I'm right where I should be, don't try and fix me
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Posted:Jul 8, 2018 7:31 pm
Last Updated:Nov 19, 2021 1:32 pm
1716 Views
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The time for the confrontation had come. Payment for a decision I made three days earlier. The unpleasant consequences of crossing an alcoholic with a violent temper. As I turned into the driveway I saw him sitting on the tailgate of his truck. His head was tilted forward staring at the ground. There was a beer bottle in his left hand and a tire iron in his right hand. The shattered windows and crumpled metal of my car told the story of his rage. The amount of busted bottles surrounding my car told me he had been there a long time. I stopped the truck at the entrance of the driveway and contemplated my options. I have been a survivor all my life. I had been a punching bag since I was five years old. I was no stranger to coming home to impending violence. He trashed my car out of rage, but also to instill fear in me. If he had done that amount of damage to hardened glass and steel, what would he do to mere flesh and bone? He slowly raised his head expecting to see fear in my eyes. I saw the disappointment on his face when all he saw was my cold blank stare. My heart rate had not quickened, my breathing had not changed, if I did not fear death then I certainly did not fear him. I would like to tell you I went all Jason Bourne on his ass and everything worked out well, but I don’t want to lie to you. He didn’t break any bones, or knock out any teeth, but did give me my first concussion. He was five inches taller than me and had at least fifty pounds on me. He gained the upper hand quickly. The concussion was the product of having my head slammed into the hood of the car repeatedly while he screamed “where is she”. I lost my sight quickly as blood poured into my eyes and defending myself became increasingly difficult. I never said a word, I had been trained from an early age not to protest while being beaten. The beating came to an abrupt ending when the butt of my neighbors shotgun made contact with the head of my assailant. “She” was a twenty one hour car ride away. Her body was a tapestry that told the story of the brutality she had endured at his hands. Never again would he lay a hand on her, and that made it all worth it. I somehow thought saving her from this alcoholic abuser would take away all the pain from my own alcoholic abuser. All I had done wrong as a small would be forgiven and the world would now make sense. However, there was no forgiveness and nothing was made right. Five year old me still wanted forgiveness for the sin of being born into this world. Forgiveness for being the unwanted product of a broken prophylactic. Forgiveness for being in the way of an alcoholic parent that resented my existence. Five year old me still did not know these were things you cannot earn. Like most things in life, it is what it is, and we have to learn to deal with it and move on. So I pulled off this scab, felt the fear, anger, and rage surge forth into present day. Present day me wants to harness that rage and confront that alcoholic parent that beat a five year old just for being in the way. That discounted the voice of a five year old and sentenced him to a lifetime of silent suffering. However, that is not possible and the damage done is lifelong. So, all I can do is write this down as some form of catharsis. Realize it happened, what the consequences were, correct the resulting behavior, and move the fuck on. I’m fine, really.
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illusions in glass
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Posted:Sep 4, 2017 4:30 pm
Last Updated:Dec 22, 2017 4:56 pm
4205 Views
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it was four in the morning when the phone rang. I heard her say my name in a soft and shaking tone. I asked if she was ok, and then her confession began. She didn’t go to see a girlfriend last night, she went to see an old boyfriend. Now she was calling me from his house where she had spent the night, putting an end to our time together. Then she hung up the phone and like a mindless automaton I stumbled to the coffee machine and went through the motions of starting my day.
It had been three years since my world spun out of control, and my heart rendered to dust. Every time I think I’ve put it behind me, it creeps up, and taps me on the shoulder with another chance to see life from the back side of the mirror. I had let myself fall in love again, let my guard down, lied to myself that it would be ok, and felt all warm and cozy looking at the image of love in the beautiful glass. Now I was on the backside of the mirror, clearly seeing the illusion for what it was. There was disappointment, an icky feeling in my stomach, but no heartbreak this time. Some were quick to tell me my heart had hardened from experience. However, I knew the truth, that it had long ago shattered to dust with no hope of repair. Perhaps I was an abomination, living without a heart, too stupid to die, and not knowing how to live. Time moved on and I met a woman that claimed to share my lack of heart. She claimed to live only for the happy moments in life and felt nothing for attachment to others. She simply wanted the thrill of the fast car, the unique moment in fine dining when that small desire of taste is fulfilled, and of course those times when her bedroom predilections were satisfied. There was no other connection aside physical attraction. We were complete opposites in almost every way, except our lack of a heart. It made sense that heartless beasts would pair up by default, and so it was. Two beasts masquerading as normal humans, only existing to slake our lusts for the finer things in life.
Then one day I felt an odd feeling, something from my past, something long forgotten. It was my old friend loneliness, come to put a pang in the pit of my stomach. He brought along his cousin emptiness to help play tug of war with my thoughts. So I stopped and took a look at my life so I could put these thoughts to an end, but what I saw was the frayed end of a rope dangling between my feet. An odd thing in life of how one becomes a relative success and absolute failure. Perhaps the two sided glass of illusions has more sides than I was once aware. Maybe I’m still just that dumb abomination, living without a heart, too stupid to die, and not knowing how to live.
but alas, life goes on to another day, another chance to serve the world as a mindless automaton.
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a fleeting thought...
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Posted:Mar 19, 2016 8:13 am
Last Updated:May 11, 2020 10:51 am
7235 Views
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...about my last date. I don't get these women that think we are done after foreplay, they always look so shocked when I pull them back down to the bed and tell them that was only the warmup. Maybe I'll post this on the bedroom door...
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Time to move on again
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Posted:Feb 3, 2016 9:13 pm
Last Updated:Jul 18, 2016 7:21 pm
8310 Views
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I'm supposed to be packing, but that nearly empty bottle of scotch suggests that I have been less than productive. I'm tired, I feel like I haven't slept in months. Which isn't true since the sleep monitor says I sleep at least ninety minutes each night... The mental noise never really stops and lately never does the a-hole upstairs, so sleep pays the penalty. Tonight my brain is holding court, playing the starring role of judge, jury, and constant incessant blamer. My soul is taking another pounding in its eternal role as the punching bag. Meanwhile, I blame myself for everything and have another drink. (don't mind me - I'm just working my way through some stuff...)
I do miss seeing the sun rise over the trees. I can dance in the rain with the best of them, but there is something about that morning sun that washes my soul clean, shuts down the mind, and lets life breathe. For all the things I lost, I miss that the most. Perhaps it is time to update my dating profile to specify "man- services require excellent next morning view of sunrise, with coffee". Maybe that will distract them from the section that says, "tends to pull hair, spank, and dominate"
Fuck it, I'm off to finish the bottle
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Will trade sex for intimacy
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Posted:Dec 19, 2015 2:46 pm
Last Updated:Jan 15, 2018 5:54 am
8531 Views
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How did I get here anyways? I feel like the homeless guy down at the stoplights holding out a sign. Except he was looking for food, which makes my problems seem small in comparison. I gave him a twenty and told myself he would make the best use of it. Dating. I have done a lot of that for several months. It's exhausting. At first I thought dating again would be like going on an endless string of job interviews. A daunting thought in itself, but it wasn't that way. Conversation over drinks, that sometimes leads to dinner and almost always ends up in an awkward parting of ways a few hours later. Awkward because one of us is interested in going further and the other is not. I was doing my best not to become a man-, but sometimes I give in to stave off loneliness, if only for a few hours. Perhaps its because I'm upfront about my kinks and perverse likes, that I end up dating those interested in sport sex rather than those interested in something more intimate. I dunno, maybe I'm just getting old
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online dating honesty
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Posted:Jul 19, 2015 6:58 am
Last Updated:Aug 29, 2015 3:14 pm
9934 Views
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One of the reasons I detest online dating is the amount of dishonesty on profiles. So far I have met a lot of women whose dating profile professed to be into activity, a, b, and c. However, after the first meet-n-greet it becomes quite clear that she is only interested in those activities because it gets her dating profile a wider audience. I find myself shaking my head a lot, asking the question, "when did we fall into this trap of perverse online superegos?" Just be honest, open, and yourself and you won't have to go through the pain later on of being confronted with those lies. Anyways, off my soapbox and back to today's candidate. We've done the requisite trading of emails, chatting, and pic swapping. Today is meet-n-greet, and we find out what she really means when she says she is into "really kinky sex". That's not always the same thing to different people... I'm just sayin...
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Unpacking after moving on
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Posted:Jul 4, 2015 8:28 am
Last Updated:Sep 2, 2019 5:15 am
9688 Views
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Moving after a break-up is sometimes tied to physically moving as well. I moved somewhere I said I would never go again, and thus proving I haven't learned my lesson, to never say never again. So here I am, in the bachelor pad for single professionals, boxes everywhere, and I can't find anything. Well, at least I found the important stuff. Seems a shame to have to go hide all that stuff again. Anyone wanna play?
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How I play Santa
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Posted:Dec 23, 2014 12:26 pm
Last Updated:Mar 29, 2015 6:03 am
7962 Views
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someone was on the naughty list...
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To link to this blog (cuffnspank) use [blog cuffnspank] in your messages.
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