I took off my shirt without thinking… 

It’s a weird thing to not care what someone thinks of me. I went from being insecure because of my scars to being insecure and horrified about my scars and my weight to being insecure and horrified and devastated about my scars and weight and missing boob to finally finally not giving one flying fuck. (That is possibly the best run on sentence) 
I think that looking down at my body and accepting that with the exception of a few pounds here or there, this is me and it won’t change is the key. 

I have gotten to the other side of ugly. As long as he’s still willing, what do I care if he’s actually attracted to me. I know he isn’t, and I appreciate the fact that he doesn’t lie with pretty words. I understand an opportunity to put a notch in a belt better than most. 

I know this isn’t going anywhere. It’s the main reason I chose this particular guy. The no strings is appealing to me. Perhaps I’m shallow. I’m using him, he’s using me and for now it’s fine.

So I took off my clothes and climbed under the sheets not really thinking about my body or worrying if I’m impressive. I know I’m not and there is a kind of freedom in being ugly. 

He says “I googled mastectomy scars to prepare myself.” The punch to the gut was unexpected. He’s had to mentally prepare to be with me. I breathe and school my face to look neutral. This is the way it is now. 

He texted the next day praising my skill. I don’t care. 

Then I find myself there again mainly because I’m not owned and it’s an opportunity so why the hell not. Pillow talk is superficial and revolves around past experiences. Until he asks me what I want. 

” I want to be left alone. I want to guard my heart and my children. I no longer need a man in my life to feel complete. I just want to not have any expectations placed on me for the emotional well being of another person. I want to be alone.  … Or maybe I want love that’s so crazy it overwhelms me with fear and glory. I want to devastate a man so much that he’d rip hell wide open to be with me. I don’t know.” 

“Which is it?” 

“Does it matter? I’m here now. There is no what if, there is only what is. Living through what I have, you learn to be grateful and not expect anything. To just be. That’s what I’m doing right now. I’m here with you.” 

He got up and dressed. He told me I needed help. He told me a psychiatrist would have a blast with me. 

Why do I pick men that end up reminding me of my father? 

I think I’m going to call an old lover. If I’m going to be vulnerable and ashamed at least I’ll be on familiar ground. 


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