Nothing is as guaranteed to make one unable to take even the slightest breather as the knowledge that, form birth, your mother's arms are denied you, and that the one place where you spend most of your life, the home, is a cold place.
You grow up with fear, and you HAVE to develop a good sense of smell to detect it in others so that you know if they are bluffing. You spend most of your time searching bodies for signs of the tell tell truth, and ANYONE who is out of sync in even the least thing becomes a threat, to be avoided.
Which is where my appreciation for total beauty came from, and my instant rejection of anyone who is not what she wants to be seen as. THAT is why I rejected Michelle, and every one of the ladies, because I can not abide to relax when a person is deliberately being two people, one for me and another for others. I am afraid of intimacy, and being "chosen" or treated as special, and I hate anyone insinuating that she can take me for granted. Ever. Every day to me is like the first, and yesterday is never to be built upon as far as I am concerned, unless it comes to unfinished business that has to do with me being hurt. THEN it doesnt end.
A friendly person terrifies me, because she would be a trap to lull me into relaxing, because that is the very thing I run away from.
So, it is with considerable surprise that I "found" women who would be like me, treating each day like the first. Ten of them. Right here in RSA. And every one of them and I had personal dealings. Face to face, or at least personal, one on one.
The one thing I was afraid of when God showed up was that He was, maybe, shallow, because when He came to me that night, and wordlessly "introduced" Himself, I was worried, because I wondered what changes he would expect me to make. He said, later, to keep being me, and NEVER once did He personally act out of tune. He never assumed with me, but then The Holy Spirit did, and that led, in 2009, late to my ending up at Valkenberg Hospital, after being horrified to learn that, simple because God SAID so, I can not die, though I try hard, and yet, at the same time, I am unable to progress in life, because I can not accept The Holy Spirit having any hand in my life.
That is when I met this girl.
1) She was the student I spoke of, and the striking thing about her was that she was a reserved red-hed, whose complexion never varied. I stole glances at her, because I NEVER grew familiar with her, but when we BOTH tentatively spoke, we found that, by skirting personal issues, we both saw things the same way, and she had a sweet, even, voice, and I relaxed slightly to see that she did not take it personally that my own voice carried almost uncontrolled undertones of rage, even in laughter. The last day I saw her I did not speak to her, but she stood by as I passed, carefully neutral, because I had "relapsed", and she did not look at me nor yet avoid me by her body language, for which I was grateful.
2) Speaking of voices, I was standing outside Fish-hoek Library when the girl with the spectacles and the short black her, and the blonde, walked in. The blond lady sat inconspicuously facing me, but the balch haired girl stood across the bookshelfs, where she immediately began to speak to the book-seller. The sound of her voice made me flinch, because it was loud, argumentative and definitely angry. The blond girl must have noticed, because she picked up her cell-phone, and spoke politely to her mother, and the sound of HER voice made me turn towards her, and she so very carefully, deliberately, turned her body away from me so that I saw her profile...and I knew she had seen my ugly side-profile and was letting me know with her soothing voice that she was aware of it, and she subtly directed me to her ass, which I noticed was round and nice, and at the same time HER body language was saying, "look at me, I am blond, and I can never relax because of that", and I stared, and as I looked at her I realised what a treasure she was, and it was only later that I realised, as she walked noiselessly away, that her life must be a mirror of mine...a living hell.
3)The sexy divorcee I saw at Simonstown Library walked up the road from the court, and she was anything but quiet, She was heartachingly beautiful, and my momentary stare, became averted eyes, and yet, as I turned away, I gave her my own side profile to see, and she walked past me to her car. We both carefull refrained from direct looks, but when the ex showed up, she made no move to get into what I presume was the lawyer's car. She stood there, her expression carefully neutral, avoiding looking directly at me, because up-front I am pure rage, and as she waited in mute appeal, I moved towards the guy. He was bigger than me, but he is no fool. he got the messgae very quickly nad backed off. I stood down only slightly, because once I engage in warfare it NEVER ends. We both watched as the care drove off, and then I, with studied casualness, asked him about his bike. He had a choice: take me for a fool and speak patronisingly, and give me the opening I was looking for, OR talk about the bike. He chose the later, and got the hint. Then I stood down a bit, but still wanted ways to make him pay.
4)Speaking of sexy, the girl at the beach, with the startling black hair. She deliberately turned her face away from me as I passed, because like me, she is never at rest. I wanted to see it, but she moved subtly and I saw her breast instead, and I liked it. It was full. But it was her face I wanted to see. So I came again, to take a casual peek. She again turned slowly, deliberately as I neared her...very slowly, and she presented me with her ass, a prize ass. I passed by again, and this time I got to see her flawless face, and I also got to understand the agony she was in, an agony of being mocked because of her appearance, and yet, she was disarmingly cunning by showing up with a book that would put anyone at ease about her...a book called "Shopaholic Girl", and I knew that THAT could not be a sudden thing, but a deliberate act of someone trying to appear harmless to people who judge and condemn on sight. I ached for her. And wanted her,and longed to protect her.
5) Still at the beach, there was the beautiful woman two weekends past, on Sunday, who was big, and quite an eye-catcher. I passed her, and she carefully turned her back to me. Then she did a startling thing. With an almost mechanical presicion, she took off her top and moved in such a way that she revealed only her waistline, and when I came back again, thinking to see her face, she refused to rise to the bait and walked deliberately away, clad in her scuba-suit, and she spoke, deliberately, not friendly or effusious...asking about visibility. I understood that she was saying she preferred to hide underwater than be visible among people, and she must have recognised my ACHE to have someone to look after, someone who NEEDED me, and so, I looked at her with respect.
More 2moro.
You grow up with fear, and you HAVE to develop a good sense of smell to detect it in others so that you know if they are bluffing. You spend most of your time searching bodies for signs of the tell tell truth, and ANYONE who is out of sync in even the least thing becomes a threat, to be avoided.
Which is where my appreciation for total beauty came from, and my instant rejection of anyone who is not what she wants to be seen as. THAT is why I rejected Michelle, and every one of the ladies, because I can not abide to relax when a person is deliberately being two people, one for me and another for others. I am afraid of intimacy, and being "chosen" or treated as special, and I hate anyone insinuating that she can take me for granted. Ever. Every day to me is like the first, and yesterday is never to be built upon as far as I am concerned, unless it comes to unfinished business that has to do with me being hurt. THEN it doesnt end.
A friendly person terrifies me, because she would be a trap to lull me into relaxing, because that is the very thing I run away from.
So, it is with considerable surprise that I "found" women who would be like me, treating each day like the first. Ten of them. Right here in RSA. And every one of them and I had personal dealings. Face to face, or at least personal, one on one.
The one thing I was afraid of when God showed up was that He was, maybe, shallow, because when He came to me that night, and wordlessly "introduced" Himself, I was worried, because I wondered what changes he would expect me to make. He said, later, to keep being me, and NEVER once did He personally act out of tune. He never assumed with me, but then The Holy Spirit did, and that led, in 2009, late to my ending up at Valkenberg Hospital, after being horrified to learn that, simple because God SAID so, I can not die, though I try hard, and yet, at the same time, I am unable to progress in life, because I can not accept The Holy Spirit having any hand in my life.
That is when I met this girl.
1) She was the student I spoke of, and the striking thing about her was that she was a reserved red-hed, whose complexion never varied. I stole glances at her, because I NEVER grew familiar with her, but when we BOTH tentatively spoke, we found that, by skirting personal issues, we both saw things the same way, and she had a sweet, even, voice, and I relaxed slightly to see that she did not take it personally that my own voice carried almost uncontrolled undertones of rage, even in laughter. The last day I saw her I did not speak to her, but she stood by as I passed, carefully neutral, because I had "relapsed", and she did not look at me nor yet avoid me by her body language, for which I was grateful.
2) Speaking of voices, I was standing outside Fish-hoek Library when the girl with the spectacles and the short black her, and the blonde, walked in. The blond lady sat inconspicuously facing me, but the balch haired girl stood across the bookshelfs, where she immediately began to speak to the book-seller. The sound of her voice made me flinch, because it was loud, argumentative and definitely angry. The blond girl must have noticed, because she picked up her cell-phone, and spoke politely to her mother, and the sound of HER voice made me turn towards her, and she so very carefully, deliberately, turned her body away from me so that I saw her profile...and I knew she had seen my ugly side-profile and was letting me know with her soothing voice that she was aware of it, and she subtly directed me to her ass, which I noticed was round and nice, and at the same time HER body language was saying, "look at me, I am blond, and I can never relax because of that", and I stared, and as I looked at her I realised what a treasure she was, and it was only later that I realised, as she walked noiselessly away, that her life must be a mirror of mine...a living hell.
3)The sexy divorcee I saw at Simonstown Library walked up the road from the court, and she was anything but quiet, She was heartachingly beautiful, and my momentary stare, became averted eyes, and yet, as I turned away, I gave her my own side profile to see, and she walked past me to her car. We both carefull refrained from direct looks, but when the ex showed up, she made no move to get into what I presume was the lawyer's car. She stood there, her expression carefully neutral, avoiding looking directly at me, because up-front I am pure rage, and as she waited in mute appeal, I moved towards the guy. He was bigger than me, but he is no fool. he got the messgae very quickly nad backed off. I stood down only slightly, because once I engage in warfare it NEVER ends. We both watched as the care drove off, and then I, with studied casualness, asked him about his bike. He had a choice: take me for a fool and speak patronisingly, and give me the opening I was looking for, OR talk about the bike. He chose the later, and got the hint. Then I stood down a bit, but still wanted ways to make him pay.
4)Speaking of sexy, the girl at the beach, with the startling black hair. She deliberately turned her face away from me as I passed, because like me, she is never at rest. I wanted to see it, but she moved subtly and I saw her breast instead, and I liked it. It was full. But it was her face I wanted to see. So I came again, to take a casual peek. She again turned slowly, deliberately as I neared her...very slowly, and she presented me with her ass, a prize ass. I passed by again, and this time I got to see her flawless face, and I also got to understand the agony she was in, an agony of being mocked because of her appearance, and yet, she was disarmingly cunning by showing up with a book that would put anyone at ease about her...a book called "Shopaholic Girl", and I knew that THAT could not be a sudden thing, but a deliberate act of someone trying to appear harmless to people who judge and condemn on sight. I ached for her. And wanted her,and longed to protect her.
5) Still at the beach, there was the beautiful woman two weekends past, on Sunday, who was big, and quite an eye-catcher. I passed her, and she carefully turned her back to me. Then she did a startling thing. With an almost mechanical presicion, she took off her top and moved in such a way that she revealed only her waistline, and when I came back again, thinking to see her face, she refused to rise to the bait and walked deliberately away, clad in her scuba-suit, and she spoke, deliberately, not friendly or effusious...asking about visibility. I understood that she was saying she preferred to hide underwater than be visible among people, and she must have recognised my ACHE to have someone to look after, someone who NEEDED me, and so, I looked at her with respect.
More 2moro.
