really long journal entry about trust issues- full of sex, drugs&rock and roll for reader interest

Suddenly I am typing with excellent punctuation because I am journaling on Word, to be uploaded when my internet connection reestablishes itself… so much for my unique and lazy style.
So about this trust issue thing… I’m not sure when exactly it developed, or if it has always been there. But I know that I had a couple of relationships that really put it in action. My first true love was all mine, but I do remember that when he had fun with other friends I felt an intense jealousy that I justified to him with ideas of appropriate behavior. Maybe there is a part of me that relates to bpd in that when I feel threatened I find ways to fault the other person.
This relationship ultimately ended, however, because this love of mine was a bitter person. He was hateful of the elderly, he had a bah humbug attitude toward everything, and he was a pessimist. That’s not to say that pessimism doesn’t have its value, and its place, but I don’t feel it should be something eternal, being the optimist and lover of life that I am.  so I left him for somebody who, looking back, most likely had npd. Why? I don’t know. He was charming and handsome, and he laid down the law in our relationship. He always said I would cheat on him one day, because all of his girlfriends had cheated on him in the past. Maybe that was because he could be such an asshole??? This guy’s story was one of a controlling and condescending father who beat the shit out of him, and a mother who divorced the father and joined the navy, leaving him to live with his dad for many of his childhood years (an all too familiar story, these days). I eventually did end up falling for one of his friends, a quiet musician artist type like myself. And I told mr. quiet that I had feelings for him while I was still involved with the other guy who most likely had npd. And then I told the guy who most likely had npd that I had feelings for mr. quiet. All hell should have broken loose, but it didn’t, really. The guy who most likely had npd decided that we would still try to make things work, but I’m not really sure why. If the tables had been turned I would have been so devastated I would have left him, not because I would have wanted to, but because I would have been too crushed to continue. Yet, as it turns out, the guy who most likely has npd was afraid that I would cheat on him because he had been cheating on me. I have no proof of physical affairs, but certain proof (and later confirmation from others who knew him) of emotional infidelity. But we were only 18 and 20, and then 20 and 22 at the end of the relationship, so who’s to say it wasn’t just us being kids and trying to act like we were serious committed adults? It got pretty bad towards the end. He was very emotionally abusive. Even before I fell for his friend he was very condescending toward me (which I was later to realize was his condescension toward women in general, and not something I should take personally). Why did I fall for his friend? I guess it was because I wanted somebody who understood me, someone to whom I could relate, because I was not the charismatic and outwardly “smart” person that my boyfriend was.
The relationship finally ended when I pierced my tongue. I did it as an act of personal fulfillment. I thought it was neat, and it was fun to have a piece of metal in my mouth to fiddle with. I also thought it was hot, and something he would enjoy. Turns out he thought it was an act of rebellion against him, and didn’t “fit his idea he had of me.” We were living together at the time, and when I got the piercing he moved back in with his mother. It was part of the whole deteriorating relationship story, but it was his excuse. I kept the piercing for years, though. It was my reward for having cut a deep gash in my arm (I still have the scar) when he went to a party with both his and my friends and told me I could not go. The freedom of my piercing was my reward after I locked myself in the bathroom crying and yelling in the shower and my roommate had to break down the door to get in to make sure I was ok, while the boyfriend nervously and awkwardly fiddled around in the living room, unsure of what to do… teenage angst? Yeah, a bit. But I’m pretty fucked up, myself.
After this relationship was done, I dabbled a bit in casual sex and had a great time doing it, but I still threw myself at the wrong people, all the while swearing I would never let someone treat me like shit again.
When I joined the latin rock band I instantly gave myself a bad reputation. But at the same time, it takes two to tango, and I was not the only person being promiscuous and having a great time doing it. What does one really expect of a bunch of kids in their early twenties that are in a band and just learning the ropes of independence? And then I fell for the drummer. But he was yet another one I couldn’t trust. The trouble was, we really, really, truly loved one another. We had an incredible connection, and there were times when I could read his mind. (Once when he was playing chess with my brother I blurted out for no reason that Drummer Boy wanted ice cream, shocking the shit out of him because it was exactly what he was thinking at that moment.) But we were too immature (or was it really immaturity? Maybe it was just that we were having a hell of a lot of fun to consider commitment) to create a relationship in which we both trusted one another. Drummer Boy liked to sleep with women. It was one of his favorite hobbies, along with playing music and drinking beer. Drummer Boy’s story was that he had witnessed the murder of one of his close friends a few years back. He didn’t talk a great deal about his childhood experiences, other than having done a lot of whiteblotter acid in his early teens and skateboarding like his life depended on it, even breaking multiple limbs for love of the sport.
There was a lot of back and forth in our relationship. He would tell me he wanted to be with only me, and because of his love of wick-dipping I always needed a moment to think about it, and when I came back at him with a maybe or a yes, his mind had already changed, and he didn’t want a commitment. I stuck it out because, one, I loved him just as we were, in spite of the pain it caused me, and two, it was convenient for me, because then I could dabble here and there without too much worry of the consequences and still having love available. But I found myself knowing when he was out and about, and it became more of a competition for me. I had to find someone who thought I was attractive when I knew he was pursuing attractions toward other women.
And then, god knows why, I wound up falling head-over-heels in love with the leader of the band. The leader in promiscuity, the one whom Drummer Boy looked up to, the ultimate master of doing whatever he wanted and neither heeding nor being affected by the consequences. Lead Singer was the person I wanted to be. He had all the confidence and all the respect. I had none of the confidence and nobody thought much of the shy girl tag-along. Lead Singer’s parents skipped the Mexican border when his older brother was still in the womb. He grew up with a culturally displaced alcoholic father who, when times were good, beat the life out of him and shoved his head into coffee tables, and when times were bad, made him eat dog shit for getting into a fight at school. He surpassed any kind of pd. He was in a life of numb. I see this, now, but I didn’t then. The only indication of his suffering was how quiet he was when he was completely sober. We slept together more times than I can remember, mostly when we were very, very drunk and had nobody else to escape to. I suppose that was something we had in common: we sought approval through sex. I thought that my intentions were fairly obvious, but I guess that since I kept my mouth shut about our affair and carried on like nothing was happening, I must have given the impression that I didn’t care. Retrospect seems to be the theme of this writing, and, in retrospect, I think Lead Singer actually had feelings for me, although not in a way that could have been acted upon in any manner other than how we were already acting.
Long story short, and although this is not Lead Singer’s story or Drummer Boy’s version of the story, I got kicked out of the band. You reap what you sow? You get what you deserve? That’s the way the cookie crumbles? Serves you right?
But I picked all these men. All by myself. I picked them out as candidates for the bestowing of my loving emotions. I picked them out for their turmoil and inaccessibility. My childhood wasn’t all that fucked up, so why did I end up this way?? Fatherhood abandonment issues? He was a little absent, and my smother-mother did a good job of turning me against him.
Then I went and joined the “I love Mexican men” club, and got more of the same. That’s not to lump all men of Mexican heritage into the same category, but the ones that I picked were very noncommittal and very distant. I quit the club and stopped paying my dues so I could invest the money in a texican who was on house arrest for his third dui. Moved him in with me while he was still wearing the ankle bracelet. Let him trash my house, eat all my food, have me drive him everywhere, steal money out of my piggybank, smoke all my cigarettes, and live on unemployment while growing pot in the attic and racking up a huge unpayable electric bill for running the ac while he was at home all day playing video games and whacking off to porn. We started out crazy in love, fishing together, playing music, taking little trips here and there. Then the real him came out in no time at all, once his job was lost, and I got stuck taking care of him and mistaking obligation for the love we felt for one another in the beginning.  I let this go on for over two years, after I had told him from the very beginning that I was not the type who was ever going to be the get-married-and-have-kids-and-a-house-and-an-suv type of girl. He said he didn’t want that either, but it was just a lie. We had a party some time towards the end of our relationship, and his sister-in-law was giving us the have kids talk. I firmly announced my intentions to never have children, and when she confirmed that Texican did, in fact, want to do the whole family bit, she responded with “then what are you going to do??!” Relax, sister. The relationship only has a couple months left to go at this point. Let the problem resolve itself naturally!
I don’t know why I let the relationship get to the point where I was so out of love with him that I fell in love with someone else. Or maybe that’s a pattern of mine. Maybe I stay in a relationship that I don’t want until I find one I do want. Of course, I would never tell my current boyfriend this, because it would be too much of a threat to him, bpd or not. And I also believe that if I find the one that I really want, the pattern will end. So far it has. I did have to leave Current Boyfriend for myself because of his behavior, but I haven’t stopped loving him. I have had a couple of dreams about kissing somebody else that I know, but I am dealing with that differently than I would have in the past. I am looking the thing right in the eyes and asking it what it is. I am not actually attracted to this person, but the warmth and the familiarity call to me when the one I love is so far away. It’s the same old pattern, just in a new context. I hate that it is happening. It makes me despise myself. But I understand at least a portion of why it is happening:
Current Boyfriend goes into his withdrawal states. He’s a million miles away and I have no idea what he is doing up there. Old relationship patterns have shown me that when this happens my trust is being betrayed in some form or another. With Drummer, Lead, all the Mexican men, and the guy who most likely has npd, is was a matter of fidelity, and with Texican it was a matter of holding up his end of the respect bargain. So when Current Boyfriend is in these states, my emotional state defaults to a sense of betrayal. I imagine him with all kinds of girls. The idea and the feeling that he loves me vanishes, and I am left feeling cold and alone. Ironically, this is a lot like what I have come to understand about his experience when he feels threatened, except that I am able to control my behavior and rationalize my situation. I can talk myself down and reassure myself, even if I don’t believe what I am saying. The thing is, though, that when I finally do talk to my boyfriend again, it is clear that he really does love me. That the love is mutual. Granted, I am scarred by his outbursts and his flipping. And my own trust issues are no excuse for his horrendous behavior. But I am learning why I do two things: put up with his behavior and react so badly to his isolation. I put up with his behavior because I have never known love like this, but as it pertains to the issue of trust, I put up with is because I never know if or when I will find love like this again. And because volatility is a pattern I have come to recognize as a part of relationships. Maybe I am hoping that this love can overpower the broken pieces in both of us. But my new-age friend tells me that if I keep these unfulfilled parts of me filled by the wrong things, I am telling the universe that these spots are taken, and not allowing myself the opportunity for them to be healed. So I am trying to find a way to disconnect from this crutch while still maintaining the love. Our separation helps…
With regards to how I react to his isolation, it is pretty obvious. In the past, an unsatisfied man has always sought solace in the arms of another woman. Sometimes he didn’t even have to be unsatisfied, just greedy or overwhelmed by the thought of together forever. Even my own father exhibited this behavior with my mom, although word on the street says he was too geeky to actually achieve infidelity. My mom, on the other hand, damn near broke the guy’s heart. And she told me about her affair when I was pretty young. Why????? Now it is starting to become very clear. My parents always fighting when I was a kid, and the affairs… my mom’s crushes on other men and how she would tell me about them while she was still married to and living with my father, however distant he may have been toward her and his kids. How am I supposed to have any kind of an idea of what committed love is when I had no example of it growing up? Shit happens, I know, and I don’t blame either one of them for this. But now I can see how it would set me up for the kind of shaky relationships I have been in.
When my dad wouldn’t come home until late at night, my mom would speak badly of him, or cry, or do things like set the dinner table with a place for him as if he was going to arrive and then make a big deal about it when he didn’t. I’m sure she was going through some serious hell herself, as was he. They got married and had kids and then found out they didn’t like each other all that much… so I grew up knowing relationships as turmoil. And I followed the pattern. So what do I do now that I have established myself as one who has volatile relationships while still recognizing the fact that I have found an unmatched and irreplaceable love?