Love's Naloxone Or Taking the Anti-love pill. Part Six – I Need a Lover: Act 1

I'm on a roll at the moment.

Right now I have them laughing to the point that tears are forming. One of them is breathing hard and the other is talking back at me giving me the feed back that makes me spin my story even wilder. I'm known for my stories. Perhaps it goes through the blood line and my ancestry comes in to play with a +5 to charisma and performance checks. Or perhaps it's because my first love so many lives ago was theater and my brand of humor has always had a masochistic flare that gives me a vibe of Charlie Brown facing the apocalypse that encompasses the meaning of 'Good Grief' as the understatement of the millennia.

    And wasn't it Stephen King who wrote that "humor is almost always anger with its make-up on", and if it's anything I would know it's anger. Most of the moments that I share are more then enough to incite laughter and joy, yet at the moment that they happened I more than always have been paying dues. Art demands pain and pain is something I can understand. Right now, I'm going on the routine on the train wreck of my social life. A train wreck that I find amazing since for the past 5 years I have done my best not to be in a relationship. And yet as if the cosmos demand to be amused, even in my Ugly Phase, I end up getting my heart broken, used, tossed aside and dumped. All to my surprised because,

 

They said, "I didn't know you were dating anyone (her)" and I said, neither did I!


Laughter erupts this time as one of them says that she's going to pee her pants. She's trying to beg me to stop, but I'm going for the kill. Her companion is nodding his head as if he either has lived this horrible moment or he understands. Their third companion is in shock and still continuing that feedback. I killed. If I was doing stand up in a club you'd have a least a few spit takes. In real life, it was a moment of confusion and shock. It's as if someone walked up to you and told you that you came in third place and you have no idea that you were in a contest. That I had in some moment of time the heart of this woman and that she felt that one point I had her to a point that she had to take a moment of her life to burn that bridge between us citing that we had our run and it was special, but she wanted to give love a chance with someone else. That it was best that I let her go and wish her well. That even though what that moment meant for us that I do not have her heart and that she will not look back.

I'm so confused, my mind is indifferent

 
She took a page from my book. She did everything she could to make certain that I would not chase after her like the movies we'd watch on her couch. The protagonist running in the rain trying to catch that girl who meant something to him, that missing piece that made his life whole. She made certain that she left months before moving away. Slowly limiting our contact all the while asking for moving boxes or to water he plants, she took steps to make certain that I would not chase after her. Once safe she sent message over Little Snitch of our ending time and she blocked me for seeing her virtually only allowing a glimpse of someone new sharing a photograph.

She took a page from my book. It was only a shame that she didn't take the right ones.

I need a lover that won't drive me crazy
Some girl to thrill me and then go away

    You see I've been here before. I've seen it happen and I've lived this role time and time again. It's the role that I play well and is typecast in. A role that I've more than once have gambled on my dignity and emotions on knowing on the end and the cost of the outcome. It only took one moment in my life to live it and to pull the remains of my life together. Only once to realize when the void hits and that empty pain that comes from some deep chamber of the soul in which my own endocrine system was not my friend. I've lived the role of the heart broken, the jilted lover, the other man, the guy warming up, the friend who consoles the heartbroken maiden only there to reassure her own worth. I've been the dumped who has had his world end for the loss of his one true love so many times that I can bear to tell most of them that my life was not left in ruins and that I've been not committed for a rash act of despair. I've said it so many times that even though women want to be your Last Love which most women find romantic as leaping off a cliff I've more then educated individuals who lost that leg of chromosome that they want you decimated and suicidal on their leaving. I've pulled many heartbroken off the ground and pulled that urge for understanding and justice that they call for and pulled them on their feet again. A woman needs you broken when she leaves, hence the best vengeance is to strut away whole.

It always hurts them that you moved on. Funny too.

Well I'm not wiped out by this poolroom life I'm living
I'm gonna quit this job, go to school, or head back home

I've moved on to my Cosmo routine now. Letting them know that sometimes the ideas placed into a woman's mind are not always in for a man's benefit. My three horror stories leave them dying and disgusted in the right places. There are moments where they look at me wondering if I'm lying only to be reassured that the scars on my body are not without their merit and the memories made not always forgotten. They know these women as Horror story one, two, and three. They do not know the individuals. They don't know that #1 is the sweetest person you can ever run into. Someone who you'd refuse to curse around for fear of them breaking out in tears, someone who takes moments to pet dogs, meow and kitten and coo at babies. Not a violent person at all. And yet I was her gateway to sadism. In the end, she would label me as an asshole and taught me the lesson that I may rebuild a woman from the hell of another man, but in truth I was her outlet that he could not provide and once broken she would always return to have me piece her together and make her whole only to return to her sadist in return. Someone who I learned to regret an answering machine with recorded messages of despair and need.

And they say stalkers can't be adorable.

I need a lover that won't drive me crazy
Some girl that knows the meaning of a
Hey hit the highway

    They're not laughing now. It's more of an awed hush then an eruption in laughter. They laugh and begin to ask me what the next is. I mean, it can't be worse that #1?

#2 would accuse me of having a "Shattered Chakra". Someone who believes in the Earth Mother and in a brilliant intellectual security that is neither intellectual or secure that you give out to the Universe what you want to be given to Self. Fun with tofu. Someone who rejoiced at my vegetarianism and commitment to a wholesome life and yet would mock my presumed violent nature in which is why the Earth Mother wept for her misguided children. A woman made of legs that would end only into lust, who's every movement was poetry and who believed in long lovemaking and doing what is necessary to continue it. I mean really? Cosmo? Why? A woman who would negate the harm caused with the surety of Aphrodite behind her. In the end, I would be like the rest and a pig. Yet she taught me that any one with a "Holier than thou" outlook could be dangerous regardless of where the holy is coming from. She would be the reason why I would begin to carve maps of territory and why I selfishly keep restaurants and happy places from significant others.

 

Well I've been walkin' the streets up and down
Racing through the human jungles at night

 
They all cringe. I cringed too. I still do, but for them it's the cringe that leads to the laugh after Homer falls and screams Do'h.

 
#3 was a hedonist's dream. A blue haired mistress who believed in honesty, the use of a choke chain, and that nothing was taboo. A woman who believed that her vagina would make men kneel and any who dared not to would taste her boot. A disciple of the Marquis, she understood that truth was only given with pain and beauty was to be sculpted from the screams of her models. Nothing is sacred. Nothing is Holy. There is no meaning to No. The pleas of her Toy only proved to her that she knew what was best for you even though your interest were not factored. In the end, she was translucent as her role and as much as she hid with sexuality she was only a little girl with a magnifying glass, pampered with her own ideal of rebellion that a lofty life would bring and a trust fund from "human excrement" could provide for their spawn. She taught me the importance of No, the knowledge that I can endure any painful act of humiliation and that those who demand something from others have never gotten it from the willing.

    Never trust the Blue Haired Girl.

 

Hey I'm so weak, won't somebody shut off that light
Electricity runs through the video
And I watch it from this hole I call home

    And with that they get their "ewww" into shocked laughter. They laugh and cover their mouths as if they see the moment coming towards them. Two of the individuals are not as shocked it seems, but the surprise is more than enough to place everyone on the same level. No one likes sadistic surprise and they ask me if I accepted the parting gift. I reply no, but no didn't mean much to her at left it at that. We've all shared that laugh and what good would all that ordeal be if not worth the laugh? They laughed at a story that caused them to forget their thoughts and maybe even be worth sharing with another human being.

My laughter is different. I don't see moments and think it's particularly enjoyable or a joy in reliving. Many times I don't laugh at all. It's a form of therapy for me. My small way of telling someone that I survived a moment that only few would consider pleasure. There are those dark nights that I often question my judgment on how and why I was ever there. What caused me to seek those individuals? Why am I a sort of lightning rod for them? I always ask a friend in a bad relationship a simple question that always get's them thinking. I ask them this and they start reflecting that something in their own behavior has caused them to find the individual in question attractive, and in some cases attractive enough to over look tendencies that if a random stranger happen to commit the less of those trespasses they would have been in police custody. A question that has us tear the roots of our self apart and to analyze what makes us who we are and how we deal with those aspects, good or bad. And so I ask me myself again a question that in many ways the only x factor is myself.

What was it about them that I needed that I didn't have in myself?

I often wonder if I ever had them in a room together, every woman I've ever had a relationship with. Good or bad. Memorable and forgotten. The ones that bring a smile to my face and the ones that make me question my judgment as an adult. If they all were placed in the room together I could see the following. I can see that they were all women. They might have one or two things in common and the majority would have nothing in common with each other and a minority would not want to be in that room with each other. And yet, somehow I am this common thread. This one individual that have touched their lives and made them think I was at least good enough to sleep with. I was fun enough to spend a moment with, few months with or couple of years on and off. Some of them talked about meeting parents, others didn't care or want to know that I had children. Some we talked into the night and never so much kissed while others I've never had much of a conversation that was memorable. Some were between relationships and a few I was going to assume the other man, the one you supplement with for the lacking of others.

    And there it is. The common thread of all of them. I supplemented something missing from someone else they have either dated, were dating or were in a committed relationship with. I was fun for the moment and a joy, but like Disneyland no one wants to go there every day. I seem to make them happy for a moment of time and after that point, they leave. Some break it off bluntly. Some never call back. A few have had a long conversation with me and we mutually realize that we have no future and that it would be best to go our ways. Out of those only three have we held each other tightly and realize that one day we may cross paths or we remain good friends.

I'm certain that the majority of people have at least experienced that much. But a huge chunk of these women, all reasonable seeming and very bright fall into a category in which it would seem I've gotten more than my fair share. Many of them have tried to come back after in most cases they left me either confused or just left me for someone else. In those moments we have coffee in a public place and they explain to me how they were in a strange place and they were discovering themselves and how I was not right for them at the moment. And yet, they had some Oprah moment in a wheat field or facing the ocean in which they discovered what it was to be a woman. They realized that I was good for them and that the guy they often left me for was the worst king of person imaginable. In some cases, they seem to describe it as an upset stomach after too much curry and that plain oatmeal was what they had wanted after all.

    And in every case I've asked simple questions that have always seem to cut to the bone. I've asked if they were sleeping with them while we were seeing each other. That usually messes up their train of thought. I then ask if I or any other man have done this to them would they have enough resolve to have them forgive? I then usually ask them why am I so important to them now that they didn't think was important to them then. I've still to get a response. Instead I usually had gotten frustration, anger and even threats. After leaving I have gotten calls, messages and even a letter or two back then, email today. It's these interactions that have made me gather some sort of thought and realize when a relationship is over there is no salvaging it. That if it was important….if I was important I would have been made to feel so. Instead I have been made into a security blanket. Someone who in many times makes them feel better, help them through a hardship only to go back and get stomped on again and then I am sought out to put them back together again. Saddening. It's here that I learned to not help a woman in any relationship that has ended. I don't help women in their break ups. The last individual it seems believes that I have taken advantage of her grief enough to fool around with me several times. I'm a dense person, but I'm in no way one to take advantage of anyone's grief.

And yet, it just leads me to embrace my antisocial tendencies more manifesting my Ugly Phase. Nothing really lets you know how much of value you are to someone as when they toss you aside or need you to fix them up. I've even stopped trying to be nice, while not attempting to be cruel either. There have been moments where the sound of my name is synonymous with asshole. I've come to the point where I'm willing to pick someone up and at the same time shove them away from clinging to me like a crutch. And as all crutches they are valuable and needed when one is broken and can no stand alone. And when independence has arrived in a moment of clear conscious the crutch is toss aside once more. It is not thanked for its purpose as much as sandpaper is acknowledged for it's task or paper used to remove refuse of any type. It is there to be used, tossed aside and forgotten as long as it benefits them.

Only when broken once more am I of value. I can not express to you how hurtful that is to me. My existence needed only to remove pain and suffering of others. Never seen as human but as divine, and as we all know the divine are absolved of basic human needs. So my phone is off. My email and messages filtered. And I cringe when I see the words "I need you." Mind, body and soul, I have been there for the need of others rather than…..I can not find the words. I can not find the words to describe a desire of a person simply due to their character rather than their potential to give relief to another. Words either fail me once more or my use of them has perverted their original meaning to a point I can not see their roots.


And so I seal myself just a bit further from the grasp of others with resolve of remaining alone.

All the stony's are dancin' to the radio
And I got the world calling me up here

Writing this on the couch, I'm a million miles away from everyone and yet at the finger tips of the right people. The House Matron purrs sweetly as she ignores me scaling up the couch near my head. In the corner of her eye she tries to catch my eye while looking as regal as always. Her winter coat has given her a bad image as being soft and cuddly as she licks claws that have eviscerated bird, mouse and finger. She coyly curls herself loosely as she unfurls her tail towards me. She does not want to be touched much less held and protests much at the task and yet she slowly tries to catch my attention with one sleepy eye open. The more I ignore her more she stretches until she has taken over my lap completely. The battle of wills ends as she finally begins to groom me with her rough tongue with a claw digging into my arm just short enough to draw blood. Watching her, I can't help to think that perhaps that it's me. That after a while you can't deny math and say that you are not a factor in attracting such attention.

There has to be something that I'm doing. I'm probably going to regret it, but I'm going to have to grok this just a little more. Until then I will remain just inches from unattainable and close enough to be cursed at. Before the thought can pull me under and make me spiral in a self doubting chain I pull the cork from the bottle and make quick accounting on how much is left. I have insurance in a drawer, saving it for a happy moment or a quick release. Bowie plays on the earphones and the Matron now rubs her head against my hand. I draw a sip and let it burn slowly down my throat. Not tonight. I'm not opening that tomb right now. Right now I'm content with the Matron in my lap and Stephen Fry making me laugh.

The matron scratches me and retreats to the other end of the couch. Hail Britannia.

And I'm not askin' to be loved or be forgiven
I just can't face shakin' in this bedroom
One more night alone