I was going to write about the first date I went on with my husband. To the flicks, the movies, the cinema. But I don't feel like reaching back that far into my past tonight.
Something more recent then. In the past year or so.
I've been lucky to have been well loved by my female friends. Been supported, nourished, embraced for who I am. But recently I learned that women can be callous and deceptive. Darkened by the unhappiness of my marriage, my heart had raced out and imprinted on another male in the outskirts of my life. Not someone close to me, but someone I saw regularly and who I had a quiet infatuation with. Not something that I wanted to act on, it was an escape, a fantasy, with a small amout of reality thrown in. But someone noticed it, somehow and took action against me, perhaps threatened by me in her own campaign to win the affections of this particular person. I am unwilling to revisit the details of her strange assault, which happened a month after I had left my husband and house, but the immediate aftermath was fairly damaging because it left my husband believing that a third person had been involved in the breakdown of our marriage. For a man, who has been rejected by his wife, I suppose it is easier to blame another than deal with the pain of rejection. My heart had been blackened by his actions over the course of years but I broke his heart all at once. Too much for anyone to bear with dignity.
I've always believed in the sisterhood. In bringing out the best in people. In being kind. And some woman, still unknown to me, festering in the darker outer edges of my broader social circle, who knew me in a particular community social setting went all out to bring me down, to make sure I didn't return to that particular place, to be in the reach of that particular man. Him aside, it was a place which I had loved spending time, where I had been brought back to life and good health after the years of sleepless nights spent mothering my babies. Her threats worked like a charm. I still haven't been back to that place. And I cringe when I drive by it, and I have to, regularly. It felt like a betrayal. Could she not see the empathy in my heart for others, that my infatuation for this man, was borne from my own pain and need to be loved, just as hers must have been. I suppose not. My trust had been broken, my privacy had been invaded, and for the first time in my life someone had called me a whore.
I'm not a conservative person, and I believe that we should be able to express our sexuality. But I still went spiralling into self doubt when labelled this. Had my desperation been dripping out of every pore for all and sundry to see? Was I letting my lust and desire steer my actions and blind my vision and not realised it? She must have struck a nerve.
I still wonder who she was. It's not anger I feel. I don't wish to retaliate, just to let her know how much her actions hurt me, and my husband more so, who had been the principal recipient of her anonymous texting and phone calls, based on a complete misreading of a situation. I want to tell her that even whores have hearts. That wasn't an admission that she was correct in her ridiculous name calling, just some self-deprecating humour.
She created a triangular relationship between me and two men, where before there had been none.