Cold, but not numb

I took an ice cold shower tonight – my own form of self punishment. I haven’t taken one of those since I met him. But tonight, I royally fucked up. I was honest with him when I first started this blog. He was the one who suggested it, and I figured it could be something we could semi-share as he’s shared his thoughts on WordPress for years now. For all 8 of you who were following me previously, you’ll notice that “The Kill Chronicles” are no longer posted. I’ve removed the posts Two and One; after Two for the sake of my relationship, which is infinite times more important than gaining readers with my slutty past.

Tonight he asked me if I had posted more, hesitantly I nodded. I knew the words that would come out of my mouth would hurt him, anger him, something, but the events that followed are what have caused me to write this at 1am, sitting naked on the couch, cold wet hair stuck to my skin.

I told him. That I had decided to write about my previous kills. He was silent, he shut his eyes and I saw his pulse quicken through his carotid. I wanted him to say something, anything. After a much too-long silence, I asked “do you want to talk?” I got a harsh and quick “no” that made my stomach knot even tighter. And that’s when my anxiety started to take over.

That’s it. You’ve fucked yourself with your past. It’s over. He’s done. You should have kept your mouth shut.

I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was going to faint. I started crying. But he kept his eyes shut and ignored me.

“I’m not mad at you. You’re being a woman. I’m mad at myself for expecting you to be different”

What the actual fuck was that supposed to mean. I’m not different? I’m easily replaceable? He’s done with me and there’s someone else who can easily fill my shoes? Fuck.

And that’s when I headed for the shower. Crank it on, keep it cold and let the water numb you until you feel nothing. Except unlike the last time, I still felt everything. Guilt, shame, fear of what was to come. I felt it all, I was just cold and shaking. I turned the water off and paced, thinking of what I could say, what I could do so that we could pretend this never happened and go back to the awesome night we were having. Fuck.

Deep breaths, dry off, crawl back into bed where he’s still awake, and still silent. Start with I’m sorry. Because those words have never been truer than they are tonight.

He asked me two questions.

Why do you think I’m with you?
Why are you with me?

You’d think those questions would be easy to answer. But the answers are so complex that I don’t even know how to put them into words. Especially with the pressure of your entire relationship riding on them. I can’t overthink these answers. I have to feel.

There are two things I must be for him – honest and loyal. Loyalty is not an issue. Neither is honestly. And tonight I was honest. It hurt both of us, but I didn’t hide anything from him, I owned up to what I’d done and now I’m trying to fix the mistake I made.

So my answers:
I think you’re with me because I’m honest, because I’m loyal. Because I support you in everything you do and enhance the life you’ve created for yourself. I make the not-so-good times better, and the good times greater. I’m yours, and only yours.

I’m with you because you make me a better person. Before you, I would have never considered sharing my writing with anyone, even a significant other. It’s been a personal thing that I’ve kept to myself, like most of my thoughts. I’m with you because you make me feel safe, you make me feel important and you make me feel more loved than I’ve ever felt before. You make my not-so-good times disappear when I’m wrapped in your arms, and the good times unimaginable. You are my rock, my home, my mate.

So as much as all 8 of you may have been dying to read about the rest of the kills, you’ll have to use your imagination. I don’t need to write about them to help me discover who I am. I know who I am, I know how I got here. I don’t need complete strangers on the Internet to validate my stories for me to figure out where I’be come from or where I’m going.

I’m on a ship with my captain, and we’re sailing on an amazing journey that I will continue to write about.

Scalp Crabs

Well, today was an interesting day. I discovered I had scalp crabs, better know to the general population as head lice. That’s right, the kind that you get when you’re 10 years old and you got too close to little Bobby on the playground, who also had lice. As a chick in her early-twenties, this absolutely sucks. I have no idea who I contracted these scalp crabs from. I work full time with the general public, 80% of which are children so I’m assuming it came from there. After doing some research, it’s likely that I was infected a week ago and the little crab eggs are just hatching now and making my scalp a burning land of itch. My first reaction before googling “Adult Head Lice” was to call my mom, and then text my best friend. Her reaction was this:

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You know what, she’s kinda got a point. But chlamydia and head lice both made me feel the exact same way. Head lice is like an STD for kids. You don’t know you’re going to contract it, and once you start showing symptoms and realize you have it, you feel dirty. Really dirty. When kids get head lice, oh it’s normal, it happens to everyone their age. Yet when a girl gets an STD she’s considered a slut. It’s really not that different if you think about it. In both cases, the contractor doesn’t know that the person they’re hugging, touching, fucking, whatever, is contaminated. If they knew, they would run the other direction and nope the fuck out. STDs are common, head lice is common. So why is there such a stigma around people (especially women) contracting STDs? I contracted mine last year even when I used protection with a guy. And then unknowingly gave it to three other guys even though we used protection too (thankfully one round of antibiotics and a week of no sex cleared it up for all of us). It’s just like little Bobby playing with all his friends at recess. We’re all just having fun. And before you know it, we’re all infected.

When I walked into Walmart tonight and approached the pharmacist, I asked him where they kept the lice treatments. He told me they kept them behind the counter and then questioned who I was purchasing it for. I told him it was for my (non-existent) 10 year old sister. My automatic reaction was to lie about having lice. Why? Because it’s super embarrassing. It’s like having an actual STD all over again. Adults aren’t supposed to get lice, just like girls aren’t supposed to get STDs. Dirty people get them. It’s a stigma that makes infectees feel humiliated when really, we have to accept that it can happen to just about anyone and deal with the problem.

As I write this, the lice killing treatment is making my scalp burn. Fingers crossed my hair doesn’t fall out!

Identify

For the first half of 2015, I was the breath of fresh air that no one wanted to breathe. After splitting up with my boyfriend of four years, I forced myself to move on with my life and focus on becoming happier overall. Do things for myself – because I wanted to. Kiss that hot guy at the bar – because I could.

Being in a long-term relationship through high school and college, exploring the dating world was a new phenomena that intrigued me. I was always the girl to message a guy first. And most of the time, I was okay with that. I’m confident enough to let guys know I’m genuinely interested in them and I want to get to know them better, but in most cases it seemed as though I was more emotionally invested than they were.

It was hard to be that girl that everyone likes, but didn’t like enough.

Tinder boys said, “you’re different” because you can hold an actual conversation and were upfront and honest about your life and what you were looking for.  They were interested enough to give you their number and start texting to “save your phone’s battery life and data” as they put it. Occasionally there was the feeling that you can actually see yourself hanging out with, maybe even eventually dating, the person behind the screen. But rarely would there ever be any real depth in your textationship that could transition to relationship material.

You’re able keep the conversation going for one, two days. But then you say goodnight and the next day, you fight with all the power in you not to message the guy and come across as clingy. You check your phone too frequently to see if he’s thought about you, if he’s made the effort to keep you interested. But your screen shows nothing but a new Tinder match that you could care less about. You open their profile to refresh your brain about who the match is and if they’re actually cute, but your brain is elsewhere. Your brain is on him. You find yourself typing his name into the search bar to see how long it’s been since he was active. 32 minutes ago. You start to think that you’re not enough for them to commit their time to you. They’ve lost interest already.

But then that one person comes into your life that you weren’t expecting. And yes, they just might be a Tinder match. Mine was. His profile came across as cocky, but he had a rockin’ bod, so why not, right? Our first date was touring him around his new city on a cool summer evening, the place I’d grown up. We followed it by drinks at a bar, some (awfully played on my part) pool and a Taylor Swift karaoke duet. The night ended similarly to many other dates I’d been on – a sloppy make-out thanks to too many tequila shots. I didn’t know if I’d ever see him again. It happened so frequently that I had prepared myself to ease the sting of rejection.

Yet here I am now, sharing most of my nights with they still-cocky-but-also-really-loving guy I swiped right to and messaged first.

I’m a firm believer in everything happens for a reason. The decisions you make are why you are where you are today. When my ex and I broke up, my father told me not to get seriously involved with the first person I met afterwards – date a few people, see what’s out there. Well I took his advice (a little too much, in his opinion). I went on dates with A LOT of guys – to the point where I had to consciously track guys’ names and re-read our conversations to remember who they were before I met up with them. I caught some serious feelings for a few of them. And yes, it hurt when they lost interest. For six months, I spent my time swiping left and right. But Swiper isn’t swiping anymore. I experienced a lot. I did some deep soul searching and self discovery. I rode the “cock carousel” as my now-boyfriend calls it. But finally, I’ve found a person to plan the future with. For the first while, we weren’t planning anything long term, more of a “hey, do you want to do this next month” kind of thing.  We were both scared. We’d been in love before. We’d been hurt. He’s had his trust broken. According to him, women always fucked him over and he was waiting for me to do the same. But as we got to know each other more and more, we fell in love. We pretty much moved in together. Home is wherever he is.

So take your chances. Don’t be afraid to message a guy first, but move on if they aren’t obviously expressing interest. You may get hurt, you may fall in love. Either way, it’ll make you stronger as an individual.