I have been told by somebody who knows, that I am a masochist.
This does not mean that I dream of candle wax being dripped upon my body while my lover has me tied to the bed. If only it were that simple. If only it were that tantalizing.
My torture involves allowing others to take total and complete advantage of me and getting some bizarre pleasure from the pain.
Certainly I must be enjoying the pain otherwise I would have fled the situation over a decade ago. I have spent countless hours and tens of thousands of dollars and still I allow myself to be emotionally beaten to the point where I am bruised. (not literally, of course)
What is it about me, in my childhood, in my adulthood, that has not allowed me to stand up and scream “screw all of you!”.
Why haven’t I taken my dog and left? I am the one with all of the money. None of it is his.
I have no ties here; it is entirely his family. My family is gone, he’s made it so that I have a circle of one or two friends. Why? Because he has insisted that all of my friendships are limited to females. Because I was raised without a mother, I cannot relate to women.
Alas, my closest friendships WERE with men. Now I am alone with the exception of my dog and the outlet of this blog.
Oh, and let us not forget the man that I pay $700 per week to pour my heart out to in order to feel like I have a friend. Is that really a friend? I have this false sense of security and closeness to this person who is really somebody that I have hired to guide me and be my only confidante.
There are too many unanswered questions – no, there are not.
There are only a few:
- Why do I stay?
- Do I hate myself that much?
- What am I afraid of if I leave?
- What am I afraid of if I stay?
- Is this what I want for the rest of my life?
- I am not yet 47; there is a lifetime ahead of me. Isn’t there?