Thank you for teaching me French. Thank you for the long nights of interesting conversation. Thank you for sharing your belief in God. Thank you for the passionate, smoldering nights of soul searching sex. Thank you for teaching me how to make a good pasta and home-made mint tea. Thank you for the laughter. Your sense of humour opened a door of joy in me. I felt more alive and youthful with you. Thank you for challenging me to step outside of my comfort zone and experience new things, places and thoughts at a different level. Thank you for squeezing all the “fat” parts of me when we were making love. You made my body feel beautiful and loved. Thank you for sharing yourself with me. Your authenticity still flows through me like sunlight on a stream. Thank you for helping me to set healthy boundaries for myself, so that I do not become your doormat. Thank you for the soul lessons. Merci beaucoup mon amour. Bisous bisous.
You will miss my soft kisses
You will miss my healing hands when I give you loving massages
You will miss the softness and warmth of my skin
You will miss my laughter at your silly jokes
You will miss my intensity when you tell your stories, when you seek validation, when you seek comfort, love, peace, acceptance.
You will miss my perfume
You will miss the way my body passionately responded to your touch. You will miss the way we made each other tremble.
You will miss my fire. You will miss my worship of everything you said and did.
You will miss all the little things I did to show you how valuable you are to me, to show you that you are loved and cherished.
You will miss my child-like sense of wonder, my naivite, my innocence. You will miss my wisdom.
One day you will wake up in a cold, lonely bed, next to a woman who detests you and rejects your touch, and you will miss the way I loved you.
One day you will miss me.
May I lay naked for a while on your fur rug in front of the fireplace? I am hoping the light of the fire will soften your view of me and make me more appealing. I don’t want to play any games. I want you to know me. I want you to see who I am and I want you to like me. I want to tell you everything about me. I don’t want your pity. I want your admiration. I am a survivor of childhood sexual abuse. It fucked up my view of men and relationships. I can fuck you with the intensity of 10,000 whores, but I will emotionally destroy you if you try to love me. I was emotionally abused as a child by parents who were fucked up with their own childhood traumas. I am attracted to men who continue this legacy, because this is what I do to myself.
Last night as we drove to that quiet spot where we would indulge in our lustful longings, I thought to myself, “You have no idea how fucked up I am”. I will play the part for you. I will become the woman you most desire. I will be your whore for a few hours. There is another side of me that will close my eyes tight and hold my hands over my ears until the deed is done, because it it too traumatic to bear. The aftermath is that I feel the trauma of having my boundaries overstepped. I feel dirty. I feel used.
I am self absorbed. I have been told this by more than one lover. I become so wrapped up in the trauma of my past that I forget to enjoy my present freedom. I am physically free, but emotionally I am still a victim.
Can you handle the battle scars of being in a relationship with me. It is unfair of me to ask you for this sacrifice…so let’s just be fuck buddies. It’s safer that way.
On the eve of a new relationship, I think of my first love, not my second and last relationship…but my first. I remember how much you loved the song, “Please forgive me…” by Bryan Adams…a song that would fortell you leaving me, and in the aftermath, asking for my forgiveness. You never actually did ask me to forgive you, but hearing the song now, I can truly understand why you listened to it over and over again. You knew you were going to eventually leave me. You knew that you were going to break my heart. You knew that I would end up hating you and would eventually become indifferent to your existence. That indifference melts away when this song comes on the radio. It takes me back to the time that I thought you loved me. You left me in the cold and darkness. You never shed light on why you left. I had to figure it all out on my own. You left me with these beautiful memories and this song is like a vessel that carries them. Did you ever love me? I’ll never know. The song gives me that hope that you did love me, even just a little bit.
I don’t know who I am. I’d like to get to know myself and discover what makes me beautiful and what makes me scarred. This entry will always be in edit form as I will add to it whenever I feel inspired to write something new about myself…This entry is for my pleasure and not yours, but I hope you like it anyway.
I love movies that depict cooking. I love to hear the sound of butter searing in a frying pan, and see fresh ingredients being hand picked, chopped and lovingly put together to create a feast.
I have a shower every morning to wake me up, and a soak in the tub every evening to calm me down.
I fall instantly asleep in a pitch black, cool (almost cold) room, snuggled under a warm blanket and no sound. In the winter time I always leave my window open just a crack to allow the cool air to come in.
I prefer the cold weather but I love sunshine. The sea and sun heal my soul. I love beaches and salt water and playing in the sand. I despise humidity.
I spend a lot of time alone…by choice. The energies of the outside world affect me, so I withdraw a lot. I can see myself eventually becoming a hermit. The idea is very appealing to me.
I carry around a lot of guilt. Guilt is the cornerstone of my existence. Even without guilt I feel guilty. In other words I feel guilty if I don’t feel guilty. Each point in my cyclical flow chart has the word guilt. Guilt leads to guilt. No guilt leads to guilt.
I am a combination of East, West, North, and South in my DNA, heritage, culture and ideologies. Je suis Canadienne. Canada is the umbrella that gently protects this delicate combination. Canada is a beautiful place to flourish.
I don’t want people, including me to know who I am, because I don’t want to be stereotyped or judged or pigeon-holed into a cliche character that is two dimensional, out of style and out of touch. I refuse to be defined. A stone has more character than a bird in flight. The bird in flight tries too hard. The stone just sits there with all this beautiful potential to be sculptured into anything, including the bird in flight. A stone can become a bird but never the reverse. The bird has realized its potential. The stone has not yet fully embraced its potential. The shy nature of the stone is more appealing to me than the gregarious bird in flight.
I feel so uneasy with myself. I acutely feel the blockages in my body. I feel trapped. I feel heavy. I feel the anchor weighing me down. I feel tired. What is wrong with me? I feel like sisyphus. I feel the drudgery and uselessness of this existence. I lack love in my life. I lack the love of self. I search for meaning, and I find nothing instead. What is wrong with me? Shouldn’t I be upbeat, optimistic and grateful for everything I have? Why do I feel so discouraged and suspicious about everything? I lack faith in everything. I wrap myself in a tight ball so no one would hurt me anymore, so I won’t feel exposed and vulnerable.
I drove by your house yesterday to see if you still lived there. I felt a stab in my heart when I did not see your car. You moved in with your new girlfriend. I am sure of it. When I got home, I deleted your number from my phone.
I handle grief very strangely. Today I was told that my family doctor, who has been my doctor for many years, has a terminal illness. The tears did not come until hours later. I felt like I was losing a member of my family. He was an amazing doctor. He spent the time to get to know his patients. Every visit began with a little chat. It could be personal, or it could just be a philosophical discussion, or talk about what we did on our vacation. I was not just a number to him. He loved to joke and laugh and he was so properly dressed in his dress pants, shirt and tie, white lab coat, and his black, shiny shoes that made a tick tock sound when he walked across the room. He was as old as time yet timeless. He worked right up until he got sick, because you could see that he truly loved what he did. I will miss his humanity and his kindness and his eccentric need to check the stock market activity on his phone just before he took my blood pressure. I will miss his advice and his emotional support when I was having a tough time at work or wondering what I should focus on as a career. I will miss his jokes and intelligent conversation and his chats about his daughter, his dog, his ex wife and his favourite vacation spot in Panama, up in the mountains where it’s not too hot and not too cold, and there are hardly any tourists, and you can see Costa Rica in the distance. I’d like to go there one day and toast to the great man that he is. Cheers Dr. M. You will leave an amazing legacy behind you. I feel blessed that you were part of my journey and I yours.
He got inside my head you know. He changed my inner thinking. I used to think I was a good person with a good heart. I used to think I was OK. He repeatedly told me the opposite. I began to believe him, and now, after I left him and blocked him out of my life, his words still linger like messages that can’t be erased. Messages like, “You’re fat and ugly. No man will ever want you. You will never be in a relationship, because you are old, fat, ugly and disgusting. You think you’re a good person? Well you’re not! You’re selfish. You’re a loser. You will never amount to anything.” The verbal abuse went on and on. For over five years I invested in him. I loved him. I helped him when no one else, including his family would not. He went back to his ex. Even when he was with her, he still kept me on the backburner, and I let him, because I loved him. The last straw came when he threatened my job. I sought legal advice. When he found out that I talked to a lawyer, he finally got the hint and left me alone. His legacy is his hatred, disgust and hostile words. When he enters my dreams they become nightmares. His abuse continues even after he is gone. His cruelty lingers. It is hard to look at myself in the mirror and feel good about myself. His words haunt me. I am still his mental prisoner. I hardly go out anymore. When people compliment me in some way, I don’t believe them. I avert my eyes quickly when a man gives me an appreciative gaze. I quickly hide my stomach with my hands because I think they find my body disgusting like he did. He seeped into my conscious and unconscious thoughts, so when I interact with other people I hear him and visualize him taunting me. It is worse than Nightmare on Elm Street, because he tried to destroy me from the inside out. That was his insidious plan…to infect me with his poison, his own hatred for himself, so that I would feel like him.
I need you. I need you inside me. I need to feel your body hair against my skin. I need to taste you. I need to please you. I need you to love me and only me. I need to share my secrets with you. I need to know your inner craziness, so I can cherish it. I need you to need me as much as I need you. I need to hear your laughter and see your dark eyes fill with emotion. I need to be your weakness. I need to be your strength. Let me make you feel good baby. Let me wrap you in my aura and consume you so that all you need is me. Let me be your drug and you are mine.