So...this guy I've been seeing just did a complete 180 last night.  He said I was a liar and fell about a millimeter short of calling me a whore.  I've been completely honest with him about my past.  I told him exactly how many people I've been with, and which ones I regret and why.  I laid myself bare because he asked.  I left out that the last person I was with was here in February and that we were involved at the time...but this was over long before I even knew my significant other existed.

He has told me nothing of his own history, but demands specifics from me.  And last night he told me that he couldn't trust me.  The reason I didn't tell him was because I was ashamed.  This other guy treated me horribly, and it took a massive slap in the face from my best friend to make me get out of the situation.  Which I did.  Get out, that is.  And then I met this guy.  He has been so good.  We have been so good.  We have so much fun together.  We play and romp and act like idiots.  But he gets these mood swings...before we had only fought about politics, and he had said some stuff then, but I blew it off.  Wasn't too personal.

This time was awful.  Absolutely awful.  He had me shaking and hyperventilating.  And he actually said, "I wonder how many others have enjoyed the pleasure of your services."  That's not cruel.  That's downright abusive.  I was so shaken up I could barely respond.  It felt as though I had been raped and he was screaming at me as if it was my own fault.  I wasn't raped, but I allowed myself to be degraded by doing things I didn't want to do, even though I didn't say no or stop it.  And he treated me so horribly.  He wouldn't answer my questions about his own past, saying it didn't matter because I was a liar.  He said terrible things to me, untrue things, things that hurt so deeply that he would ever think that about me. 

I've never in my life been treated with so little respect.  I've never had anyone insult me as deeply as he has.  He took the facts I told him in confidence and turned them around on me.  I was afraid of telling him what happened in February for that very reason; I was afraid that he would use the most painful parts of my past against me.  And he did.

My heart hurts.  I thought he was different.  I really did.  If I betrayed his trust by not telling him the entire truth, he has smashed my trust in him to pieces by doing what he did.  I feel so terrible.  No one has ever treated me like that before.  Never.  And he almost got me to think it was all my fault. 

If anyone has read A Wrinkle in Time, you'll recognize that.  On a physics level, this is supposed to describe the fifth dimension.  In the book, a tesseract is a way of folding the space-time continuum to travel.

I rather think it is applicable to life.  Sometimes events occur in our lives that seem to fold time. Things we maybe planned on for the distant future get thrown at us.  Also, in our personal development, sometimes I feel that we plod along, stagnantly waiting for something indefinable, only to suddenly be plunged into sitiuations that require immense and immediate emotional, spiritual, or intellectual growth.  They sort of blast through the space-time continuum of our lives, and we end up somewhere entirely different than where we started. 

The last few weeks have definitely been that for me.  I wish I could articulate it better, but for now, I suppose I will have to leave it at that.

So, last night my boyfriend asked me about my sexual history--in detail.  I'm not proud of some of it--the rest I'm fine with.  It was really difficult for me to talk to him about all of it; he has a pretty conservative view on sex.  The only parts of my history I regret are the last two people I was with before I met my boyfriend.  The reason being that I didn't want to be intimate with them, and I didn't say no.  If I could take it back, I would.  In a heartbeat. 

It was so hard telling him.  I'm afraid he thinks less of me now.  When I asked him, he said, "Well, I'm not hanging up on you or saying anything mean, am I?"  And no, he didn't hang up on me or say anything cruel--but he also didn't answer my question.

I don't know if anyone else has found themselves in this situation.  If you have, and you read this, could you give me a little encouragement?  I told him I was an open book--I'll never lie to him, nor will I refuse to answer his questions, even if I feel ashamed.  I think that's why I'm so upset right now.  I feel ashamed.  I haven't felt this way in a long time; I haven't felt the need to justify my actions to anyone.  I don't know why I do now, except that I care for my boyfriend a lot, and, to quote my favorite Jane Austen woman, "I can't bear the thought that he is alive in the world and thinking ill of me."

My history has been a story of trying to find out where I stood.  I don't think that pre-marital sex is wrong, and, like I said, I only regret two of my partners.  I also realize that some of my encounters have been entirely a search for justification of myself.  When my ex left me, I felt rejected and I know that some of what followed in the next few months was my reaction to that--looking to feel acceptable.  And for that I am ashamed.  Looking back, I was a mess.  Hell, even going through it I realized I was a mess.

The point is, I don't want to lose this guy.  I care if he cares.  And if he does think less of me, I'll agree with him because I don't think too highly of myself in this respect.  To end this on an epiphany and with some hope--how can I expect him to accept me if I can't even accept myself?

On a completely unrelated and vague sidenote, I think I know what I need and why--even if I haven't wanted to admit it before now.

I think people have a deep-seated need to see others who have gone before them.  Some people are trailblazers, but for many there exists a realm of uncertainty in regards to their own greatness.

Sometimes we need simple encouragement.  A "you can do it" from a trusted friend or even a complete stranger.  Other times we need to see an example before us.

I myself need that often--but when I do it despite my own perceived shortcomings, I find that others take note.

That's an imperative, by the way.

You know that old adage, that "those who can't do, teach?"  Well, I'm beginning to think that it is high time we fixed that.

I'm a history gal.  I've spent the last five years getting my BA in history with a lot of my own emphasis put on European history.  I spent more than half of the last three-four years in Europe, learning firsthand.  And people always ask me, "So, whatcha gonna do with a history degree?  Teach?"

And up until recently, I would have coughed a couple times before spluttering a slightly indignant, "No, there are other things I could do, you know." 

She said, as she ate her words, trying to fit them around the foot in her mouth.

I have a lot of invaluable experience.  I've donethings.  I know not only that the Holocaust started when Hitler decided to destroy Europe's Jewry, but I know what it smells like in the crematoria in Auschwitz.  I've seen the barracks full of shoes in Majdanek.  I've walked through the streets of Berlin, seen memorials to those who died.  I know people who went through it, and they still live to remind us why we ought to never allow it to happen again.

I can still see the beauty of the Vatican and the soft colors of the Spanish olive groves.  Smell the Mediterranean.  See the flecks of amber in the sand on the Baltic coast.  There is so much more to history than simply memorizing an endless list of dates.  It's a living, breathing thing that still nudges at us every day.

Unfortunately, most students' eyes glaze over the second you say the word.  And maybe that should stop.  Maybe their teachers should show them a youthful exuberance for the world around them.  Teach them to take pride in their own country, but respect others. 

So now when people ask what I want to do, I tell them I want to teach.  Beyond that, I want to give.  I've had experiences that I would call priceless.  Not everyone will be able to share them.  Most people won't.  But if I show them it can be done by someone like me, with no wealth or position, just a little luck and a lot of drive, maybe they'll get the point.

Maybe they'll get the glimmer that history is ourstory.  The people we talk about who made such momentous decisions in the past were just that:  people.  Like us.  Really like us.  Their decisions affect us, and our decisions will affect those who come in our stead to take our place down the road. 

So this is an admonition, an adjuration, a call to those who have done.  Teach.  Be the change, and change will come.  Let's change the old adage and let our teachers be Doers, Knowers, Experiencers, Searchers. 

I have a theory.

I've been thinking about this particular thought for the past several days.  It was brought on by my current relationship, added to by reflections on a friend's former relationship, and confirmed by Jewel's attempt at singing country, which, though kind of whiny, is on target.

In the past couple years, I have come to understand myself better.  In doing so, I have come to the realization that I can be authentically me without apology or repression of my self-ness.  I spent the last few years on and off in Europe, and in that new place, I let myself just be.  In doing so, I found a confidence I had never before experienced and a love for myself I hope I never lose. 

Before my time in Poland, my relationships with the opposite sex--and to an extent my friendship relationships with women--had been characterized by me feeling as though I didn't deserve to be treated with respect and caring.  I would willingly do all the work in a relationship:  call, email, invite them out, etc.  I knew somewhere in my head that it wasn't right and wasn't healthy, but I allowed it to continue.  As I grew older, I allowed men to treat me badly.  They were never abusive in the common sense of the word, but they took advantage of my willingness to hold things together by myself.  They took me for granted, made it known that I was just a convenience, and I felt myself falling.  I took their table scraps of affection with gladness and gratefulness.

Then I went to Poland.  My first semester in Poland, something snapped.  I became involved with a young man who happened to have a girlfriend back Stateside.  Our relationship turned sexual one drunken night, and he left a week later, never to be seen or heard from again.  I rebounded with a guy later that year who told me I was fat and a bunch of other things.  And I took it.  Because I believed it already; all he was doing was reinforcing my own thoughts.

I stayed in Poland another year.  Following my rebound guy, I returned to the States for a month and then went back to Krakow.  I spent that semester observing.  I watched one guy in particular--another American.  He had women falling all over him.  Many of them.  He spent the semester juggling two of them in particular.  For a time, I found myself attracted to him, but more and more as time went on, I realized I was repulsed by his behavior.  I am happy to say we never became involved romantically in any way. 

I spent that Christmas in Scotland, which to me is home.  One of my dearest friends and I spent the entire time talking, reflecting, theorizing, and simply getting things off our chests.  We lived in a hostel in Inverness, and took walks to town in between all the cooking preparation.  I remember during those talks how much time we spent dwelling on relationships.  Something in me had changed during the previous semester, and I found myself somehow at peace.

Perhaps it was my feeling of triumph of rescuing myself from a sticky situation with that guy, but I seemed to have gained some value in my own estimation.  When I returned to Krakow after Christmas, I spent a few days resting and thinking, and on New Year's Eve, went to a friend's house to celebrate.  That was the night I met Jogi.

He was a bit younger than me, with a sweetness about him that I saw immediately.  I didn't expect him to be interested in me in the slightest--especially considering the fact that I spent most of the evening ingesting 15,000 liters of vodka and subsequently returning said vodka to the outside world, a section of which just happened to be on Jogi's foot and my camera.

In spite of that, he wanted to see me again.  We started a relationship that lasted 8 months--by far my longest relationship ever.  He was kind, and gentle, and passionate, and we shared a wonderful time together.  For the first few months.  He grew distant after a while--busy with work.  He began to physically distance himself from me, as well.  He would occasionally push me away when I tried to touch him, and I began to seriously doubt his affection for me. 

After a few weeks, I became more withdrawn and hurt.  Finally, one night, I began crying, and he asked me what was wrong.  We spent the next morning discussing everything.  He needed personal space, he said.  I told him I needed him to assure me sometimes.  Things went smoothly after that--I moved in with him for my remaining time in Poland, and our relationship actually got better and better.  I found myself in love, and I told him so a mere week before I was supposed to return.  He couldn't say it back.  He said he wanted time to figure it out, but time was something we didn't have.  I think I knew then that he was going to leave me, which he did, a month nearly to the day after I left him in Oswiecim.

The next few weeks and months were a blur for me.  I was devestated at first--Jogi had been my first love.  However, something weird started happening.  I had never been asked out before I left for Poland.  But when I came back, I got date requests every week.  I was so surprised and a little confused that I accepted all of them and went into a dating frenzy.  In late September, I met a geologist from a nearby university and we began seeing each other.  A month later, he dumped me and had an "official" girlfriend the next day.  I was shocked by his immaturity.  Jogi, for all his wavering, was at least honest with me.

The date invitations kept coming.  And I got sick of it.  They all seemed to see me as something I wasn't, and when I would try and be myself, they looked confused, as though I wasn't fitting into the little box they had reserved for me.  I stopped dating completely.  I stumbled into a couple other problems and was slapped out of them by my best friend, and I found myself completely annoyed with the world of dating. I promised myself not to get involved unless it was one of those Bam Moments that happen so rarely.

I realized something else about right then.  I loved myself.  I like me.  I'm pretty cool.  I'm smart, funny, happy--and worthwhile.

To make an already interminably long story a tiny bit shorter, I met someone not too long after.  If you ask either of us how we met, we'll tell you we met in a grocery store, which isn't true.  The truth is, he posted an ad on Craigslist, and I saw it.  He wrote of a connection that can't be grasped or described, only experienced.  He didn't seem to think he had a lot of hope in finding that on Craigslist, but I was intrigued.  There was no picture.  He described himself jokingly as handsome "even by other standards than his mother's," but it being the internet, you really never know.

I emailed him back, surprising myself by how personal my email was.  At the end, I told him that no matter what happened, I was happy to know that there were guys like him out there.  We started talking on the phone after a couple exchanged emails--I had managed to intrigue him as well.  Our first conversation lasted five hours.  We bumped up our scheduled meeting to the next day.  He came up to my area of town, and that was that.

He has surprised me a couple times by showing simple appreciation for things I did.  I realized that no one had ever done that for me before him.  And I realized something else, which is the point of this long, involved, possibly boring blog.

When you love yourself a lot, and you're utterly  content just being you on your own, it takes a lot to make you want to give up that happy freedom for someone else.  You have to look at another person and think, "Man, that person has something."  And you have to want to add that person to your life.  When you are happy in and of yourself, it will take something pretty spectacular to make that happen, because if they're not that great, why would you forsake your joy in singleness?

When I met him, I was already loving myself.  He swept into my life and I was blown away with him.  He thinks everything I do is amazing--and I'm happy to say I agree with him.  I feel the same way about him.  Even when he gets hungry and therefore grouchy.  We tease each other playfully a lot.  And before, if someone had said something negative to me, even in jest, I would probably have cried.  Now it rolls right off, because I know me, and I know that it's not true.  We also compliment each other a lot...and we accept one another's kind words because we know they are true.

The opposite, I believe, is also true.  When you dislike yourself and hold negative opinions about your personality, your opinions, your looks--all it takes is someone bringing them up, and we wholeheartedly agree.  When people dislike themselves, the bar is so much lower.  They are willing to plunge into relationship after hapless relationship or stay in a bad one, because all the words or implications that come at them, "You're worthless--you don't deserve my kindness."  "I don't love you."  "You're boring."--All of these things simply reinforce the feelings they already have about themselves.

So, the point is:  Before you can learn to have a healthy relationship with another human being, you need to learn how to love yourself.  Once you do that, find someone who you want to be with because they're so fantastic you can just see how amazing it would be if the two of you rock stars were together.

 

I often think that I have been put on this earth to be an empath.  My mother is the same way.  When others hurt, I hurt.  The best example of how I have experienced this comes from a period of my life that truly made me who I am right now; it comes from the year and a half I spent living in Poland.

Poland is a fascinating country-Poles often joke that it is impossible to sum up the entirety of Polish history in two words, but I had one professor quip glibly that it can be done:  "Byla fatalna."  In Polish, this means, "It was awful."  This humorous statement holds a very dark undercurrent.  For over 120 of the last 250 years, Poland did not exist on maps.  The country has been invaded, trampled, and used as a tug-of-war rope for centuries, and Poles still remember as if it was yesterday.

Many would assume that the freshest wound to the Polish nation would be the decades spent under Communist rule, but deeper than that is the memory of the Second World War.  From the year 1939 to the year 1945, Poland lost a third of her population.  One sixth of her people were killed outright in battle, in concentration camps, or on a simple whim.  Another sixth were deported and put to work in Soviet gulags. 

When I walked through the streets of Krakow, I was constantly reminded of the intense, longstanding suffering the Polish people have experienced.  They were at the heart of Hitler's genocide, and had the war continued, it is likely that he would have nearly eliminated them completely.  I do not know a single Pole in my generation whose grandparents did not die in a concentration camp, fight in the Resistance, or simply disappear. 

Poles are used to being forgotten on the world stage.   When the Pope John Paul II was living, they found in him an ambassador to the rest of the world who remembered their plight, because he himself had experienced it firsthand.  I went to Poland because I made Polish friends during an adventure in Scotland and became intrigued.  I learned the language fluently and made a point to learn what I could about these people.  What I encountered shocked me.

The wounds inflicted upon Poland during the 20^th century go so deeply that even the younger generations feel the ripples.  When asked what I thought of Poland by an elementary school aged boy, I told him I respected Poland, and his blank, dumbfounded answer was, "Why?"  Everywhere I went, people were astonished that an American would take interest in their history, their lives.  America and Canada are spoken of with almost breathless wonder by most Poles.  The fact that I learned Polish was met with almost disbelief.  "But you must have Polish family," they insisted.  No one learns Polish otherwise.

Poland showed me a part of myself in a world microcosm.  The wrenching, inexplicable pain I feel even thinking of my visits to Auschwitz-Birkenau, Majdanek, and Plaszow reminds me that sometimes people need simply to know they are remembered.  The motto inscribed upon nearly all Holocaust memorials is "Never Again."  I think it should be expanded to "Never Again.  Never Forget."  Half of the victims in Poland were Poland's Jews.  Out of 3.3 million, they lost three million.  The other three million deaths were non-Jewish Poles.  Poland is simply a small example of a phenomenon that occurs around the world.  Oftentimes, those who experience unspeakable terror and genocide are simply forgotten.  Even on a less dramatic level, the victims of poverty, abuse, civil war, and exploitation are left to rot.

My purpose may not be earth-shattering when viewed on a global level, but I believe the value to a single person just knowing that someone sees them can be priceless.  If I can touch people by simply understanding their pain, it is worth feeling it myself.  If everyone could even feel a glimmer of it, I truly think they would fall over their own feet trying to fix it.