I envision it like this:
So here I am in the jungle, stomping around with my "Hey, I'm not trying to be in a committed relationship" machete of bullshit and my "I can totally be casual and cool and flirty and non emotional" survival pack and, dude, I'm pretty sure I've been nearly eaten by tigers like.....three fucking times already. When I first started this single+mingle thing, I was originally in the jungle sauntering around like some sort of Angelina Jolie super-star, somehow managing to sport lipgloss and perfect hair as I nonchalantly fended off...mummies and snakes and all sorts of other terrible shit and.....well basically I've never seen Tomb Raider and mummies don't live in jungles but I was kicking ass at being single. And then I wasn't.
I did the dating thing and it was pretty amazing to feel wanted and sought after and beautiful and I felt like, all of the sudden, I was fixed. No more feeling ugly, no more feeling unlovable, no more feeling like I'll never find someone who can "deal" with me and my problems. I was desirable and I was a downright catch! Who knew?! But then, as I always do, I got attached to some people, I got overwhelmed by the positive attention, I said the wrong things, I felt really guilty, I made people upset, some voice in my head was calling me a whore for dating, people realized they actually didn't really like my personality all that much, or worse, people realized they did like me. What's this? You want to date me? You want to be in a committed relationship? Oh, no no no....I'm still...somewhat....newly single and feeling pretty gimpy from my last relationship and I don't think I can put myself back in the meat grinder of punishment that is "love" and "monogamy" just yet. And also, million dollar question: why would you want to date ME? Think about it.
So I'm trying the casual dating thing and things are fine and fun and lighthearted and I'm in bed with this man I've been seeing.......And that's been going all fine and dandy, and then mid-deed, out comes the dreaded phrase. "You're beautiful."
IN WHAT ALTERNATE UNIVERSE DO YOU THINK IT'S APPROPRIATE TO CALL ME BEAUTIFUL MID-SEX?! What a turn-off, right?
So, I'm pretty sure I made it out of there faster than a Kenyan can run a 100 meter dash. I'm pretty sure I maybe yelled at him? I'm definitely sure I cried the whole car-ride home. I'm 100% certain I was a total jerk and very mystifying, as all he was guilty of was being super sweet, super understanding, and maybe not quite as fast as a Kenyan runner. This poor boy, right?
Okay, let me explain to those of you who may be confused. Every woman loves to hear she's beautiful. That's she's pretty. That she's sexy. And that she's loved. Basic ladies 101 right? Wrong! In theory, I eat that stuff up. It's really cute and I love to know when you're attracted to me but, believe it or not, it sounds and feels like an insult when we're really close and I like you. I feel like you're trying to trick me into feeling better about myself, when in reality, you don't think I'm all that great at all. You just feel badly for me and my hideousness. Just don't call me beautiful. (But really, please do. Just be prepared for tears and yelling and me storming out of your house/a restaurant/me kicking you out of my house.) I'm pretty sure this kind of reaction is totally common for those of us who have been through any kind of abuse, sexual abuse, or just shitty ass relationships.
Oh, intimacy, we're not quite friends yet.....
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