I only have a few minutes until my first client, and despite feeling like my words are worthless and I’m nothing to anyone except being a good massage therapist, I am still compelled to write.
I was a good idea to them when I was a fat married lady. Easy because I’m fat, and an open marriage meant no ramifications right. Get in, get laid, get out, no harm done.
Except they couldn’t tell I wasn’t that easy: they missed that polyamory is about love. I’m in a loving marriage wanting more love. I was listening to my heart. My heart thought they were right, they were a good energetic fit, I felt them. I felt their emotions, their reactions, even some of their thoughts. I felt the arousal.
And my brain can’t let go of the fact that they were attracted to something that led them to interact with me in the first place. The choice of me over some other married lady.
Now I’m hurting bad. I don’t trust myself anymore. I fell hard. Love stinks when it only goes one way.
Now I don’t want anything. I keep telling God I’m ok. I’m done and don’t need any more hurts. Boys are stupid and girls can’t see all of me, and none want all of me anyways, that comes with kids and a husband and a never-ending battle with my brain and body. I’m fighting thoughts of suicide. Nathan’s trying to find me help, but I told him there isn’t a doctor around that cares about my puzzle as much as I do, and I’ve hit max density where I’m even having trouble caring about finding the new current solution. The pieces are right in front of me, but it’s so hard to try to put them together when your brain is failing. It’s not fun, it never was. Abraham, where’s “life is supposed to be fun”.
I’m going to quit while I’m ahead, and my client is here. I’ll keep trying to pull up.