Posts Tagged insecurity

He could have taken her to the Grande Palace Resort, but chose a seedy hotel on the waterfront, within walking distance of the Pier; for it lent an air of noir to the affair, that mixed well with her fatalistic attitude of their coupling. Though he hated when she spoke in “after the fact” tense, it was one of her curious traits that he found most fascinating; her ability to see the world in ways and realms that most could not; including her knowing how they would end, before they even began.

He was a superficial praise whore to be sure, putting himself at the center of attention if he didn’t happened to automatically fall there; and while those around him found him an overbearing, egocentric ass, she sensed his insecurity and saw something deeper that others did not, and that’s the part she wanted to touch. But their chemistry and attraction was unparalleled and irresistible; taking them straight to that line they should never have crossed; the means to their inevitable demise.

The path by which she led him was laden with mystery and truth; the things they did in room 231 was nothing short of debauched wickedness. Touching on every human compulsion and desire; connected by kismet, each movement determined. She coaxed him deeper than he’d ever gone, then feasted on his philosophy, all the while stroking his ego and soothing his soul.

The scars she was left with are worn as badges of valor, for the end was truly a vicious battle; and while she believed that he’d grown from their time and experience, in the end he retreated right back to that haven of superficiality, convenience and comfort; the one that stifled, restricted and smothered. The one he thanked her, on countless occasions, for releasing him from.

What she hadn’t foreseen was the coward he’d become when the black cloud moved in and ultimatums rained down; choosing to cling to collected possessions that held no meaning, but symbolized his monetary value and social standing; rather than harnessing his soul that had only just begun to soar, and riding the current of freedom wherever it happened to take him.

She understood the cruelty he showered upon her, in the form of his words immediately thereafter; actions displaying the stand he was taking, to appease the one he’d forsaken; malicious words intended to wound; of regrettable mistakes and meaningless missteps, that he would spend the rest of his life repenting. But the blatant disrespect he hurled in her direction, when their paths crossed and they landed face-to-face, was more than she could suffer.

She knew their truth, yet he chose to live his own lie; and she’d walked away peacefully with no looking back. The justification for his hatred was pure ego-driven; reminding and rubbing her nose in the fact, that he stood far above on the ladder of success and achievement, whose rungs she refused to climb; when he knew deep inside that his position and wealth had never meant anything or impressed her in the least. She was the only true spirit he’d ever known; her freedom the very thing he longed for – the one thing he was afraid to embrace.

The depth of his shallowness was revealed to the world, on that cold, rainy November night. The camera crew zoomed in on the crime scene; police tape blocking off the street, a shiny, silver Maserati parked in the alley alongside the Hotel Palamar. Two victims found in the car, both having died from multiple gunshot wounds. President and CEO of prominent architectural firm and an unidentified prostitute, both having met their untimely demise during an apparent act of unfinished fellatio.

She gazed at the image on the television screen, as the camera panned out and revealed the full scene, her eyes were immediately drawn to the window on the second floor; a window she knew too well – the window to room 231, where they’d carried out their affair.

They say some men you just can’t reach, and while she didn’t doubt that for a moment, she also believed that upon reaching that place at the core of one’s soul and touching upon the truth that dwells there, some simply aren’t courageous enough to reach out and embrace it; choosing instead to succumb to their fear and fade into the illusion.

A night out with the girls, after a tumultuous week at the office; heads turning as they were led to their table; the waiter taking a quick inventory of Blackberry’s, designer bags and bling; calculating his tip even before introducing himself. Once seated and situated, they immediately began bitching about co-workers and letting off steam, then somewhere between appetizers and the second round of margaritas things took an awkward turn.

Shana was the drama queen of the group; pampered, posh and completely plastic. There wasn’t a single person in the office that wasn’t aware of the fact that she didn’t have to work, she chose to; for walking around money. Whenever there was reason for an occasion, she made it a point to play hostess, then downplayed the maid and gourmet chef who not only worked the soiree, but were full time employees.

They had three children, with a live-in nanny who raised them rather than tended them. Ponte Vedra Beach is where they resided; in a sprawling 8,000 square foot oceanfront mansion with their own private stretch of beach; a showplace to be certain, just as Shana was a show piece to her husband.

Sure, she thrived on the attention her looks afforded her, but in truth she loathed the amount of time she was made to spend on her appearance. Yes, “made to.”

Her husband was the most sought after plastic surgeon in northeast Florida and had invested tens of thousands of dollars of his time and talent, on breast implants, tummy tuck and lipo after their last child was born and they were certain they wanted no more.

He hired a personal trainer, which came five mornings a week, to make certain she worked out, because quite frankly, he didn’t trust her to do it on her own; and the chef was to prepare all her meals and keep track of what she ate on a daily basis, so that at the end of the week he could assess her caloric intake and adjust her workout accordingly.

He put her on a routine Botox schedule, which just so happened to coincide with her Mercedes maintenance. Three thousand mile oil change, tire rotation and Botox injections, all in the same day, which she swore was just a coincidence.

As she drained the last of her third margarita, she confessed that he’d recently hinted that for her 43rd birthday he might be giving her a facelift, then burst into tears; professing how miserable she was, and that at the end of the day, all the money, clothes, jewelry, memberships and trips abroad did nothing to ease her loneliness.

Then in the very next breath she turned to me and asked if I knew how many calories were in a margarita. I told her I didn’t know and what difference did it make. She looked at me like I was crazy and said, “Are you kidding me? It makes ALL the difference! I don’t have the luxury you do, of having a husband who loves me unconditionally. Richard is surrounded by young, beautiful women every single day and the last thing in the world I want, is to be forty-three and single, with three kids and forced to take care of myself!”

“CHECK PLEASE…”

It starts the same every time. She has a story she wants to share, and being her friend and loving her like I do, I’m there for her and more than happy to listen; though it’s the same worn out tale she’s been weaving for almost a year now and always ends in a river of tears. But while the lesson has yet to be learned, I’m not giving up hope.

I know what she wants, whether or not she’s ready to admit it to herself; and she knows I’m right. She wants to be loved, plain and simple. But she’s not going to find it in a local pub, filled with other lonely women looking for love and men just looking to score.

It’s the attention that makes her high; gives her a feeling of invincibility, self-assuredness, validation as a single woman in her late thirties. That is, until the euphoria diminishes and she’s left alone, wondering why they never call just to chat or want hang out; and why not one of them has, or will ever, buy her dinner, take her to the theatre, cook for her, introduce her to their family; or any of the things that people in relationships do.

Yes…she wonders why.

Uh, could it be because she’s not dating; not in a relationship with these men. She’s just fucking and recognized as the one sure thing the minute she walks through that door; every Thursday night, like clockwork.

Enough with the excuse that she was married with a baby right out of high school and just now sowing her wild oats; the thing she has that her little girl friends don’t, is twice as much living experience, but she still lacks that sense of self; still filled with little girl insecurities.

She works so hard for all that she has, yet she gives herself away; to anyone who will have her. And still she wonders why she’s alone.

Times may have changed, but people haven’t. A whore is still a whore, no matter the age. And don’t get me started about safe sex practices and her lack thereof; or the example she’s setting for her teenage daughter!

I did say I wasn’t giving up hope, didn’t I?

I see you suffering, and I wish there was something I could do for you.

I witness your pain, and my own heart aches.

I see you spiraling, faster each day; downward motion to nowhere land.

I wonder who’ll be waiting when you reach the end.

Unsure what led you to this path; you no longer walk, but run these days.

The shift came sudden and without any warning.

Your sanity slipped and crazed madness set in.

You pushed aside all that was real; lost sight of your self completely.

Chasing that ever illusive sensation; known simply as euphoria.

You haven’t a positive word to say; allowing negativity to swallow you whole.

I say these things, because I know this place; having visited a time or two.

Your beauty and intelligence still shines in your eyes; though clouded by your tears.

With love and understanding, I offer this prayer; that someday soon, you’ll find your way home.

One could safely say that the foundation of my world is built on words. More than mere combinations of letters that form individual, miscellaneous words; but rather thought-filled, provoking, emotion-packed messages; extracted from the depths of my soul; each exuding the essence of my very being.

In the past nine years, since I began writing professionally, I have touched the lives of countless people I have never met, people I will never know; forging a connection over time and distance, sharing the common thread that is this human experience; the basic nature of our current existence.

I have received multiple literary awards for my fiction and poetry; awards I am extremely proud of, but at the time believed I was not worthy of; this appreciation has come with experience and maturity; and in the realization that by casting my soul into the universe in the form of words, I can leave my own personal mark; an endless mark that ripples into infinity.

I am more than the title of my current position, more than the words that make up my name suggest, more than my family sees me as, more than most people will ever take the time to come to know. I do not base my worth on material possessions, the number of books that I sell, or my yearly income.

I am a spiritual being, living a temporary human existence. I know for certain that life continues after the body ceases to function and perishes. I also have a keen sense of the duality of good and evil that lurks in the soul of every human being. A gift that I once considered a curse; of seeing through the façade, and past the veil that reveals the true nature of the human soul.

In all my years of living and experience, it never ceases to amaze, the unsuspecting packages in which wickedness is disguised. The innocence that orchestrates the deception and the insecurity that drives it all.

My word of the day is Slander. One that holds powerful meaning with devastating consequences. One in which I believe some could benefit by acquainting themselves more intimately with…

Slander
slan⋅der  /ˈslændər/ Show Spelled Pronunciation [slan-der] –
noun
1. defamation; calumny: rumors full of slander.
2. a malicious, false, and defamatory statement or report: a slander against his good name.
3. Law. defamation by oral utterance rather than by writing, pictures, etc.

–verb (used with object) 4. to utter slander against; defame.
–verb (used without object) 5. to utter or circulate slander.

Origin:
1250–1300; (n.) ME s(c)laundre < AF esclaundre, OF esclandre, alter. of escandle < LL scandalum cause of offense, snare (see scandal ); (v.) ME s(c)laundren to cause to lapse morally, bring to disgrace, discredit, defame < OF esclandrer, deriv. of esclandre

Related forms:
slan⋅der⋅er, noun
slan⋅der⋅ing⋅ly, adverb
slan⋅der⋅ous, adjective
slan⋅der⋅ous⋅ly, adverb
slan⋅der⋅ous⋅ness, noun

Synonyms:
4. malign, vilify, revile.