M Y S T I C�� T A C O�� S T A N D

The Meaning of Girl Number 2 ... May 23. 2005

so i have this friend. he's not a bad guy despite the way some people talk about him behind his back, but i have to keep part of me hidden from him. i worry that if i reveal this part of me to him or anyone, that it will be a burden on other people. what i guess i mean is that this part of me is something that, if others understood it, they would be socially obligated to have a pity party for me, a pity party i don't really want, a pity party that no one really ever enjoys giving, either. it's merely a social obligation that everyone hates deep down inside, just like having to visit with distant family members. well, nomatter how much rationalization i do, hiding things from my friends still classifies me as being fake. this friend of mine and i, we talk online occasionally, although he often complains i never tell him anything about myself. instead, we usually talk about him until the conversation peters out. his complaints tell me that he can sense i am hiding something. you see, most people seem happy enough to talk about themselves until the cows come home. i don't mind, either, because this affords me a way to learn more about how other members of the human race tick without making me or others deal with the whole sick/sad truth about myself. but he seems so utterly uninterested in talking about himself that we usually have little to actually say to one another. i feel kind of bad that my secrecy has sort of created a wall between us, a wall so thick and tall that we have yet to have one of those long and interesting philosophical conversations that i so enjoy, the kind of conversations i choose friends for. in fact, ever since i met him i knew he'd probably have something profound for me, but he can't tell me. so i decided last night, after another fruitless conversation that ended in radio silence, to reveal this hidden part of me, though i dreaded the damage the information may cause on our friendship. what i mean is, i fear that if i tell him this he might get the wrong idea. he might think i'm doing the typical chick thing, that i'm trying to weasel a deeper relationship out of him by putting him on some kind of guilt trip or something. i wanted to talk to him directly today, but i chickened out. see, this friend of mine is a part of the group of friends i jokingly call my "harem". he's what you would call a fuck buddy, i guess, though it's not just the fucking that makes me enjoy these guys' company. there is also the prospect of good conversation that keeps me coming back to them. sadly, to keep this going, i feel i must hide this part of myself in their presence. i don't desire a deeper relationship with any of them than i already have. i don't want any of them to think i'm trying to guilt trip them into some kind of commitment at all. i love my freedom, but the thing is, there is simply a darker side to being sexually liberated in a world of sexually uptight people. what i mean is, sometimes it's nice to have stability. i don't want anything like that with any of the members of my "harem", no no. my friendships with them have already been established on the foundation of sexual freedom, you see, friendships which i enjoy and wouldn't change for the world. but sometimes it makes me sad that all the men in my life see me as a girl who is not worth a commitment. sure, i'm worth talking to and hanging out with, but it always makes me sad how they can so easily forget their desire for my company so they can be faithful to the pusuit of some other female. it tells me they think of me merely as a substitute for the real thing, a real connection, a real human being. it makes me feel that i am of little value to them, like some kind of anamatronic sex doll that can be tossed aside when a real girl walks on stage. sure, if this sort of thing happens to a girl once, twice, she simply feels a little down about it for a while, but it's not really so difficult for her to stand back up and feel better again with a little time. but when this sort of thing is the only thing that has ever happened to a girl, over and over, she begins to truely believe in her own lack of worth. it's the reason i even started collecting men for my harem. i mean, i don't consider myself the hottest woman alive, but i know i'm nice enough, smart enough, pretty enough, that something like this shouldn't be happening to me. i can't do anything about it because i don't even know what it is that makes people so uncomfortable when they're in my presence. it's not one of those things you can simply come out and ask people. "yeah, hey, you SAY you're my friend and all, but i notice you're somewhat uncomfortable around me. and i'm sure you remember that time i tried to get to know you better and you made it clear you wanted me to back off? yeah, man, what's up with that?" can't you just see 'em squirming in their seats, stuttering, lying, trying to tell me that it wasn't like that at all, making excuses to escape my interrogation. yeah. so, instead of going through all that and making my isolation worse, i figured i'd have a good time in the now with whoever happened to be around. if i was somehow not good enough for a man to be able to remember i exist when some other girl smiles at him, if any friend i make is sure to keep me from coming close enough to feel a real connection, then fine. it's a sad sort of thing, sure, accepting my fate as a universal blow up doll, the second choice friend, the one you call when everyone else has already made plans, but what's a girl to do, really? i can't MAKE them stay around, i can't MAKE anyone come closer. people simply won't do anything unless they were already inclined to do it. and like the rest of the human race, well, at least like those of us who aren't in denial of our humanity, this girl needs some lovin'.

so now it's out there, the meaning of my AIM screenname, the reason i have all these mutilated dolls (i call them sculptures) in boxes in my room with Girl #2 written in red marker on their shredded abdomens, the reason i have serious anger problems, drinking and drug problems, and occasionally severe manifestations of mental illness that include hallucinations, mood swings and wierd erratic behavior. i guess i am perhaps a little insane, but who wouldn't be having to deal with a phenomena of painful rejection that is so constant and seemingly so inexplicable?

i am simply trapped, and as such, i am reacting like any caged animal would. you may not understand why the lion in the tiny cage paces a rut in his floor, why he refuses to eat, why he seems to never sleep, why he chooses slow death over gorging himself on easy meals and sleeping to his heart's content. it's because he's a fucking lion, friend, and though he may have all his physical needs more than met, a lion's spirit needs to run, needs to hunt, needs to doze fitfully in the tall grasses and bake in the golden sun. without these things, the caged lion has no reason to eat, to sleep, to breath. his heart has no reason to beat. he is simply no longer a lion other than by outward appearances. and i am simply no longer a human other than by outward appearances. i am inexplicably denied the things that make me human, the connections, the sense of deep, communal feelings. i see the rest of you having your fill of such things, and the wound grows deeper simply because i don't understand why i seem to be consistantly denied.

the remedy for my insanity is far from apparent, so i am trapped in this vicious cycle where strange behavoir breeds rejection breeds fears of worthlesness breeds yet stranger behavior breeds ever stronger rejection...and on and on and on until someone, though i can't imagine why they would, decides to reach in and pull me out. well, i personally don't think anyone's ever going to believe i'm worth saving enough to stick their neck out and help me. i'm already to far gone, really, to be likeable anymore. i make no sense anymore. like one of those "crazy" people you see on the street, talking loudly and nonsensically to myself, everyone has stopped listening to my babble and discounted me as a "crazy bitch".

these days i have simply taken to watching passively as i fall deeper and deeper into a frantic insanity that will doubtless someday land me in an institution or maybe something worse i have yet to imagine.

it ceases to bother me, really, because like everyone else, i have lost faith in my chances of recovery as well. i see myself as a broken robot, one which is still allowed to crackle and twitch along for the time being, but only because the function i performed was never too essential in the first place. eventually, though, i expect to be replaced by a more functional model when someone gets around to noticing how broken i really am.

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