where she's not only emotionally available, but downright emotional. Sure, the episode may just be placating us girls who fear our wants and needs will drive men away, but as I sat on the proverbial (and actual) couch today, I was prodded to see emotions as healthy and normal. Now, this doesn't mean freaking out like I often do in an episode of PMDD, but it means recognizing that it's okay -- and even better -- to just be myself. Maybe it's the Not Feeling Worthy of Love that keeps me from getting it, not unworthiness itself.

And in fact, myself is just what I presented to D on our hang out / date / whatever it was. Sure, there was some strategy to winning D's affections. I spent time on my wardrobe, hair and accessories. But other than that I was just me. No game play, no falsity, and no thinking about what I should and should not say. I slipped by essentially apologizing for something after our date that didn't need an apology -- which is a defense mechanism I definitely need to work on. But as I wait expectantly for our next encounter, my therapist's words calm my over-analytical brain: You are worthy of love, just the way you are. No apologies, no exceptions.

Here is a link to a great article on the subject of needs:

Are You Too Needy? (Hint: The answer is not what you'd think!)

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(Oh, and the third guy I mentioned in my previous post? He got the boot after asking me if my "hanging out with a friend" on Friday night was actually a hot date. Well, it ended up being just that, but after only two emails and one text it definitely wasn't an appropriate question, and was, instead, a definite red flag. Maybe there are rules after all.)

Parting the Red Sea

Every three months I turn into a different person: A giant green monster full of pent up aggression, just like the Incredible Hulk. It used to be every single month, but now I take birth control that gives me my period only four times a year. Let me tell you, I will never go back.

We all get the telltale signs of PMS... tender breasts, bloating, increased appetite for sweets.... But my biggest sign is not what happens to my body but what happens to my mind. All of a sudden I'm convinced that my family members are talking about me behind my back, saying what an immature person I am. I'm convinced that my best friend has found a new best friend and is only talking to me out of pity. I'm convinced that I am completely and utterly alone in the world and that no one can understand me and that no one ever will. The image that comes into my head is that all of my loved ones are on one side of a divide and that I am all alone on the other, and that these people couldn't cross the divide even if they wanted to, and I convince myself that they don't.

Instead of wallowing alone in my self pity I reach out to everyone in an attempt to reconcile what is not broken. I write long emails, then second-guess myself and write even longer ones to make up for what I've said. Then I'm not convinced that those contained what I really meant to say either, so I write and write until I have talked in a circle and then I am REALLY convinced that I've blown any chance at keeping those I love in my life, so I say even more.

My friends and family have become intimately aware of this pattern and know not to take it too seriously. They even actually don't seem to mind it but accept it as part of my lovely personality. However, in the dating world such paranoia does not go over well. No one wants three drunk phone messages in the middle of the night asking you to love me (or to at least just give me sex if not love), or to be chased down the street by a lovesick me with bags full of groceries as you pull away unknowingly in your pickup truck. Ironically, my problem isn't actually paranoia -- the problem is paranoia that I have paranoia. Or it's paranoia that other people will think I have paranoia. It's this feeling that they will see the "real" me, the one lurking under the surface, or that the one lurking is the fake me and that they will mistake it for the real me. It all creates a cycle in my head that I cannot break until the "crimson wave" stops and my serotonin levels rise again.

I write about this on a fibromyalgia blog because FM and PMDD often go together. In fact, many of my issues, however seemingly unrelated, can be traced to the presence of my FM. It's nice to have something to blame it on, or at least attribute it to. Luckily I have a roommate now and a plethora of women's advice books, all of which help me to curb my incessant texting and emailing of potential love interests during that tender time of the month. Luckily I'm on enough medication that only half of my brain is convinced at the moment that my best gay friend is leaving me for another girl while they sit with a bottle of wine and laugh about how boring I am. Only half of my brain writes this best friend letters of concern. The other half keeps this half from writing twice as many, and the friend himself seems as unfazed by it all as he was when he met me seven years ago.

Ever since I started getting fibromyalgia flareups they come during my period like clockwork. I'm sure being stuck at home with a fuzzy head doesn't help the paranoia about paranoia. But at least I get to stay home and watch girlie movies with a box of Kleenex, crying over lost love, found love, and the elusive creature that will hold me in the middle of the night, on my side of the great divide.