Tell me again why you think by virtue of wanting me, that it provides a reason for me to want you back? If I had sex with every man who offered himself to me, I wouldn’t have enough time to work. Sex. So readily offered and thrown around like the wrapping of a tiny chocolate bar handed out for Halloween. It truly does not mean anything to most men. It’s JUST sex. It’s preferred over masturbation for some. There is not emotional context or bonding where closeness is achieved through physical expression.
For so many people, having sex with someone else is probably the most insulating and lonely thing that they can possibly do, to remove themselves from true intimacy with someone else. “Most” women don’t understand this. It’s hard to accept that some people use sex to buffer emotions and to keep themselves apart from the person they are using to satisfy their bodily functions. They invest as much as they need to to get and keep what they want.
I have changed so dramatically over the last 18 months I barely recognize who I am anymore. Jaded. Shaded. Lessened. It feels like after coming up for air after being submerged for so long, that the first deep, gasping inhalation wasn’t the oxygen I needed, but the bitter taste of toxicity, that has since poisoned my lungs. I feel let down in a way that is almost childlike. I feel the loss of my hopes and dreams as much as a failed attempt to gain love for myself that I believed was reciprocated.
Infatuation. For whatever reason I have inspired it in some. Being idealized does not suit me. Part of the attraction, I assume, is that my perceived aloofness keeps the hounds baying simply because their desire to hunt is strong. Wanting what you can’t have. My issue is that I no longer believe anything with emotional context. It’s gone. It’s like when you pick up the guitar again after ears of not playing. Muscle memory allows you to play and yet your finger tips are raw and bloodied.
As the weeks and months pass, tough callouses build up that enable you to play the songs, convey the message, and yet the more proficient you get a playing again, the less sensation you have in your fingers until eventually you can play for hours because you no longer feel anything. The self inflicted damage has effectively changed you physically to the point where you are numb to normal sensation.
I’ve moved forward, become adept at being normal, know how to play the songs perfectly. But I play them by rote with no inflection or feeling. I could care less about the song or the music or the words. or. or. or. I realize that I was not just hurt, I was damaged to the point that I am rebuilding and I have no idea what the plans are or how to read the diagrams. It’s truly the first time in my life where I don’t know where I am.
I don’t trust in butterflies anymore. Sexual arousal has nothing to do with emotional connections. Professing that you ‘want me’ means nothing because I would be having sex with you simply to serve your need and feed your desire to expel your seminal fluids. You could care less about me or my needs for emotional support. You can’t give me the ability to trust in you because everything between us would be based on lies.