h2>Dating : Work Backwards. Rest. Give yourself time.
At the time of writing this I am nearly thirty. Unmarried. Unwashed. Uneducated. I am a pile of dish rags covered in oil but theres no open flame thank God.
I wish I was good.
At anything at just one thing. I fucked up tonight. I let a little girl yell at me in my own home and I can’t even identify what I did incorrectly and my ‘boyfriend’ listened in and I was really embarassed. I tried to make it funny but its not funny to be made to feel small by a fourteen year old with a superiority complex it really is the least funny thing I’ve ever thought of.
When I get to the next bad mood this one will leave and I’m anticipating that.
There was a short time in 2012–2014 that I was an absolute wreck and I lived for it. I loved it. I sold plasma and I lived on five dollar subway sandwiches and I had so. much. unprotected. sex.
I could have been hurt I could have been cut up really small but I did damage to myself instead. I pickled my insides. I went strange places with weird people and I didn’t really know the word No.
Because
Some little girls don’t grow up in Americana portraits from Life Magazine and some little boys don’t grow up with fathers who teach them about consent. And when this little girl was a littler girl there were a lot of men taking a whole lot of “i didn’t say no” as “she didn’t say no” and there was a kid inside of me who needed to be loved very
very
much.
When I was fifteen my friend Tabby and I spent two nights in Longview Washington. I got drunk on budweiser from a keg. We asked some (adult) men who were drinking on the beach if we could partake. They said, yeah, but we had to take our shirts off. I locked eyes with her and shrugged. We did it. We kissed, our snotty noses rubbing, and the men gave us cups and let us drink whatever we wanted.
And then a few weeks later I got permission to attend a “birthday party” which was code for “the skatepark after dark Chris Ludvig knows a guy who’s brother will get us a half rack” and I got four or five beers spilled down my ample d cups and it was
October.
My denim skirt and the top I bought at RAVE and the baby doll bangs I’d cut myself made me look extremly fifteen but… wouldn’t you know it… The brother of the friend of the older guy that we knew thought I looked “Alright” and he wanted to “hang out” and soon I was thrusted at under the weight of cigarette breath and I was torn open and I screamed and the trees heard me they heard me but the echo alerted a friend and I was okay.
I am okay.
I’m fourteen years removed and I only think of my rape/virginity plundering once or three times a week.
The next day the adult who I learned later had a legally questionable intelligence quotient told me we could do it again. He asked for my cell phone number. I shook like a leaf, wet from sleeping on grass, and I shook my head no.
He graduated from the school my brother attended. He was 21 when he finished high school. His name is Anthony and if he ever finds himself in a park at night with me I’ll have a different ending to this.
I was fifteen. I hadn’t done much. One unsuccessful makeout session with a guy with a mohawk. Three weeks of heavy titty rubbing with Dan Zimmerman who had left our youth group on uncertain terms. I had an internet boyfriend in the next town and I cried on the phone to him and I told him I was so so sorry. He didn’t understand. I don’t understand.
Under the stars I feel so alone.
I found love like real honest love and it’s painful.
It’s so fucking unCOMFORTABLE.
I was five months pregnant when I discovered self esteem. A little leg caught me from a lucid dream. I woke up, four am, I put my shoes on and went downstairs. I made isntant oatmeal and looked outside. The stars were super bright and I thought about my daughter and how little she really was and how big I would have to be for her. I thought of Anthony. I thought of his mom and what she did wrong I thought of my broken home I thought of the father of this unborn child and I wasn’t sure who it was and I thought of my life plan which was being changed and I wished. I prayed. I gave over to the fear. I sat on the patio with the shingles missing and I ate artificial maple flavor and I asked for guidance.
When I woke up the next day I had a clear picture of her. Red hair. Glasses. An impish face. Laughing. In the dream we drove in a car along the pacific coast highway and she laughed and looked at me like I would never. Find her. On her back. Her tee shirt soaked. Her panties askew. She looked at me like I was doing it right.
I’m in self sabotage mode now.
I’ll ask for clarity.
How do I get to be the mom who understands the pressure of being five years old how do I make myself understand her.
I have no ideas. None. How do I display that love is two sided and it’s not needy and it’s okay to say FUCK OFF you fucking PEDOPHILE I’m in the tenth grade I’m failing western civ get your unwashed cheese dick off of me before I rip it off with my fucking BRACES.
Thanks in advance.
