Expectation is the hurricane that will touch and break the tree- Jean Rhys
I was in an entanglement before Jada so aptly named it. Truth is I had no idea what it was or why it was happening. It broke me, not the realization that I meant nothing, no. What broke me was the expectation, the hope that it would mean something more than mere body-count. I should have been cautious, tempered myself.
Here is how it started. COVID 19 lockdowns and no job to focus on had me going up the walls with anxiety depression and all forms of toxic mentality known to man. (Believe me, there are many). In that mesh of darkness. I was tired of being by myself mentally, emotionally even spiritually. I was lost an in dire need of help. Then came the light.
Do ever open up to a person so much you start to doubt your sanity. (Sigh!) I must have really been stupid, I swear. Anyway, they came in, gave reassurance, gave warmth, and gave love. Hell they even gave themselves. Like a life raft in the deep sea, I hoped upon that wagon fast. They became the one thing to look forward to. Quick replies. Someone asking how you are doing and genuinely interested in the answer. Then the promise and assurances get sweeter. And you want more. Who wouldn’t want more?
I swear it had been too long since I felt this good and safe with another human being. Texts keep going back and forth. Nudes exchanged, unsolicited. Flirting is hot and steamy. Everything is perfect, right? I even started to picture life as a couple. Maybe even changing my faith. I am by no means a good Christian. For this, I would change. Expectations, huh!
Then we meet up and go to pound town. The pleasurable entanglement of bodies, discovering each other and all there is to please each other. Then the pleasure keeps increasing. Texts go up to phone calls. It is great. I actually laughed at guys moaning about dry-spells on Twitter while I was getting serviced like a royal’s Bentley. Expectation arrives, telling me to hope for more. Let my final guards down. To relax and enjoy the ride.
BOOM! The hurricane comes. Texts go unanswered. No more concern or love or even after thoughts about you. The lockdown was lifted and so were you feeling and lies you were told.
“You said you would always be here for me,” I ask
“I am. It’s just that I am busy. Dealing with a lot.”
Then the warm soothing light that you cherished vanishes. Replaced by a frozen soulless polar bear from the North Pole. Foul, hateful, vengeful. Tearing at your weaknesses. Ridiculing you for being weak. You hate yourself for having opened up to them. You start to question everything they told you.
BOOM! IF I EVER OPENED UP TO YOU, I WAS JOKING.
WTF. I thought we were real. I won’t even say I was shattered. Still am. I hated myself for trusting. For expecting trust in return. I wanted to be more than just our bodies.
Now the ghosts and insecurities start looming. I don’t want to blame them, however if I have lost all I need to protect. Best solutions ends up with me burying myself under a mountain of bodies. Debasing myself so that I don’t feel too bad about being used. I am worthless after all. Then there are the fears of what they will do with the rest of the information they have about me. Am I even safe anymore?
Sadly, that is all there was to it. Lies and pretense. Then the scare of the century. You see the screenshots of guys boasting about spreading HIV/AIDS. And remembering how you whispered to each other. Telling each other how tantalizing the sex was when it was raw. Eyes closed. Fervent prayers uttered. Let me be wrong about this.
Weeks later we meet. There is the feigned pretense at having forgotten what was said. After bearing with the translucent lies, you confront them. The usual excuses.
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
My eyes are blank. The soul within is dead. I can’t look at them anymore. All I really want to do is spread the punishment. Make the next person feel as worthless, as useless as disposable as I do. I expect nothing but pain now. Either COVID 19 gets me, or life does. Expectations crush you. Hope crushes you.
