Saturday, March 10, 2012

Abigails Story: part I

                 I recieved my first email about this BLOG.

Thanks, Abigail for your thoughts and words and look forward to more of the same. I posted your story, thus far and left 'other' observations out for now. I know you somehow understand why I did this. I took to liberty of changing that 'ex's name' to John. With head bent in respect, i hope you can appreciate this.

Abigails Story, part I:

Mark, the Blog would not take comments, hence the reason for this email. Love your Blog.

I am a forty-three year old woman with a fairly normal background and upbringing. I studied architectural drawing in college and minored in psychology. I’ve had several major jobs in the lifetime and climbed through the ranks with little or no effort on my part.

Like you, I began reading psych books at a young age and went after them with an almost primordial hunger. I remember thinking: hmmmm, what makes people tick? What makes them act the way they do when they do? What makes one laugh at a car accident and others cry, scream or just walk past it as if nothing had ever happened.

I guess I began being a psychopath when I 14. My Grandmother had passed away and I felt such enormous feelings of loss and hate and dread. My parents were okay enough, but they were dealing with their own sense of loss and somehow didn’t seem to notice me and my older brothers sense of loss. My brothers went outward with their feelings, playing football with their friends and tackling some just a bit to hard, landing one of their friends in the hospital with busted ribs. I went inward, shutting myself off from all my friends and virtually everyone else. I think it was in this, the pain of losing the most cherished person in my life, that I systematically destroyed my emotions.

I destroyed them with a methodical sense of reasoning: Never get that close to anyone again. Never let sadness hurt so much that it can strip us from ourselves. Happiness always equals pain at some point. Being human sucks, so let’s no longer have our mind be amongst theirs.

A few years later, when a friend of mine died from a car accident, I tried to feel, feel anything, and then I heard this ‘SNAP’ go off in my head at her funeral. I then comforted mutual friends, her family and her boyfriend who’d been drunk and caused the accident. It was as if I could SEE myself do these things. Give the proper expressions of face and a perfect balance of words and their tones. I saw their faces twisting, body language, tears, heard their cries and continual sobbing and my mind began recording these things, storing them into memory. Future reference material, perhaps, but I learned and learned quite fast. I asked a total stranger if I could borrow their car to get a pack of smokes. This guy must’ve been close to her because he reached into his pocket and gave me his keys. Well, I didn’t smoke at that time and wanted to see if I could get away with it. I did.

At 17, I was fairly attractive and had no problem getting dates. What I couldn’t stand were these supposedly ’normal’ guys always wanting to fuck me on the first or second date. Oh yeah, like a trip to Dennys should give you the right to enter my body? So I wondered, what could I get out of these sad, though highly horny little bastards? As it turned out, I could get a great deal.

I wanted a new stereo for my bedroom, so on a second date with a guy named John we stopped by an appliance store that had good sound equipment. I was 18 then and he was 24. John had a stable job. He also had a wife and two kids. We walked through the stereo area and all I had to do was look at the one I wanted, give out this little escape of air-noise and look down at my shoes and make my face change like those that cannot afford something that they REALLY want. I said “oh well, “ and started walking down the aisle. He grabbed my arm and said something like: ‘you relly want that one, don’t you?” I gave him this innocent girl pouty-faced look as I slowly adjusted my bra, my eyes met his as they darted from my chest to meet mine. I smiled and said; ‘no, I can’t let you buy me that. Sorry, John, I just don’t know you that well for such a gift…” While I said that, I slowly moved toward him, getting close enough to feel the bulge in his faded black corduroys, smelling him, his desire for me. In a mere matter of days, I’d smell his fear of me.

I got the stereo that same night and my brothers helped me hook it up. I’m not so good at launching rockets or placing them on their pads, but I am great at blowing them up.

On the third date with John, we went to Mountain Jacks and had a great meal. It was then he suggested we go to a motel for some ‘private time’. I gave a laugh, asking him if he had said: “privates time’? and his face flushed red as a fire engine. “well, I just thoughr…”

I told it was too soon for me and he said he understood.

On our fourth date, I made sure we went to a mall not far from my home. I’d seen anger and rage in other people and had a pretty good handle on how the vocal sounds should be with the accompanying body language, the set of the eyes, baring of the teeth. I was ready to chuck this poor sad bastard. I told him to meet me at the food court at a set time.

In the middle of a full shopping mall food court, I let it rip.

He said hi and went to kiss me.

“Don’t even try to kiss me you fucking dickhead!”

He lost footing and almost fell over. “whuuu’what?” Mind recorder running, I taped him as he tripped over his own words like the fool I knew he was from the start. (the sounds one makes when they are broadsided by the unexpected, desperately reaching for words, thoughts but are unable to grasp them.)

Not giving him a chance to get his footing: “WHEN WERE YOU PLANNING ON TELLING ME YOU WERE MARRIED? WHAT KIND OF WOMAN DO YOU TAKE ME FOR???” Making quite the scene, he split in mere seconds, but just before he ran, I told him in a flat calm voice with cold eyes staring at him, almost like a whisper, ’I AM going to tell your wife.”

Mark, you probably know damn well how I hooked up with him. I was behind him at a grocery store and he was talking to some friend on a cellphone about how his wife didn’t flirt with him anymore and how bored he was. ’having two kids shouldn’t make ya a fuckin’ nun, right?” As he was paying for his groceries, I strategically dropped a few items by missing the belt and bent over to get them. Being busty, I knew he’d look and offer to help. It was then I gave him

‘The Glance’ that always hooked men regardless of where we were. I smiled as he offered to help me, and I suggested that maybe he’d be so kind as to walk me to my car to prevent other such mishaps. He agreed and as I filled my trunk, I let him kiss me. HOOKED! And I even had the exit stragity calculated from the conversation with his friend.

Mark, (social-sniper) I will send you more later on as I am off this weekend.

Takes one to KNOW one,