No one’s priority

He said he was sorry for not being able to show up.  He wasn’t able to get away.  He is married and he has small children.  Did I fall in love, or is it lust with this man? I was drawn in by the soft gentleness he exhibits with his children. He is so kind and loving; I wanted to feel that kind of love, I wanted to be one of them.  And for once, feel that kind of attention. But life is way more complicated than that. I told him not to worry about it. I never want to add stress to his life. In fact I never want to add stress to anyone’s life. I have been accepting apologies and enabling people my whole life, allowing those who are close to me to hurt me. I had an epiphany that day when he said he was sorry as he often had said before. The epiphany is that I am willing to be seconds or even thirds because I have never been anyone’s priority.

That makes me an amazing wife, since my husband can put work, the kids, his parents…anything ahead of my needs. How easy and carefree for him, to have his personal attendant, who requires nothing back. Oh, and the kids, the ones I pretty much raised alone, since dad was so busy at building his ego with the accolades of his job. Well, any parent knows raising children is thankless. I don’t really even want them to make me their priority anyway, but if their dad would have shown some to me, maybe they would know how to care about me, not just want something from me. But it doesn’t matter, because they are grown now and they are givers like I am. I hope they find givers back.

I suppose I can thank my parents in some way for the role I have played.Stuck between the beloved older sister and pampered little brother, I was the classic over achieving, peace keeping, ”please look at me” middle child. After a while you start believing there really is nothing you can do that IS good enough. Not the good grades, not the starring role in the school play, which no one came to see, not even marrying the man they wanted me to marry. Then the cycle of family life began. The kids, the job, the house, the bills.  I was in it, good!  So I did it, I did what all I had to do. This was most everything. She is so capable!

Fast forward and the kids are grown, but nothing else has changed. The result of being no one’s priority is a desperate loneliness with which I have a hard time putting onto the page. The feeling is so strong, at times, it consumes me. My only escape from it is to distract from it, such as in the form of my sweet friend, who when he is not being a dad, is often times texting me with indecent thoughts. For hours we chat, and speak about nothing. The rare times we can see each other, we hardly say a word, and the energy consumes us both, with quiet inhales and intense holds of tangled arms and silent breaths. I am filling his void, just like he fills mine.

Why do I let him? You would not ask if you had understood the desperation I feel. One is willing to take a corner of moldy bread when they are starving.

Delicious

She pushed her fingers into the tight skin until it gave way to moist, sweet flesh.  Drops of liquid dripped down her fingers and onto her hand.  She raised her arm to meet the flavor to her lips.  The smell of fresh wetness filled the air and aroused her senses. She separated the folds until one section could be held cupped into her palm.  She took it whole into her mouth and devoured the fruit and inhaled the aroma of citrus and earth.  I love the smell of oranges…………………….

 

 

photo property of The Jaded Lens Photography

I let you…

The pieces of your broken heart are tearing me apart, shards of stolen words and empty sentiments.

I wish our lips had never met, I wish our tongues had never danced.

Your taste still lingers in my mouth; your hands still roam my flesh.

I thought I could use you and no one would get hurt.

I told you to protect your heart, but it was my heart that needed protecting.

It made me sad when you said you had to stop, but it felt worse to think of what I had done.

This played-out game of miserable desperate need, while we both belong to some one else.

I let you talk to me………I let you think of me…….I let you see me……I let you touch me…..I let you taste me……

How could you get me out of your mind?

Tell me so I can get you out of mine……………

Letter to a Friend

imageDear Little One,

I know that you are only 4, and it may be hard for you to understand this. But try to listen with your heart – it is a beautiful heart, full of love, intelligence, and wonderful mischief. It is a heart a bit wiser than your few years, and it will serve you well when you need it most – even when it is breaking. Listen to me, now:

What happened to you is not your fault.

Wait, let’s define this, instead of putting it delicately: You were MOLESTED. And it was scary. And it was painful. And it was very, very WRONG. Your young, vulnerable, INNOCENT body was violated by a person who was perfectly capable of knowing better.

And it wasn’t your fault.

It had nothing to do with the fact that you were out in the front yard, running through the sprinklers in your brand new bathing suit. A 4 year old body is not a sexual body, and no one has the right to see it as such.

You were NOT too trusting of him. He took advantage of the fact that you were, at 4 years old, conditioned to obeying those that were older than you.

You were scared when he touched you in your private parts. He hurt you, I know, when he told you to spread your legs as far as you could and tried to put himself inside you. But the fact that you didn’t leave is not your fault. The fact is, little one, that you could not leave. He wouldn’t let you, remember? He was bigger, heavier, stronger, older. And he was on top. And he had no right to be there. He had no right to hurt you. He had no right to touch you. He was (is) a sick – no, not just sick, a BAD individual that should have known better, and should have been punished.

Mom says that you are mis-remembering, that he was not as old as you say. That doesn’t matter. He was old enough to know better. He behaved in a reprehensible manner, and you were NOT, in ANY WAY, to blame.

You were not a bad girl, little one. You were a little girl in a bad situation. A 4 year old has very little control over her life. She has parents, teachers, and elders constantly telling her what to do. To you, (let’s say his name, it will be alright – hold my hand) Steve was one of those elders. But he was an elder who took advantage of a child’s innocence, and that makes him sick, corrupt, and evil. It does NOT make you "bad" or "stupid" or "too trusting." What it made you was a scared little girl that was taken advantage of, and that is never, EVER acceptable.

Little me, I know you hurt and feel shame. But I want you to be ashamed of HIM, not yourself. I want you to forgive yourself. I need you to heal.

Little me, your heart is so full of love and wonder, your spirit is sweet and strong. Please forgive me for being angry with you. I know now that I was wrong.

Little me, I love you. Please love yourself.

Love,
Big Me


From the Editor: So many Smartly Anonymous posts make me want to reach out and hug the writer. But as you know- these are all submitted truly anonymous, it is impossible to do so. So I want to leave a note here for this author. I am sorry this happened. And I appreciate you sharing this all with the world. Be well.

For anyone who might need it….the Childhood Abuse Hotline 1-800-4-A-CHILD.

Quack

imageI remember an episode of Golden Girls wherein Blanche starts a story with her Mother calling her "Peacock." She asserts that her mother nicknamed her that because she was so beautiful. Rose points out, "Peacocks have long, skinny necks. And they shriek." Canned laughter ensues.

What kind of bird are you? A steely eyed, strong eagle? A fanciful, but pecking, banty rooster? A proud, beautiful, shrieking peacock?

Or are you a duck?

I had a boyfriend once that told me I was a duck. "A duck?" I asked, confused. Surely a boyfriend was supposed to compare you to a swan, or something equally beautiful. "Yeah, a duck" he said. "You’re cool and calm on the outside, but under the water’s surface your little feet are paddling like mad, just trying to stay afloat." Screw him. What did he know? I was no duck, hiding panic under a thin veneer of serenity.

And yet…..and yet….

Here I am, years down the road. Decades. Feels like centuries, sometimes. I’m a wife now. A mother. A semi-productive, responsible, sometimes even well-liked citizen. I have family. I have friends. Hell, I’d go so far as to say I might even have a couple of admirers. The general consensus seems to be that I am likable, funny, strong, and attractive.

The above the water’s surface part of me desperately wants to believe that. And FEEL that. Below the surface? Damn boyfriend was right. Paddling like hell, just trying to get by, to stay afloat. Trying constantly to calm my negative, racing thoughts.

"I don’t care if you’re a size 4. You’re still flabby. Get off your fat ass and DO something!"  "Why are you bothering with the make-up this morning? Not like you’re going anywhere. Not like it does any good."  "When did you become such a loser and stop caring about the things you were once so passionate about? When did you become pathetic?"  "He leaves in 2 weeks. Been over there twice. Came home safe. What if this is the time our luck runs out? Your son would be so much better off with him. If anything were to happen, it should be to you. It should be to you."

Sigh. Quack.


Note from Editor: Remember readers, this is your site. Your space. Click SUBMIT above and tell us your anonymous story. We are here to listen.