Today I made an effort to clean up my room and made a concerted effort to throw out a whole bunch of non-relevant things. I need a clear space to clear my head and start rebuilding hopes.
But lying on floor was a folder. The contents are all my official documents from Canada.
Police report from when things got stolen in San Francisco. The paperwork CBSA required for me to enter Canada. My medical records from my hospital visit and followups. Payslips and tax return. It just hit me like a tonne of bricks and it hurt like hell, causing me to break into tears.
So I just left it. I rang a good friend and we chatted about everything and nothing until the rawness passed and after that, I just buried my head in a video game and didn’t resurface for six hours straight. It has been 9 months ago since my return home and though my memories of Vancouver has faded somewhat, what caused me to leave and the consequences thereof still hurt.
I have been using masturbation as a form of escape and though a part of me longs to seek validation as a desirable creature in the arms of a man, I know that if I were to pick a stranger there would be no appreciation for me personally, just as a willing body. Arguably it’s a fair trade, but I remember how Christopher looked at me. The hunger. How I felt him harden in his slacks in my presence. How our preferences aligned and was beyond fantastic. How I felt so alive and beautiful in his arms. And when I orgasm, I still think of his face and the feel of his body and whisper his name.
They say that there is nothing like getting under the next man to forget the last one, but I don’t want to forget the last one simply for the sake of forgetting.
I know Christopher manipulated me to keep the relationship going on his terms. He lied to me by omission many times. He makes promises he never keeps. But I loved him so very much. I willingly blinded myself, to accept all those flaws, so I could be his girl. A friend of mine asked me, knowing what I know now, would I still go back if he came calling? And a thousand times yes, I would.
However one night earlier this week, I was at a bar and wandered outside to view a display of Christmas trees lit up in eerie colours. I whispered “I have to make memories without him, for myself. To remind me that I have to live a life of my own.”
And this week, I received an fun, interesting message on Tinder and had hoped that the fellow would follow up on my in kind response. Not ready for a serious relationship right now, but just as an escape. To borrow a man for just a little while in a friendly way that isn’t encumbered by my past. To laugh and smile.
But today wasn’t the day. Finding the folder was a reminder that I can’t escape the past and run forever.