Learning to play the piano wasn’t as much fun as I’d thought it would be, but in our family if you started with an instrument, you had to play it until you were done with high school. Oddly, my parents made an exception when I tried the violin and let me stop those lessons after one summer however. Anyway, my first piano teacher was kind and wonderful. When she moved away my mom worked hard to find a new teacher and was thrilled to get me in with a renowned local teacher, a teacher I grew to hate.

Her house was white—inside. She had white couches, a white rug, and white silk lamps—even a white baby grand. Plus, a plastic runner went all the way through the living room into her kitchen. The couches and lamps had special-made clear plastic zip-covers too. Colorful guilt-framed paintings covered the walls.

She wasn’t warm or inviting and it was pretty clear she didn’t like me, but she did two things repeatedly that really upset me. First, she often left me playing the piano while she sat in her kitchen—not even directly adjoining the room where the piano was—to eat her dinner during my lesson. She’d only do that when my mom wasn’t waiting for me. The little waiting area was between the piano and the kitchen, so if she wanted to give me a direction, she had to yell from her kitchen into the living room between bites.

The other thing, and this one was worse, was that when she was sitting by me, if I made a mistake, she’d make a loud, singular “tsk” sound followed by an exasperated sigh. I guess she expected that I would make no mistakes. At eight-years-old, perfection was tough and soon I gave up.

Over time, I found ways to get back at her. I’d stop playing about the time she sat down to eat and I'd ask her a question, so she’d have to come out and look at the music. And finally one afternoon, quite by luck, I found the ultimate punishment for her.

I walked into the plastic covered living room one day and barfed up my lunch all over her white carpet. The flu had sort of crept up on me and oh how that teacher was horrified. She was clearly worried about her carpet—not me. My mom immediately started cleaning up the mess, on her hands and knees. It was during that moment that I realized that I could really freak her out now…

I insisted that I felt great after puking and sat right down at her piano to play. She tried to convince me to leave, but I insisted that I was fine now. And then, every so often, I’d hesitate and sort of fake a nauseous look, like I might be sick again, directly on the keyboard, then I’d recover and move on.

She had made a practice of being evil to me and I had totally enjoyed giving it right back to her that afternoon. The next week, my mother finally gave in, after two years of my begging, and found me a new teacher.

piano lesson horror stories. After school lessons with a woman who looked like the wicked witch from the Wizard of Oz. I learned nothing & she scared the crap out of me. She was as white as the ivory keys and her soul seemed as black as ebony. I begged, I pleaded. No more lessons. For the longest time, the smell of moth balls reminded me of her.

Maybe it's their empty eyes. Maybe it's their energy. Whatever it is, if he is emotionally unavailable, I will be drawn to him.

Why?

It could be because of my critical, emotionally abusive mother who made me feel insecure.

It could be my workaholic father who learned how to escape being home with a crazy woman.

It could be the benign neglect of an empty marriage.

It could be the devastating loss of my brother, the guilt of not being able to save him. Maybe I can save someone else. I've learned you can't. The only person you can save is yourself.

Maybe it is everything woven together to form an evil security blanket I wrap myself in.

With every relationship I lose another piece of me. The same little girl who stumbled through life and didn't ask questions grew up into a woman who does the same thing. The evil blanket gets darker over the years.

The last relationship was emotionally abusive. But I felt so alive. After experiencing years, maybe even a lifetime of benign neglect, it felt good to feel something, anything, even pain. It was a dark, evil pain.

He was severely depressed and I was going to save him. He tried to commit suicide before he met me. He needed me. He could not function with out me. I went from having 2 kids to 3. Except this new kid was 6'3" and 43 years old. He hated life, his job, himself. He successfully brought me down to his level.

I can't even bring myself to write the things he did or said to me. I felt beaten down everyday. He saw a therapist and took a daily "cocktail". He never seemed to get better, only worse.

Is there someone else? No. His highs were very high. His lows were very low. I saw emails to a woman. I caught him in lies to me, his family and his best friend.

After one session with a therapist I left the office with a diagnosis...of him. Borderline personality with narcissistic features. She told me to google it when I got home. I did. OMG! It was him. She told me to run as fast as I can.

He laughed. His therapist laughed. His best friend laughed. I ran slowly, got out and then got pulled back in. Someone with this personality disorder has a fear of abandonment so they self sabotage the relationship. You are going to leave them anyway so what the hell. They make you feel bad about yourself so that when they do lose you, they don't lose much. They lack empathy.

Within one week of the final break up, I was told I looked 10 years younger. Someone made the comment, "Boy, you've had some bad luck with men".

I learned to ask. It took 47 years but I know to ask. It no longer matters why. What matters is I am a healthy, normal woman who had some bad luck. What also matters is the last time he called me, I was fine. So fine that I hung up the phone and laughed. It was the most amazing release. That blanket is showing lots of wear and tear. It's letting the light in.

We work out our stuff when we are ready and not a moment before...

I liked these lines:

"He could not function with out me. I went from having 2 kids to 3. Except this new kid was 6'3" and 43 years old."

and...

"He laughed. His therapist laughed. His best friend laughed. I ran slowly..."

as growing up with a wonderful mother and father raised baptist,my father worshiped my mother and i grew up believing all men were the same.Iwas 17 and fell in love with the man of my dreams so I thought,later I would find out so much was not as it seemed.Things were so great at first I felt like a princess then I got pregnant I couldnt have been happier then any other women with such news,a child of my own.thats when all hell broke lose,i thought he would change so I stayed we had baby number 2,the beatings got worse and the abuse was so bad i wanted to die.I wore cloths to hide the burses he never hit my face,I now know he was afraid when all that time I was so afraid someone would find out the pain this kind man that everyone thought he was would find out about him.It took me many years to get up and be strong enough to walk away from his abuse but I did,i was afraid to leave but afraid to stay.Evil comes in many packages and for some it takes loving yourself enough to walk away,and for some it will still take time.

There you go, LeeAnna. Good humor vs. evil, evil loses. I knew somewhere out there in this evil wasteland a balance could be struck. Talk about making lemonade out of lemons...!

spuff, you set the table with the opening lines: Maybe it's their empty eyes. Maybe it's their energy. Whatever it is, if he is emotionally unavailable, I will be drawn to him.

I had a somewhat similar affliction, opposite sex. I'm over it for the most part.

The conditioning we undergo in those early years takes a lot of time to dissipate. Looks like you broke the Code. Good on ya!