There’s this person in my life. He’s giving me all the attention but none of the connection. I can pinpoint the moments that exemplify my feelings but doing that only sets up bottles for him to knock down. He’s mastered the art of getting his butt hurt when I say something non-complimentary. I just keep saying things with less and less compassion. As a people-pleaser, it’s safe for me to question the energy exchange in relationships. If I get the inkling I’m being used it’s generally egregious. Most of my vampires are obvious to everyone but me. If I’m looking at being alone or being used, I’m choosing alone.
I’m not a complete mess. On my worst days I’m still a fairly competent person. Even my bad decisions tend have lukewarm endings. I’m aware of my blessings and don’t hate who I am. Sometimes it just gets boring. I feel like Mama Trash Heap, laying around waiting for people to receive my wisdom. Patient and alone, I know there’s little chance of getting close to anyone for long. She didn’t even look that bad. Similar to a pile of fall leaves, left unbagged in the rain. The name does imply an odor though, doesn’t it? I don’t question my worth anymore. People who don’t like me get to join a fairly large club and the entry is free.
People who mdo like me see to not mind the dark corners of my soul. Some deflect better than others. Some ignore. I’ve done my best to be likeable for most of my life. I’ve failed at this and the friends I have continued to tolerate me despite initial dislike. I’ve never met anyone with a worse bad impression than mine. Something about me reads disingenuous or pretentious or something. I smile as much as I can and laugh when I’m nervous. Apparently too much. All of this is generally forgivable, if it wasn’t for the contrarian in me. I have a bad habit of saying truth too often. It’s adorable if you aren’t trying to date me.
The truth is, I don’t trust something that doesn’t hurt. The things I’ve had to struggle for seem the most worthwhile. Choosing your battles becomes the most important at this point. Which non-prospect is safe to crush on? Who is going to take advantage of my vulnerability? Does anyone even notice when I’m sad? The shell of personality I’ve learned to live behind allows me to hide in plain sight without garnering attention. I’m the kind of girl someone hooks up with on a dare. One thing that seems to work is pain. When someone slaps my ass and makes me scream or fingers my cunt and makes me groan, these are the most honest sounds I can make.
Fortunately, I can’t get close to the people that hurt me. Their walls are too strong and this is because I choose my tops well. They see me for all the unguarded desire I am and take care in how pleasure is extracted. None of them have broken me, though I’m fairly open to the concept. My problem is being too open. I still feel the cold empty side my heart that once knew kindness and warmth. I was hoping the scar tissue would heal by now but that’s never been my super power. I want to know closeness with another human more than I want a puppy. I’ve had some interesting, poignant soirees in the past few months but nothing I can call serious.
My solace is my friends. That’s why I have to judge this one so harshly. He claims friend, I read emotional scaffolding. He’s a neo-feminist feeding off newly found ways to express emotion. There’s definitely some gaslight fueling his charisma and an overwhelming narcissism. Part of that might be the New Yorker in him. Either way, I need to split. I feel strung out after every encounter and he is only benefiting from our arrangement. I don’t have enough time for myself anymore and that is a problem. I’m likely to hermit for about a month and see who survives the famine.