I’m needy; it’s the worst thing about me. I’m dressed all in blue today, knowing I deserve happiness but fearing I’m going to be lonely for the rest of my life. I’m a Rhett Miller song, and I
I know it doesn’t happen over night. “It” being change. Change takes will, determination, and a modicum of patience. Currently, I’m under construction, but I really do look wretched in orange and just want to be “fixed.” I don’t know how to get rid of the orange sabotage cones I’m placing strategically along my path. They’re like oompa-loompas, raising their white eyebrows at me, singing pesky songs.
My whole life, I’ve learned I could get my way if I worked hard at something, if I wanted it enough. But relationships don’t work that way. You can’t make someone do anything, and trying leads to catastrophe for all parties involved. But I want it, and I want it now! I’m not worth Veruka’s salt.
I punish when I don’t get my way. We’re not talking whips or “have you been a naughty boy?” methods here. I’m talking the subtle ways in which we punish those we care about when they disappoint us. While I may not have a temper, I’m proficient with the tantrum and an irrefutable authority when it comes to the pout. I realized this about myself over three years ago, when I pushed too hard for something that was important to me, only to actualize the catastrophic effects of my needing to get my way months later. When I don’t get my way, no one does. It’s what I hate about myself.
I’m not talking what type of food to eat, which movie to watch, windows up or down. When it matters, when my heart feels it, I throw a sophisticated tantrum involving shoulder shrugs, a pursed mouth, and silence. “I’ll show you,” echoes in my head, but soon, there’s no “you” to show for it. I don’t know how to not get my way or not use a double negative. I don’t know how to change, to not feel insecure or terrified. I’ve tried empathy, to understand just how his shoes fit, but at the end of the day, even after I admit, “well, I guess I can understand,” I’m a brat. “How could you leave my side when I have important things going on? When I want you there. When I need you. I really didn’t know until now, but I do need you. My life is more colorful with you in it, especially on overcast days, and I want to share it with you.” But now I lock him out, using the chain-lock affixed to my red pumping organ, because if I can’t get my way, he can’t either. I jump right to “Screw you. Go enjoy spending your time with all the extraordinary people on your enlightened path,” instead of, “I understand” because I really can’t live like that. It makes my heart too nervous, my brow too furrowed. So I punish because I want and deserve by-my-side, all-the-time. I wish there were a needy pill. I’d take a double dose, and save one more for Linus. While he licks my new blisters because they’re salty, this is a salty wound he can’t reach.