On being a romantic

4 min read

"Not all of us can afford to be a romantic.."

The first time a man kissed me I was too young. Who ever said first kisses were magical, jokes on you. He told me pretty little girls are meant to be kissed on the lips so I kept quite even though it didn't feel right. I don't remember the second time. Who cares about it any ways? Once it is ruined for you what difference does it make?

I have never been able to connect with people especially with men. So I just put on a performance and act how they want me to. I have played the parts of the prude, the slut, the book worm, the party animal, the emotional girl, the sports girl...etc. Some of my performance are Oscar worthy I amaze myself. I study them like a test subject and experiment with different personalities. Then I sew my self a new skin. I wear it to fit the thoughts of the next person.

You'd think I am an imposter but I'd like to think of myself as an industrialist and a survivor. This is my defense mechanism. I shouldn't get judged for protecting myself at their expense. So I lie, so I cheat, so I am cruel....what of it?

I have suppressed so much of who I am in order not to get hurt. All of the men in my life were takers. They just take and take and take with out giving anything in return. They are thieves that have stolen from me. Vulgar criminals that have made me feel filthy.

All while telling me how much they loved me. While whispering what a pretty little thing I am. I can still feel the traces of their finger prints on my skin. How dare they rub their dirt all over me like this? Who allowed them to leave their mark on my body? My body was once a temple but now it feels like a abused land with trespassers that claim to have a ownership over it. They all defiled me and called their lusts "a burning passion that'd have consumed them if they didn't have a taste".

The first time a man told me he loved me I wanted to vomit. But I smiled and kissed him because he was expecting it. The first time a man proposed I cried so did he but we both cried for different reasons.

"I love you."

"I will worship you."

"You are mine and no one else's."

"You are like a drug. Addicting in every way."

So many words wasted. So many lies spoken. So many so many....I don't think I am lucky enough to feel something that is as profound as love. I am too selfish. It's cathartic how I deprive myself of such a beautiful feeling as a means of self punishment.

The man I married now is what a good person ought to be. I married him because he stayed with my performance the longest and I found him tolerable. I don't know what I feel for him but marrying him was convenient. He requires me to be a damsel in distress, the emotional wife so he can feed his hero complex.

But I don't mind so I am always at his mercy. I must admit acting is exhausting. Rarely I forget I am in character and let my old self come out. She comes out to play just for a bit then I banish her to her cave. Rarely I confuse which personality I am using for which man.

That is the root of my depression and the source the deep need to always be perfect. It sucks at my soul. It feels like I am no longer human but a plastic doll who keeps selling parts of herself. I am a charlatan. I don't feel human. I don't feel real. But as long as I breath and live, I suppose I will live with my vices in the name of survival.

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