So, I have not written to you guys in a while, well I have been busy, just get over it. A lot has been running through my mind lately and I thought that today would be the best day to get a few things off my supple chest.
Last week, I realized to my udeniable joy that I had been in fact single for a year, well kinda (there were a few non work outers in the months building this year). This of course (after popping a bottle of Moet) brought on thoughts of the last ‘real’ relationship I was in, the one that nearly drove me to Tara. In my thoughts I remembered all the good times, many of the bad and of course I discovered the unique madness that was not just him, but was me too. I took a moment to try and figure out where I had gone wrong, as perfect as I am I can be fucking annoying at the worst of times. Now this thinking catapulted me into a state of analysis. Of course I must explain myself, when I say analysis I mean I have been judging my friends relationships and throwing my Oprah opinions at them *tears have been shed at these sessions*.
So, in my judgments I came out with this - the age old women let men shit on them waya waya, type of thing – don’t get me wrong this is not all women, just the ones around me and by women I also mean the gay friends that end up with asshole that mistreats them because they are sweet (stop nodding **Tiesetso** we are not talking about you yet). At some point when I was on one of my trips I met a lady who was engaged to a nice young man who from a distance should be the perfect man. Whilst in conversation with *Kholeka * she told me the ups and downs and the unreasonable things that she has to deal with in her relationship and mind you in the EC this seems to be a norm to have many girlfriends, they even have tag names for the girls in order of rank. Really?? Yes they are as follows 560 is the top chick, 220 follows her and so on and so on. We might defend this by saying the President does it, but this crap has been going on down there since I could understand what Bold and the beautiful was about. She went on to tell me how she has to deal with his moods, him kicking her out when he wants and taking her back when he wants and throwing things at her. This can’t be right I thought. She seemed to hang on the fact that at least he does not hit her. I sat and wondered when we will realize that abuse is not just a fist to your face or a kick on the chest, it is way more than that. I myself have said some horribly abusive things to people when I am angry – it does not make it ok… (see there’s that Oprah bitch coming out again).
The things she said got me upset, but I remembered from my experiences that no matter how much I get angry or discourage her , she won’t leave him because she thinks that he will change. Which, brings me to another friends who wasted 7 years of her life with a coke addict, gave him a baby and realized just last week, that he would never change, everything was just a trick to get to the next fix. I spent years protesting on her behalf getting angry packing peoples clothes, shouting at people, picking up people etc – totally nothing compared to the fighting for him that she did… needless to say she stopped talking to me for three of those years, because I was the bad guy… I never realized how much she needed me even though she fought me until, I fought my own family only to be left bruised and homeless.
Our three situations made me wonder how many women who actually seem ok and happy are with men that just drag them through the mud. I mean we have been taught that whatever happens in your relationship is just between you and him. What if behind those closed doors he is killing you?
So, when I was dancing with my Champaign, busy reminiscing… I asked myself is it possible that he may have changed?… Big mistake by asking that I must have sent some squiggly Morse freaking code to the universe, he called to see how I was. The conversation didn’t last, then I called then he called, then I realized I was hoping for change, I was walking straight into the lions den. I stopped myself before I could get bruised again, before a simple conversation on the phone became an addiction, before my bank card was funding some other life, before I found myself, bruised and homeless once again… I stopped. The allure of the sweet drug (his scent) had grabbed me intensely for a moment, I faltered failed and fell, I cooed at the possibility of our existence side by side again, but I forgot that I was imagining him. What I had at that time was a figment of what I hoped him to be since I believed he could change or rather wanted to believe so badly. And there it was, I had found it, I had found where and why all these women and I get it so wrong. These men don’t know any better, because we have not taught them better, we allowed them to act that way because we thought they would change. I would be damned before I change who I am for anyone. So, why would I expect him to change what he is what he knows? It’s even worse when they think what they do is right. So, my conclusion: “Cut your losses” I kept repeating in my head, this is a celebration right, a new beginning. Almost like moving into a new bigger house, it’s different, but it’s much better than the old torn up one.
**Names have been changed to protect my ass more than anyone else’s**
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