History

When I was growing up- in those pivotal years I only had two types of relationships with boys. Either I was being abused, or I was abusing. Not physically, mind you. But emotionally. Psychologically. Either you were the weak, or you were the strong. That's it. No inbetweens. My first real boyfriend was of the weak. A giant teddy bear of a man- he loved me completely. I started seeing him when I was in 8th grade- and he was a Senior. He was popular, everyone loved him. His friends were the crazy party guys that all the girls lusted over. He was the rock of the group. Every one's friend. Dependable. In a small town where everyone knew everyone it wasn't odd for the older guys to date younger girls. There were only so many of us. We were together for almost three years. He easily wanted us to last forever. I abused him. I let his drunk asshole friends feel me up at every opportunity. I cheated on him with boys from the neighboring towns. But I depended on him. His quiet strength. When everything went down. When all the shit hit the fan- he stuck by my side. I loathed myself, my existence- and he showered me in love and acceptance. To this day I still adore him. He recently got married to a woman with a young boy. I hope she is good to him. Better to him than I could of ever been. After I left him, I jumped from one asshole to the next. I didn't deserve nice boys. I didn't want them. I wanted assholes. Ones that would make me wait for them. One's that would pick me up three hours late smelling of perfume. And I wanted them rough. I'd provoke them. Push them. Ply them with drink and then push buttons. I wanted it physical. I wanted to be tossed against the wall and fucked. I wanted those bruises left up and down my arms. Bruises my mother once quietly noticed, and said matter-of-factly: "you choose your own path, your own destiny. don't let anyone choose it for you" I heard her. She had lived real nightmares- while I was a young careless girl playing games with fate. I had steadily been dating a boy my senior year from the city next door. He was a few years older than me, with the beginnings of a serious drinking problem. He was controlling. His mother died unexpectedly while we were dating- and I was going to be the one to save him. He pulled me out of a party the night of my graduation. He drove us back to his house at speeds so fast I thought he was going to kill us. When I started screaming and crying- He would just veer the car towards a ditch, or oncoming traffic..I was scared- but my adrenaline was also pumped. I was pissed. I was turned on. Provoking this type of anger made me powerful. When we got back to his place- he gave me my first real down and out beating. He told me I was a whore. I deserved it. And I did. After all, I had been cheating on him. It was what I did. Pushing, provoking men to action. Using my body to get what I wanted. When he finished, he lashed me to the bed- and passed out. It was with the sun- that I was able to wriggle free, and sneak to the phone to call my girlfriend to come get me. I had hardly dialed the number when she picked up- I said her name, and then the phone went dead. He had yanked it out of the wall. He hit me with the phone and then jumped on top of me. My friend of all friends- knew something was up- and was at the house pounding on the door- threatening to call the cops in less than 10 minutes. He let me up and she pulled me out of there. He went into rehab- and would later send me love letters when I joined the Navy. Begging for me back. But I was done with him. I'd tasted his rage. I had got what I wanted from him. I knew the secrets of rage. How to call upon them. How to weather out the storm.

So this is what I'm made of. The need to push and hurt those that invest in me. The need to be hurt- so I know that I'm loved. It is hard being away from him right now. He's not here to hurt me- so it makes me want to hurt him. Lash out and deliver pain. Make him feel me to his bones. The more wonderful and fabulous he thinks I am- the more I want to prove to him that he is wrong. Can't he see how fucked up and broken I am? How sick I must be- because I would give anything right now to have his hands on me. In a world of safe sane and consensual- I am once again a square peg. The only problem being he has broke me. It has to be him. Must be him. He has ruined me for anyone else. He has stripped away casual indiscretions. Now I don't even have that.

So I am left now. Hurting, just not like I want. Physical pain is so much easier to handle.