Meaninglessness of Our Life

The older I become, the brighter is my realization that nothing in this life is meaningful. Life is meaningless, it is our mind that keeps finding the meaning about it. Some of us live with a positive attitude exploring fun and pleasures. Some though indulge in sufferings, sinking themselves in depressions and anxieties, swallowing tears at the therapist’s, and supporting pharmacy through taking Xanax, Adderall, and other crap.  

Some of us are married to their miseries and refuse to see beyond their past traumas, which is understandable. Finding pleasures in life gets you out of the victim box; and not everyone is ready to face this life when the sweet cover of empathy, sympathy, pity, and compassion is ripped off. 

Swamping in grievances, dramas, and tears is comfy although stinky. But many of us are so used to the foul smell of victimization that they become adamantly resistant to let go of resentment.  
They perceive the freshness of freedom from grudges as the threat to the comfort of antidepressants, alcohol, and the drawn curtains. The darkness of their houses is lit by hugely bright TV screens, the only solace between soda and pizza, or red wine and skinny pasta, depending on the social level of the zombie LOL. Hiding in the dark with virtual gaming, porn, and action shows is therapeutic, the fresh air of reality is horribly unwelcome.

The meaninglessness of our life is amazing since we can always create the illusion of meaning based on what we want. We may prefer watching the star-lit sky through a telescope to hiding under the blanket, but both choices are irrelevant. It will all end up the same way to all of us since no one is immortal.

The only thing that matters at the end of the day is our health, the physical health of our bodies. The body is our only true friend that will never lie unlike our mind, which is full of such crap as ambitions, competitions, achievements, and urges to win. The body will always tell the truth by showing to us what we are doing wrong; and it is kinda fatuous to disregard the loud voice that keeps begging for the relief from meat consuming, work stress, sex, and medications.

We have been taught to move forward, to set goals and to achieve them. We were trained to split the world into winners and losers and to suppress the panic of becoming the latter through endless fitness and career building. Going with a flow has never been understood. Observing and feeling this life with each part of the body has always been neglected in the favor of crazy racing to the grave.

I decided to stop and do not regret my decision. I just live, take care of my body, and observe opening myself entirely to the pointlessness of our existence.  
life, love

Loyalty and honesty


          I want loyalty and honesty, – this was Jim’s usual mantra, something he was constantly begging for with that puppy-look in his deeply dark Italian eyes.
          I thought you want passion and affection, – I was flirtatiously evasive. He had the power to literary destroy my life with his influence, money, and connections.  I could feel his mightiness; scary and magnetic, hot and cold, crazy and sane. My personality split. Part of me craved him badly, the other part kept running away. That fearful excitement got me wet, very wet. The feeling of powerlessness was amazing; sexually arousing and insanely scary. My nipples were erect every time he threw me to the roller coaster of elation and panic. I was addicted to it.  
          I want you, be honest and consistent with me. I am tired of being the Yo-Yo. I want my lover back, are you still my hot sub?
Jim was into dom/sub role playing. He was dom to the point of being sadistic. I kept giving in since there was something very calming in the realization that he has the entire control over my body and my mind. That hypnotic powerlessness had me return to him after lashing out in the effort to break up. I almost belonged to him. The only thing I kept to myself was the element of loyalty and honesty that he was craving for. I am very loyal and perfectly honest to myself, and to no one else. I am a cat girl that is used to the luxury of fifth avenue houses and gulf clubs. I do not have much attachment to people.  And Jim felt that, and it drove him nuts.
He was asking for the impossible, he wanted my soul; and I was not willing to give it to him. His inquiries about my total belonginess to his wants and needs caused fits of my hysterical laughter. I never said yes or no.
          If you sleep with another guy, I will find out, and it will be over, I won’t help you with anything, I won’t pay you a dime
I returned his gaze and started laughing. He grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me on the bed. I kept laughing fearlessly looking into his eyes. He was mad. I did not care.
          Is this body mine?
          Be careful with my knee, I just recovered from fracturing it.
          Is this body mine?
          Let me go, you are scaring me
          Let me go
He needed my loyalty and honesty to satisfy his ego, and I never gave any of this to him. He got wild to the point of being violent. He yelled, called me slut, left and came back. I remained adamant and kept myself to myself.  

My Solitude

Smoothly running sound of the engine, soft rock in the car stereo, and the darkness of the highway – my best therapy when I drive home.  After years of chaos, I finally found the peace I never had in the past; and I profusely enjoy it with each cell of my body.

I come back, light a candle on the patio table, and watch the flame through the glass of the candle lantern – the very precious moment of my solitude that I attained after decades of fear to be by myself.    

Being on my own sounds magical as bamboo chimes, feels fresh as crispy linen, tastes yummy as dark chocolate. Solitude is the path to an awe-inspiring adventure evocative of horse nickering, saltiness of raw oysters, and anime coloring with fluorescent pencils. 

I was trying to let James know about it, but he was not in agreement. He kept looking for the partner in crime, for the love of his life to realize his kinky bedroom fantasies.
He was the one who helped me heal through respect and care when I was entirely destroyed by Greg. I wanted a game of chess, and I got it. I wanted potted roses, and they were delivered to me promptly. I wanted a weekend in Jamaica, and James got the flight tickets the following day. Unlike Greg, James satisfied all my needs. I was thankful, I appreciated his friendship. He had the touch of an angel, it felt so nice, but I needed my privacy.

          Do you still love him, Vixen?
          I do
          What if you never be together again?
          I will be by myself
          Do you wanna come over and fuck? – James’ persistence in the urge for a quickie was amazing

The night we had that conversation I was into viewing stars with my telescope and did not care much about James’ wants and needs. The solitude is enticing, and none of my dates can actually substitute it regardless of the value of their gifts and the size of their penises.

Dumping Jim and Enjoying My Freedom

I dumped Jim as soon as my son started feeling better.

His angry “you are an ungrateful, mean, and worldly bitch” was weak and funny. I did not care. I packed my stuff and moved out. His manipulative “Vixen, all I wanted was to make love to you like people who care about one another do” did not touch me any longer. I was unable to continue changing my freedom for the mediocre penis, boats, and private jets. I am passionately in love with money, unless it is a package deal that includes the mandatory requirement to swallow disrespect and fake orgasms.

The day we broke up I walked the embankment. The freedom had the refreshing smell of the sea air and the orange and red colors of the sunset. Light head, empty stomach, and toned shoulders; I was thinking about the back-up plan in case I feel scared and powerless again. I did not want to ask Jim for help any longer. 

Creaking sailboat masts, seagull cries, and wind howling. I was deeply inhaling my freedom. I sensed the chilliness of the afternoon with each cell of my body. I was hysterically crying and laughing at the same time. I was free.

I knew my fears to be unable to provide for myself and my son, to live in the streets again, and to die of hunger would hit me at night time. But it was still day time, the day time I was enjoying.

Back to Jim

When I think about Jim I think about power. He is the first person in my life who is much stronger than I. He knows how to bend me to his wants and needs and what buttons to push to have me back in his life when he needs it.

After I decided to stop putting up with his endless coercion, I blocked his number in my phone. Equipped with what I read on gender equality and encouraged by feminist propaganda about being strong and independent, I enjoyed two fantastic weeks without his obsessiveness, sexual aggression, and selfishness.

Then he started coming by showering me with gifts. I quietly accepted everything from roses to new furniture, smiling and slamming the door in his face. I felt I was starting a new life as a powerful person, I was proud of myself that I finally managed to withstand his clinginess and harassment.  
It all went well until I had a phone call from the daycare, my kid got sick, they wanted me to pick him up immediately. The whole world was crashing on me as I was driving him to a hospital. My mind was racing coming up with nightmare scenarios. We were promptly admitted and allowed into a tiny cubicle with wheezing and moaning with pain patients behind the dirty curtain. I was sitting on the cold tiles with my son in my lap, hugging him and stroking his hair. Panicky to the point of being unable to breath, I was blankly staring ahead singing a stupid ABC song. A doctor could not see him. A PA mumbled something about infection and gave me a referral to see a pediatrician.    

I left with my son sleeping on my shoulder. I felt like crap. I could not afford a private insurance for my child and be seen by a descent professional. Instead, I had to put up with inexperienced graduates from a ghetto residency clinic that accept junkies on Medicaid. My sense of power vanished and the decision was made. I called Jim. I needed help, organic food and good medical care, nice brandy dresses and overseas vacation.

          I can help you not to be a loser. Are you my lover? Just say yes and let’s make things much calmer and nicer for both of us
          Yes, Jim
          I want to be with you at least weekly if not more. I will give you the space you need for school and raising your child. But I want to see you a fair amount. If you are consistent with me, I will be consistent with you.
          Yes, Jim

 He was back again, that night I fell asleep without panicking about the future.