More conversations with my men today. The ones I’ve loved. The ones I’ve broken
We begin with a conversation with my dear sweet boyfriend.
About how he is the perfect man for me. Because he gives up and makes a hard swing into nothing. He has no more feelings. No more cares. No more wishes. He’s able to turn off his emotions like a light switch. One moment they are there- the next they are gone.
But they are not really gone. For that would truly be a feat. He’s squashed them somewhere deep down inside of himself. Not to return as he has deemed it unsafe.
Then another conversation begins with the man I cheated on him with. The man I left him for until I realized we were too similar. And I did not want to take the time to enlighten him. It bothers me when people are not in control of their emotions. When their selfishness bleeds through every fiber of their being until it blinds me. Seize control. I have. Why can’t you?
These types of men are also exhausting. Constant reassurance that everything is okay is required. That I am interested in them still. When in reality- it takes quite a lot to hold my attention. Nothing pushes me farther away or more quickly than that question.
He was not ready for a woman like me. I could see I would literally ruin him. And I suspected he would also ruin me. Destructive. Highs and lows. My favorite drug, actually. But it has to be more controlled. I am not the toy you must possess. Or am I? Is that my game all along?
Regardless, he opened up the conversation today about how awful I’d been to him. How I do not value individuals but only their purpose. What they can do for me. Perhaps there is truth in that statement. In actuality I believe I am searching for the narrative I like best.
I’m quite picky about who I wish to be. I’ve spent so long disregarding who I actually am that I rely solely on someone else’s projection of me. I enjoy my dear sweet boyfriends the best. But it appears that I’ve shattered this narrative forever. He is not feeding me any longer.
I want to share. I want my play mate. Don’t you wanna come out and play with me?
I need you to be comfortable with coming and going in my life. This is the path to me. To know that I could leave at any time if I were not interested. Or more concretely- that I could play with others if I wished to. Then we could come back and mesh in the perfect way that we do. Go on our adventures. Write the best life story. You know who and what I am and do not wish to change me. I am not meant to be held. You have to capture me. Cage me. To force me into a life of compromise. Otherwise the wild in me will try to escape. The she wolf.
But I have not yet met my play mate. I wait for him to arrive patiently. He never will. This man does not exist. Relationships are built on compromise. This fluidity and open door policy I crave is not an actuality. And it’s very difficult to find another soul who is as self-aware as I am. If they were- they’d likely try to adjust. Futile. We cannot repair. We are the broken, the damned. And honestly? It’s not that horrible out here. Our afflictions give us power.
But for now I will settle for being the monster.
The girl who clings to instability to even space.
Secretly, I think you knew.