What I Want

Yes, I’m thin now. It does not mean that I want marriage or a boyfriend. I also happen to be straight (heterosexual), so a woman’s advances would not be welcome. Oh, and I know I look better since I lost the weight so my standards are just as high. In other words, he’d better be damned good-looking or I won’t be interested. Don’t give me an old man when I could have a silver fox. Lesbians and bisexual women are considered rabble. So are ugly men.

I only want one kind of validation: lustful. I do not want it clouded with emotional bias. In other words, no love allowed.

If you want me for my inner self, you need not apply. I already get enough intellectual validation; I don’t need more. I already get enough emotional validation; I don’t need more. I already get enough spiritual validation; I don’t need more. Get the picture yet? I hope so.

This better be the last time I have to write something like this.

There’s a short poem by Dorothy Parker: Men selfom make passes at girls who wear glasses. I may wear glasses but I am not some intellectualist-feminist. I already have books to read; I don’t need men on top of them.

There’s a quote from a poem by Dorothy Parker: I’m of the glamorous ladies at whose beckoning history shook, but you are a man and see only my pan (face), so I stay at home with a book. My version is: I’m one of the glamorous ladies at whose beckoning history shook, but you are a man and won’t look at my pan, so I stay at home with a book.

The most action I get is by reading a romance novel. How sad is that?

The only kind of date I could get is the kind you eat.

No I don’t believe one should have to make a commitment just to have sex. I’m sick of men wanting me for more than that.

I’m tired of what society thinks I should want for myself. I’d rather get what I really want, what I’ve already said I want.

Stop protecting me and let me live.

I’m tired of my life’s being shadowed by the fact that I technically lost my virginity to incest and rape in one. Oh, and he looks like the male version of me. How’s that for fucked up?

Stop ruining my life with all your needs. I have enough of my own.

I happen to already have emotionally adopted family and friends, loved ones in other words. I don’t need more.

I refuse to pass down my crazy to any children. I wanted them in the past but now I don’t. I can make myself happy with a cat or two. I’m already a crazy cat lady, just without the cats. The older term is spinster. No, seriously. I already read and knit. I just need the cats and I’m set.

I have schizophrenia (the kind where you hallucinate), schizotypal personality disorder (where you assume you can read people’s minds), depression (rape, miscarriage, emotionally abusive father) PTSD and OCD. I have to get everything perfect otherwise the voice of my father in my head will go off on me. It already does when others criticize what I do, not who I am (like my father did).

With all that heavy, how can you men expect me to take on yours as well? Don’t make me laugh- or make me sick for that matter. In a proper modern relationship, significant others do take on each other’s problems, at least to an extent. I’ve got enough to work with with just my own.

Oh, and odd calendar dates only in terms of when I’m receptive.