Where's the Prize for This Fighter?

Tonight's blog was going to be about a different topic entirely, but I was waylaid before I got to my keyboard and now I realize there is a more pressing subject to address: fighting. I'm not talking about a barroom brawl, though I'm not entirely a stranger to that scenario either, but this time round I'm talking about the choice to fight for what we want in life, more specifically, for a relationship.

I have suffered with insecurity and low self-esteem my entire life and it has caused me to sabotage a number of relationships out of the fear that I might get rejected. As I've gotten older and more secure with who I am this hasn't ceased entirely, but it is less dominant. What I see now is that I am a fighter. I fight for those I love and I can forgive almost anything. Can you? Love means accepting flaws along with the benefits and people are messy. We all have a not so pretty side that doesn't necessarily fit with our version of the fairy tale, but that's life and it is reality.

My reality is that I have moved all over the country in pursuit of love, I've put my career and goals on hold because I believe that love is a higher purpose. At 37, however, I'm wondering when I become the higher purpose for someone else. When does my partner or husband put me first? It hasn't happened yet and I think I've reached my limit of accepting being second. So if throwing myself into love hasn't worked, maybe what I should do is to refuse it. We say the world revolves on love and it's all you need, but maybe I've been too eager. I love my husband, but it did not prevent his depression and our culminating downward spiral. My love didn't save him, but then again, when only one of you fights for something it may just be a losing battle.

So here's to not fighting for love. Here's to career and school and friendships over the love of your life. If the divorce rate is at 50 percent and climbing then most of us are doing something wrong and I have yet to hear any of them say it's because they didn't try. We all want to believe we are trying, but maybe that's the problem. I think I'm done. It is time to stop fighting for love, fighting for the partnership, fighting for someone to want me as much as I want them. You either do or you don't, but from now on, it's going to have to come from someone else first, because I just can't fight for two anymore. Treading water for one is tiring enough, save your own ass and maybe if you value me the way you should, you'll want to save mine too.

Facing the Truth is Sometimes Ugly and Very, Very Lonely

What do you do when you are to blame for the most significant negative experience of your life? There is no one to comfort the transgressor, because that is the person who committed the heinous act, whatever it might be. All sympathies, all strong shoulders, all empathetic free beers are devoted to the person who is wronged. In our society, and in most I imagine, that guilty party is seen as undeserving of sympathy and without a need for it. I made a series of bad choices leading to a life I do not want and did not foresee for myself. Yet, here I am fighting it out every day to hold back the tears and the rage that I am not supposed to be entitled to.

Having something horrible happen to you is undeniably the worst possible thing. Events are out of your control and you are left to pick up the pieces, which unequivocally does suck. I'm not here to cry poor me because I screwed someone over and now I am alone and feeling lousy, but if we're on the topic anyway, I could kinda use a shoulder to cry on. Doing bad things does not make one a bad person and I don't believe I am unworthy of love or sympathy, but I'm not going around asking for it or crying in public. I don't have the luxury of those public breakdowns or sucking in friends to comfort me after my own selfishness and stupidity got me here.

So I self-sabotaged my life once again and now I am struggling with how to proceed. The normal Ame would behave just as I have been, with jokes, and deflection and the assertion that I am fine. A few whiskey's, a few wisecracks, and no need for any sympathy. I know I am in the wrong and I know that I don't deserve anyone to hand me a tissue while I cry it out, but it doesn't stop the pain or the self-pity. So in the spirit of this blog, I'm going to do the opposite of what comes naturally. I'm going to try to be real and honest and to put myself out there without hiding behind the attitude.

So look out world, because I am a mess. A big, blubbering, snot running down my face, wadded tissues on my floor, swollen eyelids, lonely mess of a woman. I made a mistake, I actually made quite a few mistakes and dodging the truth of my feelings and intentions are what got me to that point, so I'm not doing that anymore. I may end up crying alone, but I'm going to suck it up and have the ovaries to ask for help from those that love me. At last check, there were still a few of you out there, so stock up on tissues and whiskey, I'm going to need them both.

Serving It Up For No Discernible Reason

In true self-destructive style, I have utterly given up the hunt for career opportunities. After spending all of our cash reserves in the last two years, sending out more resumes than I can count and attempting short-lived stints at a chain restaurant, upscale retailer, and temp agency I have settled upon a career as a barmaid. Yes, while my English Lit degree gathers dust and my grammatical skills fade away, I am polishing my ability to look cute in a tank top, write down orders for beer and wings, and flirt for 12% tips. It's a proud, proud day.

I'm not freaking out, well not too much, but I am really poor. Turns out the bar I chose to work in, is never busy when I'm actually working. The people are great, but nice people don't pay the bills and as it turns out, neither do losers who give me their phone numbers while I'm carting away plates full of wing carcasses. Fun!

In keeping with my new lifestyle choices of pretty much doing the opposite of anything that seems to be a good idea, working at a dive bar with no guarantee of a paycheck should be the right choice. Sadly, I am still waiting for the pay off. I did get one free Jack out of it and a free order of really good french fries, but other that I'm still waiting for the benefits to kick in. There was the night I made a sarcastic joke to another girl that works there who was super drunk and got her feelings hurt then told another girl that works there and she confronted me about it and we had a little girl on girl melodrama showdown. Why are women so sensitive and annoying? Do I really need to have confrontations with twenty-somethings at a bar because they can't understand sarcasm?

I suppose while I'm on the topic of super stupid things to come out of my new career at the bar I should mention the night the young goth-esque girl that works there was relaying a story that apparently required her to repeat the "n" word out loud in front of tables four times. When I asked her to stop saying that word she then also felt it appropriate to lecture me about my behavior. Still not sure how that one happened in her delightfully empty head, but at least I put something else in that vacant space besides the "n" word.

Oddly enough, I'm finding that I like working at the bar. It is difficult on me physically as I am not used to being on my feet so long or working such late hours, but the social aspect can be fun and I really do like the owner and other staff . . . well, most of them anyway. It's nice not to be chained to a desk and I really like that my hours are varied rather than the straight 9-5 of my old life. Of course, I'm still not making any money, but I do have the reassurance of knowing that many unattractive men think I'm hot enough to foist their unwelcome numbers upon me. So that's a real plus.

Join me next time when I give up my bar job and take up panhandling. I can't make much less money than I am now, but at least I won't have to keep throwing away losers' phone numbers.