Many times I wonder…

Who would I be if not for my misery. Who would I be if I was able to be happy? What would it feel like to be loved and adored? What would it be like to feel safe, secure, and protected?

What would my life be like if I didn’t have this constant ache in my body? This lump in my throat? This weight on my chest? This nausea? This dissociation and disconnect? How would people see me if the pain trapped behind my eyes disappeared? How would they treat me differently?

What would I give to be free from it all? Is that even possible? Show me the path and I’ll walk it. Tell me the steps and I’ll take them. Give me the keys and I’ll unlock those doors and go through them. Gladly. Whatever suffering I must endure to get there I can handle it. I’ve survived worse.

I long for a connection, yet connection is hard for me.

I reveal myself, yet so much still lives below the surface and remains unseen. I use sex to feel connected without facing the fear of being connected. Without the connection I feel from sex, I fear I have no connections at all. Sex is easy and it’s everywhere. (You men are some mother fucking hoes… I’ll write about that one day too.)

In those moments, I’m on top of the world. I’m everything I wish I could be. I’m the center of attention. I’m the object of desire. I’ve become addicted to living in the feeling of that moment. I’m special. I’m important. I’m Daddy’s most favorite good girl. Nothing else exists for me at those times. Just the complete elation I feel.

Yet, sex only leaves me feeling even more disconnected. The majority of men are “Fuck N’ Bucks”. They ingratiate themselves with my flesh, disregarding the complex woman that inhabits that flesh. Once they are done, they leave. Then the loneliness sets in. I’m left to wonder how they can’t see the rest of me. Why can’t they see how amazing I am? Why wouldn’t they want to be with me? Ya’ll should be breaking down my door and fighting each other over the chance to be the one to lock down my love.

Instead, I am the one chasing after them. Fighting for them. Obsessed over them. Why?

It never starts that way. It always starts out completely different. Men meet me, talk to me, and every one of them says the same thing. I’m intelligent, I’m sexy, and I’m successful. Why am I still single? They seem to be smitten with me. Giving me all their attention. Calling and texting all the time. Wanting to see me. Wanting to spend time with me. Then… they change.

They start only coming around or calling to hook up. They stop acting like they care. They quit calling just to talk. They let me hang for days, or even weeks, before messaging me back. They quit pursuing a relationship. I used to feel that they give up because they don’t feel that they are worthy and they feel they are incapable of being the kind of man I need. I used to think that they knew I deserve way more than they were capable of giving me.

I don’t believe that anymore. Now I believe that their opinion of me has changed. I believe that they are seeing something in me that kills all romantic desire for me. I believe there is something about me that is inherently unattractive. It’s beyond redemption. None of my other qualities will ever add up to enough worth to overcome it.

Is it my nymphomania and how much sex that I need? Is it some faulty logic I express when I speak? Or some broken mindset? Is it because I’ve fucked hundreds of people? Is it my debauchery? Is it my tears and my sorrow? Is it my insecurity? Does my desire for intimacy come across as being needy or desperate? Is it all of these things? … Or is it something that is completely outside of my awareness of my own flaws?

Why can’t they just be upfront with me? If it’s sexual, then just admit that they don’t want a slut for a girlfriend. I can understand that. But I am capable of being faithful. I have been before, and I could be again for a man that treated me with love and respect.

If it’s my personality, then just tell me what’s so abrasive. I’ll work on it. I want to improve. I’m ready to acknowledge my flaws. It’s something I’m already working on.

If it’s something else, don’t I deserve to know? If you care at all for me, wouldn’t you tell me so that I can do something about it? Why leave me in the dark, damned to repeat this process with the next dick that comes along?

What are they seeing that I don’t?

It has gotten to the point that whenever a man first meets me, and compliments me, acting all smitten with me, I internally roll my eyes. Here we go again. Another guy that’s overcome with the delusional belief that I’m the most amazing woman they’ve ever met…

“Oh yeah? Get to know me first.” I tell them.

Whatever it is that’s so repulsively wrong with me, they will soon come to discover it for themselves. I couldn’t clue them in if I wanted to. At this point, it’s beyond my understanding. Because personally, I would love to be with someone like me. I would love to have someone that desired the level of connection that I crave. I would appreciate someone who could handle my debauchery. I wish I could find someone as self-aware of their issues as I am. I would cherish a man that was capable of introspection and working toward self-improvement. I could really commit to a partner that felt like my best friend. What they see as flaws are just growing pains.

I have a vision of a man in my head…

He adores me, not just my body. He can see this intelligent, passionate woman. He loves my honesty and my loyalty. He understands that I need to be treated gently. He has sympathy for the suffering I’ve endured and he appreciates the strength it takes to persevere despite my pain. He knows sex is just another drug for me, another escape, and he doesn’t shame or judge me unworthy because of it. He communicates with me. He leads me. We grow together. We challenge each other. We teach each other.

In my heart, I’ve submitted to him already. I would do anything for him. I search for him in every man that I meet. I try to mold the men I’ve loved into the vision I have of him. I try to convince them that I’m worth the effort and that I deserve a chance to love and be loved in return.

I fear I will never find him.

I fear that nobody wants to deal with my tears. Nobody wants the burden of dealing with my pain. It doesn’t matter how intelligent, motivated, successful, committed, beautiful, or sexy I am. I’m not worth the burden of having to console a crying heap of despair that I become.

Do I sound pathetic to you?

My insanity comes from the incongruence between never feeling worthy of love and knowing that I am an amazing woman, with a big heart, and would make a wonderful girlfriend. I’m driven to madness with the feeling that my suffering and longing is the thing that pushes everyone away. Don’t they understand that this agony isn’t my fault? I didn’t ask for any of this pain and I don’t want to feel any of it anymore. In my worst moments, I just want to be reassured that I won’t be abandoned or neglected. I just want to be held and told I’m loved. I want to know that I’m truly safe now.

I wish I could wish it all away.

Every memory. Every moment. Every bit of sadness. Every feeling of being broken. Shattered. Every instance of self-doubt. Every toxic trait I’ve acquired. Every unhealthy thought. Every destructive belief. Every bad habit. Every trace.

All of it.

What would it feel like to be free from it all?

Who lives under all this pain?

Who am I without it?

I am the manufacturer of my own agony.

Much of my pain I manifest. I do it to myself. I could escape from it if I was better able to say “No.” If I could release the people in my life that hurt me. Instead, I keep letting them in under the logic that someone is better than no one. Right? Besides, if I reject them for their downfalls, how can I ever expect anyone to be there for me? Because the Lord knows all that is wrong with me. I am no better than them…

It’s quite possible that I’m much worse.