After the first date with a man, I would be living in his house. Tattooed, pink haired and defiant, I would sit casually in his dining table with his family, serving myself dinner. I have been chased out of a house by a slipper-wielding mom, and have passed out in a family room butt naked. I have smoked marijuana next to his parents’ bedroom and I have earned the ire of grandparents, siblings and household help.
I would only go back to my house to take more clean clothes. I saw less and less of my family until it was only during a special event, a birthday or a reunion and always with a new man firmly by my side. My family would lose count of all the different manly shapes and sizes I have brought home with me. I would foolishly introduce all of them to be “the One”. At one point, my dad simply stopped talking to me.
I thought sleeping with a man was a prerequisite to be loved.
I wondered why I felt obliged to keep doing an act I found so revolting. I thought that if I stopped or said no, my boyfriend would simply leave me. And I was too scared to be alone. I would rather do something I was not so proud of, that shamed me, than go to sleep with only myself as company.
I was a crummy girlfriend. Insecure and wildly jealous, I would fall into many fits of blind rage. I have broken an ex- boyfriend’s windshield twice, have twisted my phone into two pieces of useless metal, and have pummeled most of their faces with my fists. Even if I lived-in with my boyfriends and spent every single waking moment with them, I still felt paranoid and lonely. One night, in a fit of drunken jealousy, I cut off all of my hair. In another, out of dark desperation, I swallowed 12 pieces of Valiums.
I thought a boyfriend could fill in the hollow and desperate gap that was growing steadily inside me. I could not bear the thought of being alone even if it meant going out with men that were wrong for me. Men I had absolutely nothing in common with. I often wondered why they didn’t love me enough.That even if I gave them all of me, even if we went to the craziest concerts and ate in the best restaurants, none of them truly knew me. None of them really understood me.
I wondered why despite trying so hard, they never really saw me for who I am. Didn’t even want to. Didn’t even try. Despite being told “I Love You” repeatedly, I never felt that I truly was. These words remained what they essentially were, just words. And despite having a man’s arms around me every night, I never felt more alone. Wanting nothing else but to be loved, and still with that deep, hollow hole growing unceasingly inside me.
Dear children, let us not love with words or tongue but with actions and in truth. 1 John 3:18