What’s The Difference Between a Hooker and a Mistress?

So the wool covering my eyes has been lifted in regards to Mr. Hopeful.  My fantasy, my rose colored glasses, are smashed.  For real, I actually broke them, accidentally in my back pack, but I consider it a sign.  The silver tongued (and boy I’m gonna miss that tongue) devil, the visions he created in my mind of a possible future.  A future I longed for, are done.  I ended them.  I didn’t think it would ever happen, but I’ve started to believe what he’s been saying all along.  I deserve better.  Im angry at him for his words of ‘what if’ and ‘you never know’ and ‘I love you’, setting my writers imagination on overdrive.

I’ve been up late, tossing and turning, and making voo doo dolls.  It helps.  I have a lot of personal items of his, which is all one really needs for casting.  Actually my sense of humor is not gone and that’s a really good sign.  I was told my humor and my intelligence are what is saving me.
What’s the difference between a hooker and a mistress?
I’ll tell you later.  You can read this far and it stops you from thinking for yourself.  It’s an easy answer and one I’m fully prepared to hide for you in this paragraph.  A hooker can retire, and mistress gets retired.  Oh Snap!  See what I did there?  I’m my own worst enemy.  Yes, I let him make me a mistress and as fun as it often was, it was the worst mistake of my life and I have no one but myself to blame.

Wait.
No.
Thats not true.

I can blame him for trying.  For coming to me only when he was angry at her.  That’s not a broken marriage, believe me I know.  I never cheated on my second husband because I was angry at him.  I cheated on him because I fell in love with someone else; and if I could fall in love with someone else, I knew our marriage was over.  You see, Mr. H. said he loved me, and in my experience, meant he didn’t love her.  But that’s not true, for if he didn’t love her, he’d leave here.  Period.  I can blame him for the excuses he gave himself so he could live with himself.  And so he could look into the eyes of his wife and children.  I can blame his hopeful visions of a possible future with me, the fantasies we both got pulled into too quickly and too wholeheartedly.  The fantasies I really still want to believe in.  Strong.  I have to be strong.  For us both.

I can also blame the fact  I was broken when we met.  He doesn’t either see this or believe it.  You see abused children grow up to be broken adults, if they grow up.  I was one of the lucky ones, I didn’t die or kill myself.  I grew up.  I repressed what I like to call the year of rapes.  Because there was more than one and more than one rapist.  One a family member, (thankfully not either parent) the other my mom’s boyfriend, at the time.  At a much earlier time than this, I was 12, I was also was played with by a babysitter.  (I was 5 then).  And people wonder why a hot, intelligent, and funny woman like me is single and stayed single for most of her kids life, and had her mom be a live in nanny.  Well….now you know.  Wasn’t going to let anything like that happen to MY kids.  Or anyone else’s, while we are on the subject of kids.  I can blame those men.  Because they broke me at a young age.  Coached into silence, coached into believing I was a naughty girl, or I asked for it.  Growing up believing being forced was normal.  Believing chaos and abuse was happiness.  Experiencing most men are cheating monsters. Not all but lets say 90%.  My experience, my opinion.  And remember, it comes from a broken person left alone to men herself.  Actually like dying, we all die alone and the mending must be done alone as well.  So that’s not meant to sound like pity.  None of this is, but I’m sure some of you will read it that way.  Unfortunate.  It is meant to help those like me.  Those who survived but have had a bit of a rough time finding anyone to be with, to share their lives with.  Anyone to understand.  My therapist said it would be a long time before I trusted men again since I stopped repressing. WOW what a year 2013 was.  So full of triggers and repressed memories coming back.  I cried a lot and it was all for me.  And very necessary for the healing to start.  And I know I’m almost through it.  Maybe in another year or five I’ll be closer to the woman I thought I was.  Know I can be.

You see, I wanted a man to prove to me I wasn’t naughty.  I was worth being adored and loved, and no matter how much I pushed them away they wouldn’t give up on me.  They’d realize I was wounded and the walls were up for survival.  Of course I didn’t know for many years the reason why I was so angry and distrustful was because of the rapes.  You see, I’d repressed the worst of it.  And thought I was just stronger than the average woman (or man) that goes through this. And maybe in some ways I was.  I am.  but in others….the ways that sabotaged my relationships, the men I loved…I wasn’t.  And one in particular, this one I just let go, I really thought he got me.  But alas he also only saw a bitter, untrusting and manipulative woman he believes used him just for sex.  But how could he have loved me when what he saw was so unattractive?  He must be broken too.

Its another sign of how broken I am.  I want to still be friends.  An unbroken woman would have been gone at the beginning and never fell for any of this.  Or would have been gone years ago.  I was strong once.  I was also called a bitch for being strong.  But you know what, when I was a bitch, I made better life choices.

So here’s to being a survivor bitch.  Happily making voo doo dolls, and looking up How Not To Date Your Ex, or On Being A Mistress.  Hey, now there’s a snappy little title, I’m never going to find it.  Looks like I have some writing to do.