"Living All Alone"

Living All Alone
Written by: Sugaree


Living alone, as in a single, divorced woman would appear to so many married women as such a lovely occasion. Particularly women that are not so happy with the one they’ve chosen to love honor and obey for the rest of their lives. Well, since I have had the unique experience of both spectrums, let me elucidate.

I had a husband that I would die before going back to since the kind of misery I endured with him was a near death experience. I was very young, 17, and didn’t know the tell tale signs of an insecure, low self-esteem and ultimately, abusive man. I was certainly aware of the fact that he had some issues during his childhood because of his skin color, but in comparison to what I had endured, his life seemed like a dream child hood. He was the product of a middle classed two-parent home. Food, clothes and security were never an issue and his mother was sweet as your favorite pie. So, his issues were trivial to me, baring no signs of danger even if I had’ve known to look for his darker side.

The lover I had after "dear hubby" was the same with the exceptions his finances allowed us. Two-parent family, middle class, financially so. I guess I should’ve known to wait longer after coming out of such an abusive relationship. Or, I guess I had listened to what my former husband said, “No one will want you with two kids…” I guess I should have just shut up, let him use my body, cook his breakfast, lunch and dinner, clean his house, go to work, school, pay half on everything despite his wages that quadrupled mines. I guess I should have been grateful not to have a say, and just be grateful that I had a man.

I should have known that my heart needed more time to heal, then my mind probably would have seen this same misery coming. I should have just been thankful that it was not physical abuse like before, huh? Well, guess what, you can put me at the top of the list of ungrateful women if those feelings were what I was supposed to endure for an eternity.

After those two long-term bouts of misery, I realized that it was me that kept choosing this type of man and took my sabbatical from the school of love. I was hoping to cure myself of the woman within that had a death wish or a glutton for punishment. Occasionally I dated to test my new findings about me.I failed miserbly. I went back to my sabbatical, searching deeper to find the woman inside that needed to be punished. I needed to find her, pamper her, and let her know that she was no longer needed. I needed to tell her that she was dismissed.

Last night I needed to be held. There were a number of men in my electronic directory that were available to call. Not to say that all or any of the men that were lucky enough to be added were complete idiots. That would make me look like one as well, just by the company I kept.

Unsure now of my choice in men, I reluctantly laid there, still alone. Unfortunately, none had strong enough arms or the intellect to relate to what I would have requested of them, to what I was feeling deeper inside than my vaginal cavity.

What I needed was far beyond the reason(s) any of the men I had the choice to call would comprehend. None of them really knew me well enough to know that I am a compassionate, loving woman that is secure enough not to take the dong many want to place in my dish. . All they knew was that I am sensual, sexy, quick witted or hot. That could be, in part, my fault. I do tend to hide the loving me since that seems to be the part of me that has been most frequently used as a rug.

Last night I grabbed my favorite pillow, clenched it between my arms and tried to hold back the tears. I wondered if I was wrong for not dealing with the situations in my life.
I wondered why my heart was so empty, absent of someone that loved me enough to show me how to love again. I wondered if my loneliness was affecting my dear teen-aged daughter’s choices not to date. God knows I shared with her the sad games of the heart some men will play with you, if you let them.

Well, last night I was not able to hold back those tears. I cried. It was not a cry of self-pity. Just a lonely heart. I wanted to scream as it played out because I had to realize why I was alone, yet would never truly understand it. That probably doesn’t make much sense, if any.

I cried so hard that my body shook in agony as I realized that so many of my friends, family and otherwise were lonely with a partner. In my head that meant the likelihood of my continued agony if I were to “get a man” would not stop upon his arrival. I would probably have a load of dung to deal with and ultimately not want to be held by this rotten person that I have foolishly selected to keep from feeling like I was feeling last night.

Last night I fell asleep somewhere lost in those deep thoughts and agonizing loneliness. I woke up with those very same feelings in the “wee” hours of this morning, even sadder. I was sadder because now I was faced with yet another problem. I not only wanted to be held, I wanted to be made love to. Again, in that very same electronic device that stores telephone numbers, there was no one to call. Of course there was someone to have sex with, if not all of them for that specific reason only. This time I grabbed yet another pillow but this time I placed it between my knees, clenched and anchored it there where my lover should have been.

I cried again when I realized, yet again that there was no one that could make love to me either. No one to accidentally on purpose nudge up against to stir up a little action. No stinky morning breath that would provoke not a missionary position but doggie style one to avoid the stench of early morning stank breath. I closed down on that poor pillow, as if it had a life, as hard a possible begging my body to calm down because there would be no extinguishing my scorching flames tonight.

It was time to get out of bed now. Before raising my unrested and untouched body out of my king sized bed, I slightly turned my head both ways. It was official. No one was there. It was not some nightmare. It was all too true. There would be no one to make that early morning coffee for or to joke with or share a shower or to just simply say good morning to.

I finally got out of the pity pot and went to the real pot and relieved my bladder. Well, at least the toilet seat was down when my sleepy eyes walked into the dimly lighted bathroom and plopped down. Funny I would think that. That was the least of my worries. As a matter of fact, the women that I have witnessed complaining about such trivia, I wanted to punch. Ha! A toilet seat, huh?

I wanted to say to them, ‘Try sleeping alone, every night, waking up to uncensored aquatic dreams that you cant turn over to quench, or no one to help with those bills, or no strong muscles to pull those heavy loads, no one to kiss you good-bye when you’re off on a serious mission that only a woman can handle.” I sure wished that these stupid women with nothing to complain about would release the good men to women that would appreciate them.

Here it is again. Nighttime is here again. Time to get back into that big lonely bed. No one would be waiting there with open arms to ask me to pass them the remote or even let out a smelly fart. There would be no one to back my hot butt up next to. No one to kiss it if needed be. I did not even bother to put a sexy nightie on or spray some sweet smells on. Hell, I didn’t even bother to change the unused sheets. What for? I had already impressed my self.

What I did do was made sure that my Puffs enriched with moisturizers and aloe vera were near because I could feel that demon called loneliness creeping back into bed with me. At least the Puffs would soothe my snotty nose from the long hard cry of being ALONE.