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I call myself a writer, though I probably shouldn’t. I don’t get paid to write. No one’s “read me”, as far as I know.
But since writing is the only form of expression I have that I can actually express myself through, I call myself a writer. I have been doing it all my life, too. So, yes, I will call myself a writer.
The thing is, right now I can’t write. It’s not writer’s block, because I’m not stuck in the middle of writing project.
So I’m calling it block writer. I need to write. I have the urge in my chest to express something and it keeps getting stronger.
The problem is, I have nothing to write about. No muse is striking me. It’s like being constipated; you just gotta take a dump, but it just won’t come…
Okay, sorry for the gross analogy, but it’s kind of what it feels like to me. Stuffed full and no way to unstuff.
So I’ve got a block. Now, how to unblock is the question. Why am I so blocked is the other question.
I wonder if Walmart carries mental fiber?
I just ended a relationship I never should have had.
It gave me something I’d been starving for, but I forgot that it wouldn’t be the real thing.
There’s only one way I’ve ever felt love from a man – and that was sexually.
I’m 40 years old.
And still, I don’t know what it’s like to be loved, truly loved, by a man.
I’m sure my 2 husbands would argue that they loved me.
But I didn’t feel loved.
My first husband verbally and emotionally abused me.
I concluded that he didn’t really love me, because you don’t treat someone you love like that.
My second husband was a wonderful provider, but other than that, he was a roommate. He never said anything sweet to me, he seldom made love to me; we were hardly even friends.
And now I’ve been involved with someone in a way that is very much like the old me. Just jump in the sack because that’s all there is. If I want to feel loved by a man all I get is sex.
They will never love me for the person I am.
But I ended it. He expects us to stay friends but I don’t know if I can.
I ended it because I just can’t do it anymore. Sex with nothing to ever follow. No, I already know from experience that it will fulfill nothing.
A woman can’t just have sex and not mean anything. Any woman who says she can is lying to herself and should really examine her inner motives.
It was starting to tear at me that I didn’t mean anything more than a “friend” to him.
I know he feels he’s off the hook because he was clear with me that he couldn’t be in a relationship right now. But he was still using me as his personal whore and that it was demeaning to me, even though I was a willing participant. And that isn’t something you should do to your friends. You don’t do things to or with them that would demean them in any way.
I’m sure he won’t see it that way.
So I feel a little self-respect for ending it.
But I also still feel like love will never, ever happen for me.
There’s nothing to love but my body, I suppose.
But I will be smarter this time around. Back in my much younger, single mother days, I would get angry at how men kept using me for sex. Even though I knew they couldn’t use me for that if I didn’t sleep with them, I didn’t pay attention to that. I was just so starved for any kind of affection I could get my hands on. I didn’t see how it wasn’t feeding me at all.
This time, I know.
This time I’ll just let myself starve.