Revisiting the Whipcracker

 

Before: Devil inside.

After: Angel on a mission.

So he calls. Six months later. Informs me that he has changed. Fundamentally. And although this admission is not necessarily geared towards me, I still feel somehow satisfied. After so many pointless instances of scrolling through old emails and photos and deconstructing fragments of conversations once shared over too much tequila and too little inhibition--there was suddenly an opportunity to reconcile.

Maybe not for the relationship, but at least for my own jilted pride.
After all, we had a fu**king blast  together, from what I can remember. 
Our relationship marked by weekly anniversary's in the usual celebratory fashion: 
Getting kicked out of restaurants. Sprawling on his floor in a drunken stupor lip-syncing to Tricky.    And the usual morning after sarcasm that ensued as we struggled to recall: "What exactly happened last night, and why am I wearing Lola's dog collar?" Yes, romance was budding in the scariest fashion but I didn't care.
The guy was hot, smart, and kept me hanging on the seat of my la perla underpinings in a way that left me breathless but I digress--

The end began like this: 
Back in October, after having sabotaged myself in the usual fashion, I walked out on him and our "budding relationship" while still in the thick of it. Clutching onto my pride for dear life and heading out his door without peering over my shoulder to see if he was even watching. Violently pounding my heels against the pavement and soon to be forgotten familiarities of West 22nd street. Pushing me far away from him and all the bullshit insecurities he provoked. Chest heaving to repress the scream. Teeth tightclamped to silence the words. Thoughts much too scary to *gasp* speak to him. The ones that gave away the secret: No, I was not OK. I was human--and I was hurting. NO, I WAS DEFINITELY NOT OK.

And with the spin of my heel in the opposite direction--I went from hurting to hating.
Succumbing to that mantra that reigns supreme in my subconscious.  Like a safety reflex propelling me forward from potential hazards such as this. So the little voice in my head chants on:  Being pissed is empowering;  Pissing and moaning is for pussies.

I sublimated my anger for pain and continued on autopilot.  Returning to my apartment where the screaming ensued outside the confines of my own fucked-up reality. I sat there numb in front of my laptop. Words aching to burst from my own bloated ego. And in submitting to my own twisted, masochistic defenses, I recorded our epitaph.  An ode to the demise of a relationship that I decidedly snuffed: Words to him I could never verbalize, but instead would post on the internet for him to stumble upon and hear me out.  Only after my fingers hit the keyboard did my pride allow for my acquiescence entitled:   

"Getting Whipped, Licking The Wounds."

Yes--escaping from intimacy became a sport that I not only mastered, but depended upon for survival. By the time I reached my twenties I was a pro. Of course, I had mom to thank for this well-honed technique of walking away from the vulnerabilities of love. She was kind enough to outfit her offspring with this suit of armor at the tender age of 7. Preparing me for battle. Sending me off into the arena to joust away at those who tried to invade my vulnerable heart. And reinforcing the warrior within were guidebooks called: "Passages," "I'm OK You're OK," and "Looking Out For Number One." and my personal favorite; "Smart women Foolish choices." Titles whispering subliminal affirmations that would surely empower, as we sat together in silence bonding between episodes of Donahue.

So tonight, after his bold extension of the Olive branch, I agreed.
Yes, now I was ready to face my demon. Him, and the reflection of myself I saw within him.  Why did I bother to placate his guilty conscious? I had my own agenda. 
It was in this confessional where that lacey curtain of pride was ripped open,
exposing the nakedness of my own, pathetic truths. My attempt to reconcile the same guilt I felt towards all the other men in my life. And in our shared confessions, we repented and saved each others souls.  Yet still I question it. Does the whipcracker ever truly relinquish control? Maybe he had. As for my case...

I wasn't so sure.

Comments

[paisley]

men don't change.. they just find a new system to play.

[Len]

Good for you for becoming aware of your own self-destructive bahvior (or what appears to have been that). You're a really good writer. I don't always read your posts, but I really enjoyed this one and "Baby...Where did my life go?" From one woman writer to another, thank you for articulating such complex things. I know it isn't easy finding the right flow sometimes. I'm going through something similar. I respect your insightfulness and writing style, so free to let me know if you figure things out or to check out my blog and comment... or not.

[Nicholas]

Corrections/Addendums:

1) The leather accessories were from San Francisco, the silocone and latex accessories were from Japan.

2) The forgotten familiarities were on West 21st street, not west 22nd.

3) Lola wears a harness, the collar you woke up with was in fact meant for you.

[christina]

Really Nick--
How could I forget my repeated walks o' shame down that particular block?
Being one street off was my gallant attempt at preserving a shred of your anonymity.
But I guess we can use my blog as a promotional tool to get you back on the market,
So in honor of your new and improved bachelor status, I will go there...

Here you are ladies:
Nicholas D. Newman
261 West 21st Street (buzzer ..3)
New York, NY 10011
PH: 212-THE-STUD

Weakness: Emotionally unstable blondes with a goth edge that can hold their tequila and have a penchant for finely handcrafted, imported, leather, um...goods.

[paisley]

ROFLMAO!!!
you go girl!!!

[Nicholas]

Egad! The fake address didn't bother me but for some reason having people think my last name is Newman is driving me crazy!

[paisley]

but the phone number is correct. lol

[Andrew]

If that was for real, I just have to say...only on Friendster.

[Ai]

(^.^)v *i'm a fan!*

[Gloria]

You are so pretty and intelligent. It's time to crash through the barrier or move on.

[Arlene]

Stumbling upon your blog was an awesome moment. You write beautifully - not only that I could see the settings, but could also feel each pain and joy in every story as if I was there! I hope you know how talented you are - you should write a book. I wish I could communicate at least a fraction of how well you could. Keep writing...and inspiring. :)

[sHeiLa]

i agree men is difficult sometimes and you are a great writer!

[Sharon]

good writing skills plus bad ex-boyfriend equals interesting read.
thanks!

[Steve]

He looks like one of those guys out of Zoolander?

[Honey]

i like this article. im amazed, u can describe your feeling so well and open to others..
Anyway, just wanna say... im feeling sorry for what happened to you, and im also glad, that you can still keep walking and finally find "your own life" again. Ill cheer for ya ^o^

Honey Bunny

PS: Keep writing blogs plizz... ur articles r really interesting (big thumb)