In my last post, I mentioned someone named Michael. When I told him that I had written about him, he asked me to send the address of my blog to him again. That didn’t feel right to me. I mean, if this is someone who truly cares about me, shouldn’t he have my page marked as a “favorite”? I would think if someone truly cared about me that they would be reading it on a regular basis to see what I’m up to. I looked back through our text messages and there it was, I had given it to him over a year ago, so why should I have to remind him of the address?
I thought about it for a good long while, probably too long if I’m going to be completely honest and decided not to send him the address. Instead, I did a copy and paste of the first paragraph. His response, “Totally NOT a game”, words I would love to believe, but experience has taught me otherwise. I thought about this whole situation and decided to ask him a question. IF he really didn’t receive the audio message I had sent him over a year ago telling him that I no longer wished to communicate with him until he was ready to make a commitment to being with me, then why haven’t I hear from him? I mean, with all that has been happening in the world, if he truly cared about me, why didn’t he check in to see how I was doing?
Then I had a thought, one that made me stop dead in my tracks. When the world was going to hell in my neck of the woods, broadcasted on national television, of all the chaos, I don’t recall anyone checking in on me. Not even my own family members that live in different states where nothing was going on around them. I suppose we all have our lives to lead, but I really thought someone would check in with me to make certain I was okay…they did not. So, I guess the bigger question is, what does that say about me?
When I was a little girl, I had a friend that lived on the next block. She was an only child and she appeared to be living in a perfect world. Her mother’s hair was up in a fancy doo, to the best of my memory, my friend always wore dresses and she had an amazing bedroom. She had a canopy bed, with matching fancy dressers that included a matching desk and bookshelves that reached way up high. She had lots of fancy dolls to play with, but only a few were at floor level. Instead, many of them were perched way up top the bookshelves, well out of reach. She had to ask for permission to play with those dolls, which she kindly did one day when I was there.
The doll I remember the most was the one we only played with once. It was a Dancerina doll that donned a pink leotard and tutu along with a special pink crown. When one held her by the crown, she would spin and dance. I had never seen anything so fancy in all my life, so beautiful and magical, a lifelike dancing doll. We played with her for a moment and then back up on the high shelf she went, out of reach, but not out of sight. I have a memory of staring up at her in wonderment. She must have had a special stand that held her upright and I recall her shadow on the wall behind her being large and ominous making her appear a little bit frightening, but something I would like to play with again, if given the opportunity. She was special, up on pedestal to be admired, but not a part of our everyday life.
I met Michael near the beginning of my internet dating experience, way before I came to the conclusion that the men I spoke to were not really interested in a relationship, it was more fun and games than not. However, I didn’t realize that for a long time to come and I would become highly invested in these “relationships”. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that they, like myself had become addicted to the voice in the darkness. I would be up all hours of the night waiting for someone to play with, someone to feed my addiction for attention and what I hoped could be true love. Time and time again, I told myself that there was a possibility that one of these times, it would be for real, but it never was. Basically, I was their version of the Dancerina, someone to play with, but not a daily basis, not for real, not for keeps. I was allowed a moment of fantasy, daring to believe that someone out there actually cared about me enough to check in and see how I was doing, but truth be told, I was probably tenth on their list of possible playmates and I happened to be the one that responded.
How did I become so disposable? I suppose it’s my own doing, due to my need to be desired or even just to be liked. All I wanted was to have a friend, someone to play with even if I felt like they were only using me because their real friends weren’t available to play with and I was better than nothing. Yeah, those are the childhood memories I have, feeling fortunate that someone was out of town, so I got to be the one invited over to play. I honestly have a hard time believing that I am anyone’s first choice of company. Hopefully, I am mistaken and it’s just my low self-esteem talking, but it is how I feel. I know my place and there are certain people that I refer to as my friends, but I know in my heart that I am not their first choice to attend certain functions with, simply because of who I am, what I look like, etc. Therefore, hitherto I choose to be loner, it feels more comfortable to be alone than to possibly be the substitute playmate for the day.
I’m not certain how to change this situation either. More times than not, I am the one checking in on others. It’s what I do. I’m thinking about someone, so I call, write, or text to make certain they are doing okay and maybe too, they would be interested in playing with me. Not like some Dancerina doll, way up high on a shelf made for make believe, voice in the darkness play. I hope more so, that I am the doll that sits center on the fancy canopy bed, on the ruffled pillow sham, the one that gets played with on a daily basis and held close at night to keep away the nightmares. I want to be the doll that has to come along on vacation or sits next to you when you’re not feeling well.
I want to real to the man who calls to check up on me, because he honestly cares. Maybe someday, huh?
#thelieswechoosetolivewith
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