Men. I'm not sure why
I keep trying, hoping that there will be one to live up to the extreme
standards I have laid out for myself - but I do. I hope he'll come, and we'll fall in love,
and we'll cook dinner together, and go to brunch together...but he hasn't. I'm beginning to understand maybe my path in
life is to be alone, maybe it's what's in the stars for me.
When my husband shattered my world four years ago, it was a
long hard road out of hell to come back from all the pain and heartache I had
experienced. I destroyed myself further
during my healing process. Drugs,
alcohol, men, whatever could make me feel something other than the excruciating
pain in my chest, the sting of the wind blowing through the hole he left deep
within me.
My first experience was just awful...and unforgiving. After a night of drunken debauchery, I had
stayed with what I thought was my friend and her boyfriend. The Xanax and alcohol had taken its toll on
me and I was going to sleep it off. The
boyfriend's roommate said he had clothes I could sleep in. I went to his room to get them and he shuts
the door. He insists I sleep in his
room, I say I'd rather stay on the couch and he should just give me the
clothes. Somehow I ended up in the bed,
after changing in front of him, all the while him gazing upon my body as if I
were an English breakfast spread across the table for an orphan child. "You're so beautiful." Drugged and exhausted, I just wanted to
sleep. I laid in his bed. Dozing in and out of consciousness. He kissed me all over, kissed my mouth, he
tasted like cigarettes and old booze. He
was a gross, greasy mess - fat and balding.
Fighting as best I could with steadily increasing loss of motor control,
he eventually had his way with me, all 36 seconds of it. Just enough time for him to intrude my body and
squeal in delight at how I felt before he fell over fat and spent.
I lie awake crying silently, violently shaken from my
drugged stupor, the dim lights still hazy.
I waited til he was fast asleep.
I took more pills, and then I snuck out of his room, which oddly enough
was attached to his child's room, and the sight of her pink toys strewn about
her dirty child like bedroom made me violently ill. This was not what I wanted for myself.
The second, a marine, at the restaurant I worked out. Our sex was filthy, disgusting, and he was
very pig like. To him, I must have been
a goddess. To me, I was a broken
destroyed pathetic human with little to no self worth left within me, not after
what happened. Later I came to find our
fling was not as private as I had hoped, and he was also cheating on his
girlfriend/fiance with me. I was the
other woman, and it wasn't ok to me. Why
I picked the ugliest, most wretched, vile affair I could have for my first
freeing experience, I'll never know.
Maybe I was too damaged to see what was unfolding in front of me. Soon things became public and I lost my
pathetic job.
He was the first step in my self destruction and dissolution
of any hope I had for myself. Next it
was a long stretch of late nights trapped in bars, drinking away my
pain...dancing, taking pills, smoking, whatever it could be to feel numb. Sought after the attention of men, but never
took on any advances, I just enjoyed the attention. I had become everything I had ever
hated. Those sad pathetic girls,
drinking til their makeup melts off, sweaty thrusting bodies in a crowd of
desperation. I filled this hatred with
bouts of crying in bathrooms, and shots of whiskey.
Then one fateful night, many months later, I had gone out
for just a girls evening. I stumbled
across this gorgeous vibrant cocky son of a bitch, who decided to flirt and
insult me at the same time...I was taken aback by his ways. He kissed me long and hard on the dance
floor. He wore a cobalt blue shirt, a
vest and slacks, as if he had just left homecoming and snuck in to hang with
the adults. I thought he was the shit. Finally an attractive funny guy, who was so
hard to get, I wanted it. Shortly after
meeting, we started seeing each other and then was our sex. I should have known the first night we met it
was not going to be a smart choice. Then
again, my head wasn't on right, and I was not concerned with anything that
could be remotely considered a red flag.
He stayed at my house.
I told him to sleep on the couch...of course that didn't happen. Whatever, he slept in my bed. I woke up and rolled over to see him,
shirtless...and very sexy. Tattoos
covered his body, he had piercings, and jet black hair, a strong jaw line...he
was in my bed, and he was hot. I
seemingly forgot how he arrived there, but I leaned in and kissed his nipple,
smelling him and taking it all in before rolling over and passing back
out...all to be woken up with his hand down my pants trying to penetrate me. I
slapped him away. Did I not see the
clear violation? No. We dated for two
years. Finally ended when he beat me and
broke my ribs.
After him where three other flings and then I quit...my
healing had become apparent. I hated
myself and broke down. I wanted to
change, I wanted to stop being an object.
I wanted someone who wanted me for more than my body.
Then there was him.
My prince charming, tall and handsome, and good. Riding a white steed...I pined after him for
a year before we got together, and well, as we've read, the rest is
history. He was my one. The one I had prayed for. The forgiveness I sought to be able to have
such a man, my dream guy. I prayed for everything...begged. Then he was mine, or so I thought.
I've spent the last month trying to get over this loss,
thinking I had finally healed from all the shit I put myself through. I've worked hard over these four years and
these many flings to become a stronger woman, an independent woman who has
fought for everything she has. I've
finally reached something close to content with myself. I wanted someone finally who would be good to
me, who I could take care of. Someone to
just be with. Someone to fall in love
with.
I did. He didn't. And
that's how my story goes. I finally
worked over my demons. I sought
forgiveness, I changed my life. This
wonderful man comes in, when I was content being alone. I thought it was a sign. I thought...
Well I was wrong. He was the second man I've ever
loved. The first being my deceitful
husband who sent me into the spiraling abyss of madness and chaos. J - the second, and truest man I've known, left me sobbing
on my couch, and walked out of my life as my lover, forever...and he's gone,
and as much as sadly, desperately I've tried, he's not coming back. There's no working it out. He does not love me, and I cannot make him.
Nor can I make this void in my chest full again. I feel I've finally lost it...I've lost my
will to love, I don't think I can again.
It's too trauma inducing, it's too painful. I'm never loved in return. At this point in my life, I'm too afraid for
another goodbye....
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