After a little bit of possibly self-destructive behavior, I’ve taken a time out to look in that ever-dreaded mirror and be a little introspective.
Things were going fine and I was happy doing my thing…but one night a few days ago I got rip roaring drunk, watched two chick flicks, went to the beach alone, and picked up a guy who was eying me from his car on the highway. Frankly, I was a bit disgusted with myself after the fact – mostly because I had been so reckless that night. I broke a few laws, did something incredibly risky….and oh yeah….that little part where The Hotel Bartender came over just two short hours after I kicked the stranger I met on the highway out of my bed.
It was just a little too fast and furious for me…I thought maybe all this unbridled, bra-burning revolution going on inside me had gone a little too far. Or it could have just been the fact that, once again, even a SMALL amount of whiskey in my system brings out the raging Irish redhead in me. But honestly, it’s deeper than that.
I’d grown up in a normal family with high expectations of me. I am the middle child, so however you want to prejudice me by that simple fact, have at it. But I grew up thinking that my life was going to be perfect. I was going to live the American Dream/fairytale….I’d have my degree, a handsome husband and a beautiful home, and we would live happily ever after.
WRONG.
I’m now 26, divorced, and living in an apartment thousands of miles from any real family. Granted, I have a nice car and a nice apartment, and my bills are paid (mostly on time). I’m sane (for the most part) and I keep on truckin’ when times get hard, after conquering depression that raged in my life from my teens through twenties. But life and ultimately, relationships, didn’t turn out the way that I had hoped. The first guy that I planned to marry was The Italian. I met him when I was 19, and all I have to say about myself through the 3 years I was with him is that I was naive. VERY naive. I had had a boyfriend or two before him, but nothing really serious. I was happy to adore him, and up until the day he cheated on me, I thought we were going to be together forever, no matter our arguments or financial struggles or the way that his family didn’t really mesh well with mine.
Boy, was that a hard life lesson learned. Back then I realized the meanings of the terms “co-dependent” and “emotional abuse”. I was utterly destroyed both financially and emotionally in the wake of that man. But, out of it, I became independent, not-so-naive, and a stronger feminist with clear ideas about how to deal better with men I was in a relationship with. I spent a few years on the dating circuit, enjoying seeing what was out there to offer (I was not so sexually liberal back then – it was simply dating, and I stuck to my guns about withholding sex until a formal relationship was declared). I was happy being me. I had finished school, I had gainful employment, good friends, and a sense of self-worth I hadn’t really had before.
Now enter The EX. What struck me the most about The Ex was how badly he wanted to be with me. For a long time I had given up hunting down a man and wanted to simply be the hunted. And The Ex hunted me down. He was mildly attractive…not the shiniest penny in the bank, but he would do if he would treat me right. And in the beginning, he did. It wasn’t until we were legally married that things really started to sour. He got lazy, and fat, and into things that I disapproved of. And then he moved me away from my family and it wasn’t two weeks into our new apartment that he beat the daylights out of me.
It wasn’t the first time he had gotten physical with me. I initiated another wrestling match shortly after our wedding….and while I blamed a lot of it on myself for slapping him and initiating it….and his PTSD for not stopping him…what he did was still unacceptable. I then gave him the ultimatum….either knock it off or next time I’ll make sure it ruins your life. Apparently, he didn’t believe me. In the month or so leading up to the final incident, I found myself gravitating away from The Ex. I was emotionally distancing myself. We were constantly up and down and he was so rude to me most of the time that, even though I was utterly against divorce (I believed with the proper help that we could work anything out), I was considering leaving him the minute I had the financial stability to do so. You can’t live happily in a marriage with a man who calls you a c*nt, prefers marijuana and porn to acknowledging his own wife, and whose presence brings you a constant fear of physical danger (amongst other things). Everything was a downer with this man. He was unhappy with himself and reflected it onto me. Sure, he had his soft side, but I rarely saw it anymore. I was in self-preservation mode.
Well, as I said, I made sure that the next time he laid a hand on me it ruined his life. The police dragged him off, his things were moved out within a week and I haven’t seen or heard from him since. So, here I am, the single lady with a collection of FWBs.
When I sit and wonder why I’ve chosen to walk a path considered by some to be risque, slutty, or destructive, I find that there are probably a few things to blame. The first, most obvious, and what I would really like to chock it up to is simply this : I love sex. I mean, who doesn’t? Ok, I guess there are some people who don’t, but I can’t relate. I just love feeling good and even that connection with another human being. Men will always be a mystery to me. Sometimes when I look at them I see another equal, someone as perfectly normal as me….and sometimes I see something I just don’t get. But yet somewhere in me, I just want to connect with that thing I don’t understand….there is a longing for the man…and everything that he has to give. And while I’ve had a bout or two of lesbian behavior, I simply cannot deny my obsession with the male.
If I look at myself on a deeper level, I’ll understand that what I really like is the attention I get from these guys, and the satisfaction that being wanted brings into my life. Blame it on being a middle child if you want, but who doesn’t want to feel wanted? I’ve been a plus size girl all of my life….and I’m just now in my twenties beginning to truly accept that about myself and gear my mind towards men who appreciate that about me. I’ll have to talk more later about my experiences with the human kind as a big girl, but I’ll save that for another blog. But I cannot deny that feeling rejected for the greater part of my life from men because of my size has left my love cup a little empty. I feel as if now, maybe, I’m making up for all the times growing up that I was punched, spit on, made fun of, and rejected by members of the opposite sex.
Validation is a wonderful feeling. Particularly when executed with fingers, tongue, bodies, and the equipment of the opposite sex.
The last thing I might blame it on is my failed relationships of the past. The fairy tale was a lie…and by now my dreams of having a perfect life are ended…so part of me thinks, what the hell? I’ve got a tarnished record now, so what is the point of trying to be a good girl anymore? And the way that I was neglected in my marriage and other relationships also plays into it. I’ve been eaten out more in the last month that I have with all of my exes COMBINED. This was another one of those things that I asked for more of and therefore received less. And, to be clear – I take care of my nether regions. I receive and have received nothing but positive remarks about the condition of my “situation”, so poor hygiene is no scapegoat for that one.
So I’m getting the attention that I’ve lacked. And, I’m meeting men who are givers instead of takers. And it’s kind of sad that I’ve been so shocked that men like that exist. I’ve been the victim of so many chauvinists, misogynists, and men who were simply just takers, who took advantage of my giving nature, that I honestly believed they were all like that.
At least if I have learned anything from all of this, it’s that while I may choose to jump into bed with whomever I choose, I won’t get myself into a relationship with just anyone. I know better what is out there, and I know what I deserve. And while I’m out here far from home, I won’t have lonely nights where I consider calling up an ex….or falling into depression and crying in self-pity. I’ll have someone there to distract me. And if FWB #1 is not around to keep me smiling, there is always FWB #2, and so on.
For once in my life I truly feel wanted. And how much more do I feel that way when I’m wanted by more than one person? The only thing that remains is finding someone who wants ALL of me. And being fresh from divorce (and frankly, very pessimistic on the topic), I’m not looking for that someone. I’m still equipping myself for the day that I am ready…or maybe when I stumble onto him and start having crazy feelings again. In the meantime I have to deal with that little Jiminy Cricket voice telling me that I shouldn’t be doing this. That I’m “better” than giving myself away to these guys. My greatest silencer is feminism. Why can’t I womanize men the way they do women? I’m also getting a snapshot into what being a man might be like, which helps me all the more to decipher them. And, it’s an ego boost. If I needed anything after the divorce, it was a healthy dose of self-esteem.
I don’t regret getting into this…but I do regret that drunken night when I was so reckless. But, maybe I needed that little alarm to go off…to keep me grounded, and to remind me to be introspective every now and again. I think so much about other people and why they do they things they do…a little “me” time was in order.
The Great Sexcapade 
