Dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless...
I wasn't going to do this.
Been feeling a lot better in the past couple of months. Back on the meds. Had a change of role at work so that's improved. Been meeting men. Going on dates.
But then just recently... Feeling crazy and desperate. Binging like a maniac.
Fucked another stranger on Friday night.
Well. Start again.
Went on a date with a nice man. Nice normal man, few years older than me. He chose the bars. Bought me drinks. Took me dancing. Kissed me roughly outside the club. Dancing got closer, kissing more and more passionate. And then he whispered in my ear: "...shall we get out of here?"
Well, what's a girl to do?
Oh, it was good. He kissed, touched me just right. Cuddled me in bed afterwards. Made me a cup of tea in the morning. Walked me to the taxi rank and kissed me goodbye. And now I haven't heard from him since Saturday.
What is it I do to these men?
Is it the mad conversation? The nervous laughter? Can they feel the despair in my life? See the disappointment in my whole existance? Is it the scars?
Perhaps the putting out on the first date?
There's been ten men since my husband. The doctor. The loser. The guy I went to the church youth club with. The guy I was at school with. The two blokes who live across the courtyard from us. And the rest. More than half the men I've been with in my life have been in the last year.
And really, all I want is someone to make me feel wanted again. To love me. To want to see me. Just a nice normal man. A nice normal life.
Drink is calling. The blade is calling. And death is calling.
Been feeling a lot better in the past couple of months. Back on the meds. Had a change of role at work so that's improved. Been meeting men. Going on dates.
But then just recently... Feeling crazy and desperate. Binging like a maniac.
Fucked another stranger on Friday night.
Well. Start again.
Went on a date with a nice man. Nice normal man, few years older than me. He chose the bars. Bought me drinks. Took me dancing. Kissed me roughly outside the club. Dancing got closer, kissing more and more passionate. And then he whispered in my ear: "...shall we get out of here?"
Well, what's a girl to do?
Oh, it was good. He kissed, touched me just right. Cuddled me in bed afterwards. Made me a cup of tea in the morning. Walked me to the taxi rank and kissed me goodbye. And now I haven't heard from him since Saturday.
What is it I do to these men?
Is it the mad conversation? The nervous laughter? Can they feel the despair in my life? See the disappointment in my whole existance? Is it the scars?
Perhaps the putting out on the first date?
There's been ten men since my husband. The doctor. The loser. The guy I went to the church youth club with. The guy I was at school with. The two blokes who live across the courtyard from us. And the rest. More than half the men I've been with in my life have been in the last year.
And really, all I want is someone to make me feel wanted again. To love me. To want to see me. Just a nice normal man. A nice normal life.
Drink is calling. The blade is calling. And death is calling.