15.03.2008

Saturday

How can I not hate the one person who's hurt me the most? Nearly two months have passed since M.K. dumped me, and I still can't hate him. Yet, I do hate things.

1.) I hate how I still crave him.

2.) I hate how he asked for my body, my heart, my soul and when I finally gave them, he discarded them like trash.

3.) I hate that I wasn’t woman enough to realize I was being played for a fool.

4.) I hate that I wasn’t woman enough to keep him faithful.

5.) I hate that I can close my eyes and my mind torments me with the image of him sinking into their bodies, finding release, and never screaming my name.

6.) I hate how he’ll never realize that I can’t hate him, how I’m just enough of a liar to make him believe I don’t cry at night, how I’m so good at being an emotional tundra.

7.) I hate how my heart was so clean, so innocent, so pure when I gifted it to him. Now it’s so shredded, so tainted, so dark that I want to rip the remains from my body and show them in his face.

8.) I hate that I hate her. That I desperately want to believe that she seduced him.

9.) I hate how he knows all of my secrets, but I’ll never be able to confide in him again because I’m scared that he’ll tell her.

10.) I hate that I still love him.

11.) I hate that I’m using a woman I respect to try to make him jealous because they both think I’m going to sleep with her…. And I can’t.

12.) I hate that I can’t tell him what I think anymore. That there’s this huge abyss between us.

13.) I hate how I want to beg for his attention, to hear his voice, to know that he hates all of the things I’m listed, but for me.

14.) I hate how I can imagine him putting his coat on her because she is cold, but knowing that he would have never done the same for me.

15.) I hate how I can imagine him holding her because she is beautiful, feminine, graceful… all of the things I’m not.

16.) I hate how I’m crying as I write this because he may see it one day, but he’ll never realize that every time he’s with her, I’m mentally in the corner of the room, watching and begging him to stop hurting me, to go ahead and use the daggers he loves so well to make my pain end.

17.) I hate how he said he loved me, asked me to marry him, but was too ashamed to tell his family about me until the night I called his home in a panic because I thought he had been in a car crash.

18.) I hate how his family thought I was her and that I was playing a horrible trick.

19.) I hate how I believed that it wasn’t what it sounded like, that I was the only one, when I asked about her. That she was just a friend.

20.) I hate that I didn’t follow my intuition.

21.) I hate that the first man I shared a mutual attraction with couldn’t love me half as much as I love him, couldn’t respect me enough to give me the truth, and couldn’t be gentle in breaking my heart.

22.) I hate how I still feel blind-sided. I was so stupid not to see it coming. He talked about her all the time, but I never put it together.

23.) I hate how I still can’t pick up the pieces.

24.) I hate how I still want him happy, even if it is with her.

25.) I hate how I hold so many of his secrets, but I can’t hurt him.

26.) I hate how I’m not her.

27.) I hate how I’m pretending to move on (both in the RPG we participate in and in real life) but I know that I’d drop everything in a moment for him

28.) I hate how I can’t tell my friends that it still hurts because I’ve ‘moved on.’

29.) I hate how I have to lie about why I cry to my best friend.

30.) I hate how I’m hoping that when he tells her or others about what’s wrong with his walking and they realize how it could affect them, and these girls dump him, that he realizes that I knew all along, and still loved him.

31.) I hate how I know that if he marries someone else, I’d be invited to the wedding and I would go and watch him align his life, family, and heart with another. I would watch my dreams die, and not say a word, because she is who he wanted and I knew all along that I could never compare to her.

32.) I hate that I’ll never be able to believe anyone who says that they love me again.

33.) I hate how every time he’s logging out, I fight the urge to type ‘I love you’ because I know that he doesn’t want to hear that. And I know that he would hate me for my weakness.

34.) I hate how every day just drags on and on.

35.) I hate how he still says that he needs me, how he’ll always need me, how I’ll always be ‘my Saori.’

36.) I hate how I shot two semi-nude pictures for him, not because I wanted to, but because he wanted them.

37.) I hate how cheapened he makes me feel about my emotions, my body, and my mind.

38.) I hate how my dreams about being held and protected feel like I was being unfaithful.

39.) I hate how I wonder if I’ll ever feel desirable again. If I’ll ever feel like I’m wanted, like there’s anyone who would want to touch me, want me to touch them. If I’ll ever want to be seen as desirable again.

40.) I hate how I have to wonder if I actually love anyone I think that I love. W.T., S.I., W.K…. I wonder if I can love anyone and be loved because I’ve always felt that there was no reason to stop anyone from being ashamed of me. That I accepted that I’d probably have to be someone’s ‘dirty little secret’ and just cope with being the week-day fuck. I confessed a ‘crush’ on W.T., but his reaction (and justifiably) was ‘Oh, I get that a lot.’

A list of forty things that M.K. can never know he ruined. Forty things that the people who think that they know me best can never realize.

If W.K. and E.S. ever even suspected…

My sunburned ass would be slapped into next week.

How can I hide so much from the ones that are supposed to know my soul, hold my sanity, keep me attached to a world that I’ve never belonged to?

Is it that they just don’t ask, don’t care to know? Am I close to no one? Do I just think that they care? Yes, W.K. has said that she loved me, but I’m no longer as certain about that as I was four months ago. Hell, I’m no longer as certain about it as I was four weeks ago.

My ‘psychosis’ is a long-term depression and suicidal idealizing that no medication or therapy can ease. Only believing that I was loved, no matter the length of time, eased the darkness of my soul, the torment in my mind.

Yes, now there’s an emptiness that I can’t find the desire to lift myself from. I care nothing for finding a job, fixing my legal troubles, finding an apartment to leave the shelter. I just can’t find it in me to care. I’m living half-heartedly.

My smiles are false and no one knows it but me.

I know that E.S. will be angry, if and when she ever realizes that her favorite blog is actually her best friend’s desperate screams. I know that her anger that I still think of him, still care, will be quick and possibly righteous.

But all I want is to be told I’m special, that there will never be another like me, that someone’s world revolves around me and my happiness. To know that I could shatter someone, but choosing not to.

I want what ever romance novel heroine gets: a strong, handsome, loving, gentle, wonderful man that wants to take care of her forever.

Then again, that’s why they’re dime-store trashy novels. It’s fantasy and doesn’t happen. Girls like me are cast as the villainess, never the heroine.

Most of the time, when people look at me, they look through me, an eery sensation, if one isn't accustomed to it. Physically, I am not an attractive young woman. Indeed, I don't even rate most men's top ten when such buxom beauties as Jenna Jameson, Briana Banks, and other Vivid Girls are excluded on the sole fact that they're over-sexed, glamorized, plastic-surgeon-sculpted 'epitomes' of sexiness that few women can live up to.

I am twenty-years-old (twenty-one in April) and most sixteen-year-olds have more social and sexual experience than me. I've never been kissed by someone I loved, I've never had/been asked on a date, I've never 'made love' for love's sake, never been held as I've cried, never had a boyfriend, never had an orgasm.

Wait, I have to correct myself here. I did have a 'boyfriend.' We met on a website in 2006, were 'dating' by September of the same year. He lived in the Northeast and I reside in Florida. We ended up 'breaking up' because of...well, I'm not sure how many other women I can place the blame on. I really believe I was an innocent party in this.

I'm often told though, that my beauty lies in my personality. I've been described as gifted, giving, kind, intelligent, funny, a 'take home to meet Mama' girl, or so my grandmother says. (And, believe me, no matter what culture you're from, calling your grandmother a liar is never wise. LOL!)

It's the physical that drives men away, though.

I'm five feet, nine inches tall, two hundred and fifty pounds (maybe a little more) on a good day. The politest description I've heard about my hair is that it's a frizzy 'Mississippi mud' brown with small streaks of red. My eyes are 'hound dog' brown and overly large, making the canine reference all the more visible when I don't wear my glasses. My skin is far too pale, giving me a sickly look and I can't even claim that I have large breasts to get attention. (A modest 40 B.)

All in all, I think I look rather like a Goth reject, but that's my opinion.

I usually wear jeans and some kind of t-shirt, usually a size or two too large, and tennis shoes. I have no use for those frilly, overly feminine undergarments. (Not to mention that they're damned uncomfortable and they itch!) Give me a sports bra and a pair of plain cotton panties any day.

I guess that sinice I grew up mostly around men, I've lost touch with the primping, pampered female inside of me. I'm 'one of the guys.'

Even M.K. didn't see me as  young woman, hungering for companionship, affection, and the feeling of 'I can be myself and still be sexy.' We mostly discussed his video games, his school life, his job, his family... I'm sure you see a pattern.

I can't even find the emotion to be angry that he cheated on me, repeatedly, and didn't even feel guilty about it. I had known since the September he 'asked me out' that things would end badly if I dared love him as much as every girl wants to 'love' her first boyfriend. There was nothing to get excited over. I was only going to get hurt.

And what did I get?

A 'I want to break up' and 'You're still my best girl friend.'

Demoted back to being 'one of the guys.'

All of my cousins (well, the ones over 18, anyway) are married, have children, or both. The same with my friends. Need babysitting on a Friday night, short notice? Call me. I won't have anything better to do.

My sixth time as a bridesmaid is coming up. My friend, Treva, is tying the knot. (First marriage, two children from previous relationships). Lucky woman... Plus, the stone on her engagement ring can knock you out at ten paces! Diamond, two and a half carats, in a princess cut, set in platnium and yellow gold.

Yeah, I think I'm a little jealous.

I wouldn't deny her this, though. She deserves it. Her fiance is a good man, a hard worker, loves her children, not to mention being ecstatic at the thought that she's having his child in August, or thereabouts.

I just want someone to hold me, make me feel special. Someone who makes my heart race and tells me that I'm beautiful and sexy. To make me feel feminine and decidedly not one of the guys.

I really don't think I'm asking much, yet I can't find that guy. Or maybe it's that he can't find me. There's a strict definition of 'sexy' in this society and I'm definitely not 'Vivid Girl' material.

I wish I could exchange lives with one of them for a week. To have all of that blatant sexuality at my command while they have to use their brains and see what it's like to live in a world where size twelve is considered fat but you're a size twenty, a nerd, and can't get it in your thick skull that you'll probably never have the picket fence because no one looks at you.

To add insult to injury, there's no reason why you're so large. You eat healthy, you exercise regularly, but you still jiggle in all of the wrong places.

And it's a world that they helped create. You don't see real women in pornography or movies or on TV (with the noted exception of Kirsten Vaughness, who plays Penelope Garcias on Criminal Minds, and they rarely show more than headshots) or modelling clothing. It's size 0s and 2s... maybe the occasional 4. The average American woman is a size 14.

I think that women shouldn't feel guilty for eating, that disorders like anorexia and bulemia shouldn't exist! Liberate yourselves from the constant worry of how bad your 'fat pants' look on you and take that piece of chocolate cake and love every bite of it women! There's a reason that 'd-i-e' are the first letters of 'diet'! Love yourselves as you are!