HER

It's that time of year again.

Last year I mentioned how much I hate Thanksgiving because of the pseudo-happy, cheery shit.

Really, it's because of her.

Thanksgiving 2006. We kissed and I haven't been the same since.

There was one party, once and we were on the porch. She had a pack of Marlboro Reds in one hand a lit cigarette in the other.

She smelled of sweat and perfume, but not in a gross way, in a European way.

I know that sounds weird, but it's true. While studying abroad in college I found that French people of the amazing ability to mingle the scent of sweat with strong perfume in an effortless and sexual way.

That's how she was.

Effortless, beautiful, dark, damaged, rail thin but with a swimmer's shoulders, those shoulders turned towards me.

At 5'11 I towered over her and as she described her latest "gig" (she never had jobs, they were always "gigs"), I swooped down like a hawk and stole from my prey, one kiss.

Her mouth was caught mid sentence, and her blue eyes, rimmed with black eyeliner (from India, she swore!), widened before she pulled me closer. We stood there like that for what felt like hours but was only a few moments.

Her boyfriend, my boyfriend Dan's brother, came through the kitchen. We heard him, disentangled from our gangly embrace, and stared out onto the yard. He came out, called out to her, and she went in to watch the rest of "the game".

Just like that. She was gone.

I broke up with Dan the next day and I have only seen her at her "gigs". Anonymous, in the back of the crowd, flush against the furthest wall, in the darkest corner, watching, knowing she will never be mine.

That's really why I hate Thanksgiving.

G-O-D

Try as I may to scoff at religion, I envy those who have faith in something.

Really, I do.

It's funny to laugh at the idea of a higher power over cocktails, but alone, in bed, at night? I want a god. I want to say to worrying friends Don't worry, god has a plan!, but I can't bring myself to say that.

It's a lie.

Where is this alleged higher power when people go to war, die of cancer, or even me, when I feel this unhappy all of the time? Where is he/she/it when I cry myself to sleep, alone in bed?

I feel a certain hollowness that I think faith could fill. But how? I tried Yahoo! Answers and all I found were austere religious people, each trying to "sell" their book, their organization, their club.

I don't want to attend a church, mosque, temple, or any other building full of strangers trying to absolve their sins.

I just want to feel full, happy, satiated with life. It's like I'm a faith-er-exic--a faith starved individual, a condition brought on by myself.

I constantly feel jaded and emotionally drained, as though I just resolved a huge fight with a loved one.

How do YOU believe? Where is YOUR faith?

How can I be that way?

I need a sign, something to tell me there is something bigger than this.

Because really, if we are the highest level of intelligence in the Universe, then I am sorely disappointed and I WANT OUT!

Doctor, Doctor, Give Me The News

I finally saw a psychiatrist/therapist today.

Insecure, obsessive, compulsive, depressed, resentful were all words that she threw around, summing me in words.

I felt no connection with those words.

There was no, Aha! Now I get it! moment. There was just my emptiness filling with frustration.

Who is she to define me? I paid $50 for someone to tell me I'm broken.

I'm broken.

I already knew that. She told me that I could be fixed.

Do you have a hot glue gun? Elmo's paste would work just fine, too.

Something to adhere the pieces together, my pieces together. Anything.

Her feigned interest disgusted me. She doesn't care. She cares about my health insurance and how much I pay her. She cares about her $100/hr rate and how happy she is that she didn't quit pre-med after organic chemistry kicked her ass.

Me? Psh. Dust in the wind, money spilling, another sob story particle of dust, leaving nothing behind to prove it ever existed.

She asked about my childhood.

Awful.

She asked about my teen years.

Horrible.

She asked how I've grown.

I told her to look at me. No, really look at me.

That should answer your question.

Children Revolt Me

I hate children.

My 3 best friends have named me godmother to their babies.

I hate them. They disgust me. Their inability to take care of themselves and their sticky paws make me gag.

Their smell, mannerisms, inability to string together words, and their existence in malls, restaurants, airplanes and movie theaters all further my frustration.

Even children, grown up versions of babies. They can speak sentences, but most of the time they are incomprehensible. They jump from topic to topic and they have no appreciate for the unknown.

They constantly ask "why?"

Why can't they be satisfied with ignorance?

Don't they know the bliss of not understanding? Can't they see that they're lucky to not comprehend how bad life is?

The worst part? I am jealous of them. I want so badly to feel that. I don't want to know. I don't want to understand. I cannot fathom wanting to know more about this world we live in. Why not accept it and move on?

I want the freedom of ignorance and the freedom to forgot.

I Have Only Had Sex 3 Times

I tout myself as a sexpert among friends.

People come to me for advice and I give it, animatedly and excitedly. I laugh and joke and reference non-existent men, "He was only this big!".

But I have only had sex 3 times. All in one night. With one man.

Since that sexual encounter I have almost had sex several times, but dysfunctions on my part prevent that from happening.

We will be kissing, almost becoming intimate, and then it all comes to a screeching halt as my mind begins to chatter in a panic stricken manner.

"What if he has herpes? Condoms don't always work! What would my religious parents think? Oh, I should visit them this weekend....do I look fat in this position? His breath smells bad...and he has bacne at 30. I need to get out of here NOW"

All of a sudden I enter panic-mode, where I MUST leave at all costs. I scramble into sitting position, re-dress, and leave, a stream of apologies, lies, and excuses like fire pouring out of my mouth.

And even my best friend thinks I have had a lot of sex.

When people invite me out on weekends, 50% of the time I go out, and 50% of the time I brag, "Ah, can't, I have a date" and I give a mischievous smile as though it validates my date and the fact that I might have sex.

Why does lying come so much more easily than the truth? I am at a point in life where I can never stop living this lie, and that terrifies me.

I am tired of being someone else. I am tired of being 1,000 someone elses.

I'm stuck. If I do meet a man I want to marry, how can I raise my children? How can I look them in the eyes and tell them that lying is wrong?

I am a sick hypocrite and while I sit at this computer typing, I've become disgusted with myself.

Advice?