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
Can’t.
Stand.
Myself.

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.