The Art of Booting

I've been called standoffish. Stuck up. Snobby. Judgemental. I actuallly pride myself in the most recent one...a bitch. Sort of.

I didn't start out my existence as one or even as a mean-spirited person. It took a long time for me to get to this point. I used to be one of those nice-nice, goody girls everyone bullied. Sometimes I still am. The tendency to be naive and too giving was especially bad when I was younger. I had a horrible abandonment complex. That was accompied by the inferiority complex (which remains my arch nemesis.) Put them together with years of social abuse and...well, you had one beat up little girl.

Me, that is.

So, the first lesson I learned in life was goodbye. Was leaving and normally never returning for whatever reason. Was anyone I loved, particularly of the male variety, was going to reject me for someone, something, better. Was saying "farewell" was a novelty that I might be lucky to have.

The grandfather I adored, who to this day is the closest I've had to a father, died when I was three. I toddled in to discover his stiff, cooled corpse one summer afternoon. The man that my mother married (who has switched identities from sperm donor to tentative, be-lated relation) kicked my mother and I out of "his" house. (Oddly, it was the house my mother was mostly paying for, and it was in half of her name.) Then he kept popping in and out of my childhood, an endless series of stinging goodbyes. Kids that I thought I could trust and perhaps befriend used me for their cruel jokes and entertainment. They too discarded me.

In short, nothing for me was permanent aside from a stressed, loving mother and a stern, reserved grandmother. (Insert rant about the absenteeism of dead-beat dads.)

Human contact to me equaled automatic goodbyes.

And so, I built up this elaborate system of defenses. I was aloof, a hermit buried in books and shadows. I was quiet, the silence that speaks through the eyes. I was twitchy, the hare ready to bound away if preyed upon. I was territorial, willing to scratch and bite to keep close to me what was mine. I was impenetrable, a mobile ice sculpture. Finally, I was a tyrant, the dictator who decided when you could stay and when you could go. Usually it was my own weakness that allowed people to sneak through my inner labryinth, to subconsciously point them down a secret shortcut to my heart.

As I aged, of coure, I gained wisdom about goodbye. It was a necessary part of maturation. In life it was unavoidable. People didn't always want to leave but might not have the choice to remain. Ah, goodbye, goodbye, goodbye.

But, goodbye is a sword. The blade cuts both ways. It can also have a mercy stroke.

What I have realized as a grown up is I, too, have the power of goodbye. You are a shitty friend, goodbye. I am a shitty friend for you, goodbye. You are a parasitic entity, goodbye. You are a boring acquaintance, goodbye. You are a cheating, loud-mouthed, lying, arrogant bastard, goodbye. You are a person with no character, no backbone, goodbye. You are someone I can't bear to hurt anymore, goodbye. You are someone who couldn't handle me in all my bitchiness, goodbye. You are someone who has drifted away from me, goodbye. You are someone I have no feelings for, goodbye. You are a backstabbing bitch, goodbye. Even to myself, I can say, you are a weaker version of me, my past, my ideals...goodbye.

It takes a certain art to giving others the boot. There are styles of goodbyes, physical actions and pantomimes, verbal constructs and well versed phrasing. The pass year, I have been exercising goodbye, mostly with males. Goodbye overly dramatic, stale ex-boyfriends. Goodbye confidence reducing, festering fuck buddies. Goodbye wormy, crab apple male/female wannabe compatriates. Goodbye stupid, illogical crushes. Goodbye unproductive human contact.

This exercising of goodbye has been positive for me. It's allowed for expansion and exploration of self. It's brought opportunity for the blossoming of new relationships. It's gifted me with the keys to transition. It's aided in my becoming who I hope to someday be.

It took all these goodbyes (maybe a jail sentence in retail, also) to turn me into a bitch. You know what? I'm better because of it.

Thank you, goodbye.