An Absolute Raw and Reckless Beautiful Mess
As I was digging in the crates of my emotional past a few weeks ago, I came across a particular journal entry that stopped me in my tracks. It was from the summer of 2009. I had had a tumultuous and unexpected break up with my boyfriend of 4 years whom with my identity was completely and utterly intertwined.
I do not intend to share the entry as it consists of ramblings and references that would need far too much explaining. Nevertheless, I feel inspired to write about this time in my life. When I met the person who made me feel like I was the most beautiful being to ever walk on planet earth.
I was 23. I was newly parted from a man I was certain I’d spend the rest of my life with. And I had absolutely no idea who I was anymore.
No. Fucking. Idea.
I felt like I was starting from scratch. And left to pick up the pieces. Who am I without him? I tore the posters off my walls. I hated Nas. I stopped listening to music altogether. I hated hip hop. I chucked my air force ones. I hated shoes. I quit coffee. Fuck coffee. I stopped eating meat. Fuck meat. Actually, I kinda just stopped eating. Fuck eating.
Days and weeks went by that I don’t even remember. I started running. And I just ran. I ran and ran and ran until I couldn’t move. I ran until I collapsed crying in a breathless, sobbing heap. I ran to get away from him. I ran to get away from me, my thoughts. My fucking thoughts. I ran so I could feel something. But mostly, I ran so I could feel nothing. I just ran.
I was more raw and vulnerable than I had ever been. I felt like I was existing my with insides turned out. Like a live version of one of the cadavers in the Body Worlds exhibit at the Science Centre. And I was afraid everyone could see it. It wasn’t angry. It wasn’t bitter. It wasn’t ugly. In fact, as I look back on it, I can see that it was beautiful.
I was an absolute raw and reckless beautiful mess.
And that’s when I met Jay. And for the next 6 months, we proceeded to have the most raw and reckless, beautiful mess of a relationship I have ever had.
Our connection was instantaneous. It seemed I had known him for a lifetime. And we moved quickly. Our emotional connection was unparalleled. Our sexual connection was unparalleled. Six, seven, eight hours we would have sex. It’s all we would do. He could cum again and again and again. And so could I. There is nothing we wouldn’t do FOR or TO each other. The sex was transcending. I had out of body experiences. I came in ways and in places I never even knew were possible. Our sex was heart wrenchingly, achingly romantic. It was also downright dirty and pornographic. It was blissful and spiritual. But it could also be distant and hateful. It was everything. It was absolutely everything.
While we would lie in bed and explore each other for hours, it was not just our bodies we explored but our minds. Our subconscious, our higher conscience, our presence. There was nothing I couldn’t tell him. We took each other to a higher level of being. We would stare into each other’s eyes. We would kiss. We would speak. We would fuck. Stare, kiss, speak, fuck. Speak, kiss, stare, fuck. It went on.
Yet while I readily gave my body and my mind to him, I kept my heart at a distance. He wanted it so badly and so aggressively. I think he felt he deserved it. And he probably did. But I just couldn’t. Our entire relationship was an exhausting tug and pull of sexual and emotional forces. He was tortured and hurting. And so was I. We were addicted to one another and he intoxicated me like no one else. He also KNEW me like no one else. And I hated him for that. God did I hate him for that. I wanted to beat on his chest furiously. I wanted to push him and choke him and scream at him YOU DON’T FUCKING KNOW ME. YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ME. But he did. He knew everything.
The night I wrote about in the journal entry was the night I almost told him I loved him. We had just finished having sex in his car. An activity we did often. It was one of those summer nights when the moon was so huge, so bright, you’d have to squint to look up at it. I was wearing matching white lace thong panties and a bra. We sat in the back seat and I straddled him. He looked at me and he held my face. He had an animalistic urgency to his touch, like he wanted to possess me, yet he was so gentle it was almost as if he was afraid to break me. The moon shone brightly behind me.
“What are you thinking” he asked me.
Not in a casual cute way, in a deep sincere way. He looked at me like he was searching.
I said nothing. Tears began to stream down my face.
I was terrified. I wanted to tell him how I felt but I couldn’t. I still loved my ex-boyfriend. I was still healing. I was crying because I missed him. But I was falling in love with Jay. Too hard, too fast. I wanted to surrender but my walls were up. They were heavy and thick. It felt like torture.
I spoke. “I want to give myself to you.” I paused. “But I can’t“.
He looked at me with such gut-wrenching sincerity. The tears continued to fall steadily down my face. He brushed my hair behind my ear. Neither of us said a word. I just let him look at me.
And it was in those silent moments that I first felt it. And I knew. I knew EXACTLY how it felt to feel beautiful.
I felt so fucking beautiful.