I tried so hard to be cool and casual last night.
But I only ended up feeling inauthentic and bereft.
There is nothing cool or casual about me.
I love big.
I love hard.
I love you.
And I let go.
See you around the hood.
I sent Highland Park the above email this morning. I am feeling major regret. I called him on my way home from a friend’s house last night after a couple of drinks, and we decided to see each other, even though we technically aren’t supposed to be seeing each other anymore. We figured we could hang out “just as friends” no big deal. No big whoop.
He came over. We smoked a little bit of pot. Then we fucked. Then he left. And I felt empty inside. The sex wasn’t even that good.
Wham. Bam. Thank you. Ma’am.
WHAT THE FUCK was I thinking??
Highland Park is not all that! In fact, he isn’t even a quarter of what I made him up to be. Fuck me and my overactive imagination. I made him up in my head. It is not the first time I have ever done this. But it still sucks and feels surprising every time.
I heard myself telling a dear old friend about the night Highland Park ditched me and didn’t reach out till 4 am and how he was so sweet and understanding about my anxiety and how no man had ever done that before, how they all recoil in disgust, and I heard the desperation in my voice before I saw the look on my friend’s face. My darling objective friend mentioned that whenever he blows someone off and doesn’t call till 4m, he is usually snorting cocaine off of a transvestite hooker’s ass. Now, I am not implying that is what Highland Park was doing. But he was certainly not eating food with friends at a diner till 4 am. How naïve I must seem? How dumb and gullible. Oh god. I feel dirty inside.
I let him in, I invited him in with open arms, so deep inside of me. I gave everything I had. With no thought of what I was getting in return.
I expected nothing from him. And that is what I got. And the saddest part it, that it was okay with me.
I can only imagine how painful it was for my friends to watch me stumble through this demoralizing experience. Throwing myself at a married man in an open-marriage who could barely even make an effort to make me feel. Anything.
He only cared about fucking me. That is all.
Which, granted, I am pretty fuckable. So I get it. It’s not him I am worried about, so much as it is me.
How could I? Again! Imagine a person to be someone they are not.
I made him up.
He does not exist.
I bought a new vibrator today.
Man, that thought excites me to no end.
Self-sufficiency- here I come!