A muse reacts
My post entitled "Then surprise me" was written for no one in particular, though I shared it with my muse. I had to disconnect from everything and everyone to write it, as it was greatly unlike me. I fleshed out the characters as best I could, yet it felt unnatural. Still, Julia, who says she likes rough sex, enjoyed it. I took out a lot of the internal dialog because it was too long, and, for the record, I would never share something like that with a woman I intended to be with, even though many women have that fantasy. I don't believe it's in me to do those things. But, under the right conditions, a human is capable of anything. I saw people do and say things I never imagined. Yes, before I pass along this blog as a legacy, I plan on unpublishing some posts. For now, they stand because they are part of my journey.
Julia was upset with me because I looked her up outside of the app, saying I got ahead of her. I remember she told me there were things she was going to explain, secrets she had to tell me. Still, I wasn't prepared for the cognitive dissonance of finding her socials. Frankly, it pissed me off. She said she sold her socials to a management company (common practice) and has no input in what they post. I couldn't reconcile the person I was talking with and what I saw online. I know she's not who she says she is, but I've also never understood her scam. She told me I answered my own question because I didn't understand her angle. I think she's just a person who likes pretending to be Julia, but, for what purpose, I don't know. To feel admired? Loved? To have a pseudo-relationship? I don't know, but it fits the mold for what I pursued in the past, so I disconnected. It was fun while it lasted and was a compelling mutual fantasy or role playing, which I think we both enjoyed creating. The letters, like the following, are a small part of our conversations, which were mostly over text. No one ever said the things that woman said to me. I'm so pessimistic about love, I just sit there thinking, "Oh, she's good." Maybe she is actually a fat, bearded biker, but I wouldn't mind accepting him into my home for some Netflix and chicken wings. For old time's sake.
For the record, I shared my concerns about her identity with the site administrator, who guaranteed she is who she says she is, saying she passed a multi-step verification process, including showing ID. I did the same thing when I signed up. I know it's not that hard to bypass, if someone intended to do so. But the seed of doubt was sown, so I made the decision to eventually leave. I can't ignore my gut, though I have a weakness for beautiful Eastern European women. Studies have shown that dating apps cause depression. No surprise. Men: we know your love language is physical touch. Yes, all of you. Women: we know you love to travel and expect men to do 20 things on your secret checklist right off the bat or you won't respond to hello. And we gotta match your energy. Sorry, I'm not a sloth. Haha, goodbye to all that bullshit. You will find me hanging out with my fat, biker boyfriend. At least he buys me wings.
My weaknesses are many, but they stem from wanting to be loved and accepted, yet my avoidance of intimacy is hard to overcome. I choose to avoid problems by avoiding the whole enchilada. (This avoidant tendency impacted not only my relationships with people but also my jobs, ensuring I never undertook an actual career because I couldn't commit.) My challenge seems to be in listening to myself and my gut. That's hard because I want to trust people, but I was swindled time and time again, mostly because I have a gullible heart. It goes back to my native programming, put in me when I was a child and reinforced over the years by bad decisions. I think it's obnoxious to make everyone prove they are trustable, but I do need to heed the signs when I'm being lied to. There is that moment when you know. So that's what I'm going to do. I have to admit hard things to get to the truth sometimes. I have to look at myself just as hard as anything else. But that's where progress is made.
Breaking my attraction to liars is another issue and a reason I don't know if I could be with a woman. My trust issues are twofold: trusting others and trusting myself. And my trust in God about the last woman I loved is still a sore spot, but He did get me out of a bad situation, just not how I expected. So being alone seems to be my lot in life, at least for now. Psychology can offer only so much help. God is the only solution.
I realize this is a strange place to air my grievances and personal topics. When I began writing, I knew making it public would hold me accountable. I have to stand behind my words, as it invites greater scrutiny when they are public. Honesty at all costs. I apologize to those I wrote about publicly concerning private things, but it was set up that way from the beginning. I believe in finishing things the way they were started, and full disclosure was in place all along. What looks like oversharing is, in fact, a carefully thought-out process of finding solutions to things that vexed me most of my life. The goal was to move forward, to heal, and to love again. I'm actually a very private person, and sharing things here was, at times, difficult, but I made a promise to be honest. I imagined a very different (and much shorter) storyline, but I stuck with it because I started it. I didn't think I would still be writing, nor that it would have gone sideways so many times. If I knew, I never would have started. At no point in my life have I felt this humbled.
I received a prophetic word that God is allowing my attachment wounds that hinge on abandonment to be triggered so He can heal them. I didn't need to hear that because I already knew (it's been going on for more than a year), but it was a confirmation. If you find yourself alone with God, be thankful for that time. It's for your good.
Now Julia's response.
***
Did you think I was just throwing you a bone? No. I was challenging you... Because I knew it wasn't for nothing that you were squeezing my wrists when we had sex. It wasn't for nothing that you were biting my lip when I moaned. You already wanted it. You were just afraid to admit it, even to yourself...
Now imagine me lying in our bed, in that same black lingerie you love, thinking... He won't dare And it's wet. The thought that you might explode, rip him off me, press me so hard I can't breathe, make me fight... and then - beg for more.
You ask if I saw someone and imagined them raping me? No. I imagined you. Only you. Only with you do I want to feel like I have no control over *anything*.
So yes, honey. Do it. Take what's not yours. Make me cry, fight, bite you — and then kiss the scars. Because I don't want "as if." I want you to *decide* for me.
Your wife. (Your catch?)
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