The Purge

It's late and I should be in bed. But the demons of memory are . . . precise.

Painfully precise.

I no longer wish for his arms around me or for one of his gentle kisses. That part of me has been purged, to my substantial relief. But with the purge of those emotions, another part of me is left dead. That part of me that believed in the fairy tales, the beautiful gowns, the fairy Godmother. The Handsome Prince. That part of me died. It took two bitter relationships and over six months of pure Hell, but I am alive. Sortof. I don't watch the "chick flicks" anymore. I don't comfort myself with thoughts that "someone better will come along." I don't dream of some handsome Romeo who will sweep me off my feet and carry me away.

I pray to be left alone. That no one else will come along to f*** with my head or use my body. I just want to be left in peace.

I was told once that I am what's called an "iceb***", that I make myself unapproachable to the guys around me. Ironically enough, it was a male who said it during one of our long conversations in which he (as usual) riduculed my choices in life in comparison with his own. Unfortunately, I neglected to point out to him that, not only are a significant number of my friends male, there has never been a guy who has ever given me a reason to trust him (aside from the afore-mentioned male friends). In fact, this same male is firmly in the category of a male NOT to trust. But that doesn't undo the damage of his callous remarks or my own insidious fears.

So, the dreams die, slowly and painfully. No house, no kids, no pets. No husband. Just myself. And although I know that all males aren't horrible people and that shutting down doesn't solve the problem, I can't help it. I'm too tired and too scared to fight for dreams that aren't likely to come true. Maybe someday I'll have the luxury of looking back and laughing at my emotional stupidity.

But not tonight.