Chasing Boys

How the fuck did I fall in love with a thug? He's everything I'm not, and yet I felt closer to him than any other person I dated in such a short period of time. How is it that I was the fool who fell head over heels, while he just backed out slowly and feigned interest in someone else? Although he cried in my arms for another woman, I still think of him as this strong man who protected me. He warned me he was an addict, but I wanted to believe it was all a dream. The part that's in my mind is what I want to put on paper. The truth is ugly. The picture in my head is a prettier picture, because it makes me feel safe. How can a big fat lie seem so safe? I never set out to be made the fool, I never considered he would steal my heart and run away before I had enough time to pick up the pieces. But alas, I was the fool and that's what fools do: they rush in. I rushed in and out of a love story with a narrative all my own and far from the reality of the relationship.

I would tell you he left because he was protecting me from his dangerous affiliations, about how he has been known to disappear and will probably pop back up and locate me once he has taken care of things and it's safe again. But the truth is that he wasn't that into me: I wasn't what I said I was-I wasn't what I thought I was, I wasn't what he imagined, I wasn't as put together, I was too down for him. I could blame myself or I could tell you he lied and used me and never meant anything he said to me about his feelings. I could tell you he's going to come back to me someday or simply face the fact that it won't be him who makes the journey to find me.

I'm a fucking addict and that's all I discovered. Every addiction I had all of his habits triggered. I drink more, I smoke more, I fuck less and socialize less but damn, the impact he had on me was monumental. I don't want to forget him, I want to learn from the experience and grow wiser. Not jaded. I don't want baggage, I want life experience.

When I think of him I think of a solid hard body underneath a clean new white t-shirt, pressed up against my face in a tight embrace. I imagine a hard kiss from his stubble lined lips, rough but desirable because it's him. We watch the night from 13 stories up, he tells me to be careful, that a lady shouldn't walk the streets at night. But I couldn't resist, and while he would wild out solo into the night on a motorcycle or in an all black wrangler with the strength of his white privilege and male stature, I wished I could do the same. I wanted to go out and start a face-to-fist confrontation, I yearned for the confidence to simply do what pleased me.

I don't know why I stayed locked in his trashed apartment like some sort of a Runaway Rapunzel, only instead of letting my hair down I disrobed as well, but too few times to make me think the sex was any factor in his decision to stay or leave. I was shocked by how unappealing our sex was, and yet how badly I wanted it. It wasn't his dick, it was average. Why did I clean his shit without even the payoff of good sex?

Maybe I wanted to feel needed, either way nobody needed to know that I was in love with a man with low libido. He said it was the meth, he didn't want sex so he went to the doc for steroids. After a futile attempt he tried for Viagra instead. We fucked in the shower that day, I was on my period. His tough stomach is what I loved about him, he wasn't even 6 feet tall and I found him beastly. I still masturbate to the thought of him fucking me and have the best orgasms alone, at home with a 4 inch vibrator.

Nothing about the way he was polite made him seem weak, unlike with most other men. He would tell me I was "sexy" or a "badass bitch" but I didn't feel like he was drooling all over me, he never cramped my style... Even when he did. I loved his style, and although he was not feminine, he was always chic. His rough jawline complimented his Versace take on fashion. What a swag he had. I still cannot say I think he's worth me chasing him down, in fact I didn't like how I would think of him all day instead of getting my nails done and cleaning my place. I indulged in his lifestyle like I forgot I had one (and I did) and in the end I think he was left wondering what I did with my time before him since I devoted so much to him. I was too scared to indulge in my own hobbies because I thought his might make me as happy as they seemed to make him. So I took part in his interest for motorcycles and anything fast and dangerous. Since he's been gone I've yearned for late night drinking and smoking, plus hardcore drugs that make me question my purpose in life. I just wanted to feel free enough that when I finally settle down I won't feel like I missed out. What I missed out on was that things weren't what they seemed and that this fact would prove to be universally true.

So it was the desire for this thrill that had me running back to my ex boyfriend for a booty call late one night. I wanted to feel on top, and since he wasn't breaking me off I went where I knew I could get some. Having sex with my ex was more about relishing in the ability to get him off, even though he wasn't who I wanted. There was a thrill in cheating that I never experienced until I met with the desire, he pushed me to this point and there was no going back. While he was out feeling like a man with his adventure and danger, he didn't make me feel like a woman, I felt like a helpless little girl, desperate to feel wanted, desperate for my own night-ride. He brewed recklessness into me, and I was starting to like it.

Until he just disappeared one day. I sat around like a fool, wondering if he was okay, like he hadn't taken care of himself before I came around with all of my concern for his well being. He laid his bike down and decided, in a frenzy of heavy meth usage, that I may have been apart of it. Then we met up after not seeing each other for three days and he twists my words and acts cold, it's only now that I realize he distracted me by pretending to be suspicious of me, when it was me who should have been suspicious of him. He never gave me any reason to trust him, I just did. My parents are right, I'm too trusting of people. I just respected him, isn't that where love starts? Anyway, it should. But this didn't work because the respect I had for him I think he initially had for me but over time it dwindled. I think he thought I was more affiliated than I am, or maybe he was a cop. I'm just glad I didn't jump back on the meth wagon, because I definitely got contact high a few times. Why do I endure these things?

I told my friends I would leave him because he was never available, and he stood me up several times. After I confronted him about being unreliable, he agreed I shouldn't count on him. And when he looked like a complete piece of shit when he met me at work for lunch, I was actually too embarrassed to introduce him to my coworkers, so I lied and told them he was a private person. I mean I never even took a picture of him, because I was too scared he might say no. How does someone disrobe in front of someone but yet manage to completely hide themselves? I admit to chasing him, because it's possible to trap a guy, even if you never meant to. He got away and I am out of air. I've stopped running so I can catch my breath, because I'm tired of chasing boys. The stress has changed my body, I can tell you my vagina will never look same as when I was a virgin, and my fresh face is starting to show age. The only thing worth chasing now is time.

It wasn't always like this, at some point I stopped liking my love stories so I decided to rewrite the script... Alas, love doesn't make sense: it's retarding and humbling but not without moments of insight and intrigue. If you weren't humiliated and loving it the whole way through then you weren't in love. If you didn't wake up in the night from the fear of your own childhood nightmares, you haven't made yourself vulnerable to love yet... It's hard to resist being jaded... Maybe I just need to change my focus and start running from men so they can start running toward me... Or I mean maybe the best way to be irresistible to a man is by being constantly unavailable... That's exactly how things began with Taylor... I was never available... He is so fucking sexy to me damn. Why didn't we ever fuck before!?

Well we're definitely fucking again and I have to say that this time around I decided to put my ear to the ground and pick a better time to strike: when his pipe was cold... And crushed inside of a cardboard box that he had stuffed it in just 5 minutes before. I told him everything I had been torturing myself with inside, he answered my questions and never at any point wanted me to leave: it was so unbelievable that I still wonder why he cared. I finally came to the realization that after 10 years of meth abuse he's probably a schizophrenic. A psychology major in love with her guinea pig: testing testing 123? When it comes to men it's clear I'm failing. Maybe it's time to stop chasing boys and start chasing my dreams, because in that fantasy I truly can write the script.

Although the danger of writing about fate lies in the power of intention. I think that perhaps my focus is misguided and instead of asking why the situations I dislike now ever came to be, I should redirect my energy toward where ever else I think my energy would be better spent: like in school, studying architecture. I'm in awe of the philosophy of Taoism but it has become obvious that what I must strengthen is self discipline.