A friend of mine who had the supreme good luck to stumble across my blog gave me some constructive criticism. He said, "You know Mel, this shit's pretty funny and most of it's true, I should know I was there for some of it but why are you only letting people see the sarcastic bitch side of you?"
I thought about it for awhile and I can't really come up with a decent answer. I guess like most people my extremely clever banter is a defense mechanism. Yes people I am not without the occasional twitch of mania and of course I'm sure you've all figured out that my bravado masks an ENORMOUS inferiority complex. Well, that's what the shrink said anyway, Mama didn't love me and Daddy didn't care, so between the coke and smack I stripped their wallets bare. Not really but you get the general idea.
I'm not trying to come off as a snarky bitch, honestly (have you heard that people using the word honestly when addressing you are almost always lying) but I can't seem to help it. It gets me in trouble all the time. C. is forever blowing up at me over some comment I've made. What gets me is that for the most part I don't even recall saying it in a shitty way. Sometimes it gets so bad that I have to start sentences with, "I'm not trying to sound like an asshole..."
I think maybe it is his inferiority issues coming to the surface. I refuse to believe that every other word coming out of my mouth is destined to offend him.
Another thing about C.
My friend pointed out that what I have written about him makes him come off like a self absorbed dick and he's really not. We have been together off and on since that fateful summer of '97 (see Scientology post). Sometimes more off than on, spending up to a year or more apart and seeing other people. Somehow we always end up back together. We spent some of the craziest times of our lives together and I think that binds us tighter than anything else. We understand each other because we were there, going through it at the same time.
He's not perfect by any means ,who is (besides me, of course). He worries too much about shit he can't change, he cares too much about what his parents think and he drinks too much.
1)He's always wasting unnecessary energy freaking out about things that can't be helped.
2)He never used to give two shits about what his family wanted but now it's a constant issue.
3)He drinks to fill up that empty feeling that addicts get when they quit using.
But he also works his ass off in the oilfields twelve hours a day to pay the bills, he has never hit me, even though I'm sure that punching me in the mouth and choking the life out of me has figured prominently in his dreams . He is never stingy with his money and has always remembered my birthday.
He sent for me a year after he left, even though he knew what I was up to almost from the minute he left. He never makes excuses for loving me, he just does.
I don't know if you've realized it yet but I can be a little difficult to live with. The fact that I make no apologies for myself tends to rub the wrong way. The best I have been able to do is say,"I'm not sorry for what I've done but I'm sorry that it hurt you." An ass backwards apology if ever there was one.
As sappy as it sounds, I really think we were meant to be together. I've been with guys who had more money and less problems. I can't say they were better looking 'cause C. is a gorgeous hunk of man meat but you get the idea. Whoever I was with, C. was always in the back of my mind.
The closest I've gotten to suicidal behavior was a direct result of needing him and missing him so much that I had to stay fucked-up just to make it bearable. So what if I did too much, at least then I wouldn't have to feel anything. Sad but true.
I love him so much I have staved off my selfish need to get the fuck out New Mexico and run screaming back to Cali. Because even though I could go back and continue my life as it was, getting marvelously gowed out every day and running the streets with my friends, C. is here. So here I stay.
If that isn't real enough for you Eddie, you can piss off, it's the best you're gonna get. As for that crack about my stories being mostly true, I claim artistic license, they are my memories after all. And by the way Ednardo, if you dare doubt the story about C. and the severed head, ask your sis about it, she was there.
Bye Babies, Love Melody.