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I wonder as I wander . . .
Mental Mastrubation and Other Musings |
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Her body was still warm and her eyes opened as if she woke rested from a nap. Roy the coroner was doing preliminary work turns to me and said, “It’s inconclusive but I believe its suicide.” He bent closer smelled her lips “Arsenic I think” said in his usual gruff tone. She was dressed in emerald satin gown with complimented her olive complexion and hazel gaze. She looked like she was posing in a Victoria Secret ad. “Why would such a pretty girl do this to herself?” I thought. Sometimes I can think of the dumbest shit. What does her looks have to do with her suicide? Pretty, ugly they’re all dead. What appeared to be a suicide note in a lavender envelope sat on the nightstand and I opened it. This is what I found: I won’t go into a diatribe about old boyfriends and ex-husband or write some poetic shit about my broken heart. My intimate relationships, no matter how wonderful or horrific helped me get to this place. I never could appreciate this peace if I didn't survive the battle. I don’t mean my struggle with failed relationships but was the opposing sides of a war within. - Self esteem would duke it out with self-doubt while I finger popped to the beat of Jack Daniel’s and denial. I wore my insecurities like Chanel No. #5 underneath body hugging clothes and the latest slang. The odor wafted in clubs, bars and anywhere I sought refuge from the work it takes to become whole. The ones who loved my scent of compromise, made their presence known, with red flags in back pockets waiting to be tied to each bedpost. Let the "for play" begin. I’d arch “Bendable Barbie and hoped "Mr. Right Now" whirled his magic wand sprinkling magic on my pain. Unfortunately sperm isn’t magic it just, just sticky. Ain't it amazing how sex feels like a prayer's answer during the act? Time stops and endorphins become manna running through your veins. As you climax you want that full feeling to stay even after your partner leaves. If the body truly is a temple why do I allow thieves to shoot craps at the altar? My therapist said it best . . . "If you keep giving gifts to the unworthy what will you give yourself?" Those words were ripe with understanding and I fed off them and tried getting my stuff together. Along the way I learned that blaming the exes for my pain was futile. Whom I allowed in my life and bed reflected how I felt about myself. Discernment is wisdom and wisdom is bliss. I raise my glass to the wisdom I’ve found, the past I cannot change, and drink my future in. As I read the last words I looked back at her eyes and saw a sadness I didn’t notice at first. We’ve all felt that sadness at sometime in our life. Her stare and this note will haunt my thoughts for some time.