Holding out for a Hero

Ah, Love. That word that had often haunted me. Depending on who you ask in my circle, I have found many answers as to what Love is. Kaitlin would tell you, it's a many-splendor thing, a euphoric state where you live happily ever after. Jess would say to you it's all you need. Abi would tell you that, Love can often be hard to express or put into words, but it is a precious beautiful thing. Maddie would say to you that sometimes it's even a battlefield you enter because you are fighting for; you're a knight in shining armor.

But regardless of how my friends define it, for me, it was like the song by Bette Midler, "The Rose," that one line where she sings, "Some say, "Love. It is a razor. That leaves your soul to bleed".

My Love experience was a battlefield filled with landmines and bombs exploding all around you. You get cut, hurt, wounded, and are constantly bleeding. Sometimes the injuries are so bad that you end up in intensive care, on life support, somehow you rally through, only to go back out the field to be carried back in on a stretcher. But most of the time, you drag yourself because or on your own. It is often a month stay in the hospital here and there. After this last rally from ICU, you have rehab for months after. Not able to embrace the beauty of the world because you're not allowed outside yet, because your bandages are still weeping and needing 24-hour care.

I had this barrage of "lovers", mostly boyfriends. Who "loved" me? But somehow, most of them were the same. They could not handle the trauma that came with me. They did not want to because that same trauma allowed them a point of control, which they could exploit to make sure I would not leave. I also remember how almost everyone would have excitement in their eyes when I would tell them of the hurt and pain I had encountered after being abused as a teenager. There they had it, the gold they could hold onto and leverage against me. I became this well-trained puppy, with that leverage they could, make me stay, wear clothing they requested, go here, go there, look after them, and I could never say no to anything because all they had to do is bring out that one phrase, "you are am lucky I consider such a broken girl LIKE YOU." Or something similar.

I don't know what it was. Like this parade of men, they had different faces and were different, but it was like I was constantly dating the same man. It just varied on how Narcissistic they were. Love was a tool that was often used to manipulate me. It was the leash to control me, and I obey them. I was still the victim from all those years ago, still beating myself up with a stick because this behavior was my fault. I was the excellent puppy that followed them around, supported them, did everything they completely wanted. It was not ok for the puppy to want to leave them, but they could abandon it or cast it away when they got bored of it or when it was "disobedient."

I mean, there is truth in that. I was letting the same men in. But I felt like I was worth just nothing, and that "love" and the allure of finding a hero on a horse, a knight to rescue me, was so overwhelming I let it come in. I would seek them out. All I wanted was the man the Disney movies and fairy tales told me; out there somewhere, a hero loved me.

Laid up in the metaphoric hospital bed again licking my wounds, I swore to a newfound God I had just encountered. "That I want to die alone. I can't keep doing this" I was sitting in the shower crying and drinking a bottle of wine with no glass, in my gym outfit. Because I could not even summon the energy to change out of my clothes. The glass door was still open, as I felt I could even shut that. Sitting with my back against the wall, the water just falling on my feet, bottle in hand, drinking with one hand, and the other had out the door as my cat licked it. I came to this place before every breakup, but not like this. So, I sat there crying out to my new God, "to never bring another man across my path that even sparked my interest."

So, the months rolled on. By this point, I had been out to coffee with a few men, here and there. Because some loved ones were worried that me at 28, if I would not find a man soon, I WOULD NOT. As my face would not last, and therefore I would not have kids, and I would become a "waste."

Due to my lingering security, I had allowed these coffee dates but had cut them sort or not gone back due to my now allowing myself to be leveraged by family. Any potential man sitting across from me on the other side of a latte' was on the upshot. I would run a mile because now I thought the good ones were too good for me. Such an oxymoron. I wanted prince charming but ran from them because I felt so worthless and often described them as "out of my league."

So here I was 15 months into my sabbatical in the dating arena. The longest time I had rested from the coliseum. I use this analogy because it was just that a stadium full of gladiators and Love was a blood sport. I remember telling my God that, "if there is anyone out there for me because I am so lonely, he needs to meet my newly formed written list of 55 points I wanted prince charming to be."

I had started going to church too, and I would sneak in and run away straight after. I loved it there; I just hated seeing all the glowing happy church couples. But I hated seeing couples in general. Then this one morning, this dashing man, in a green long-sleeved shirt and blue jeans, suddenly appeared. He had these captivating blue eyes, and this quietness and understanding of other people, I swear, was almost enchanting. Someone introduced us, and he smiled and shook my hand. He had these rough farmed hands, which I will say were just so manly. He was a little taller than me. This wave of panic filled me as I watched him and learnt about him; he was my exact list.

This terrified me.

What if this was him?

But then I started thinking, there has to be something wrong with him, and if not, he is the most out of my league, of all the prince charming's. Over the next couple of months, he seemed interested in me. We played cat and mouse for months because the two of us were so nervous. Somehow, I asked him if he would come out to dinner. He said no, and my heart sank. I suddenly considered if I could run away, move town, or even move to another country. I was so crazy that I nearly missed the follow-up answer from him. "I say no because I want you to go to dinner with me; a lady should not have to ask a man to dinner."

I was speechless.

"What me, a lady."

"Yes, you, so are we doing dinner? How about Friday, at the local bistro restaurant?"

My throat was so dry, and I thought I would pass out.

"Ok, that sounds great, is there a dress code?"

He looked at me strangely, "No, just whatever is comfortable, maybe slightly dressy, I will pick you at seven, and I am paying too also."

I looked at him and said an answered: "umm ok, see you then, my address is 17 Phillipy street."

He smiled and responded, "no worries."

Friday came, and I selected a long blue dress with flowers, and it was off the shoulder. I matched it with rose gold accessories and heels. I was so nervous. I heard the rumble of his work ute pull into my driveway. He again was sporting his dapped green long-sleeved shirt and blue tailored jeans with a dashing brown belt with buckle and his going out boots. Tim just looked so strapping and was even clean-shaven. He opened my door on his ute and took my hand, and helped me in. We drove to dinner, him asking me about my day at work. When we arrived, he again once got the door of both the ute and the entry. We were seated at the table he had booked.

The waiter bought over our menus, and we selected our, entrée which Tim insisted on sharing with me. Then we chose our main meal. When we were asked what we would like to drink, Tim selected an excellent beer, and I requested a glass of the finest merlot.

Suddenly Tim asked, "do you want the bottle. You can take it home and enjoy that for the rest of the week."

"Umm yes," I said hesitantly, not really knowing what to answer. Also, knowing the price of this bottle.

"Good, then can you a bottle for my lady here."

The waiter left to fetch the wine and place our orders.

The soft Jazz music playing and low-lit lights and beautiful candles fluttered everywhere. We enjoyed all dinner elements and then shared a desert and talked right until the waiter came back later to tell us it was close. I had a few glasses of wine, and it seemed like I somehow in someone else's life. After Tim got the bill, carried the bottle of wine, he again opened the door, then the one of his ute, and asked me if I would like a hot chocolate. Which I agreed to as I love them. He remembered so much detail from our previous church conversations, from the wine I loved to hot chocolate.

We got the hot chocolate from a McDonald's drive-through due to how late it was. We went to a local park and sat on the side of the lit water feature with our feet dipping in. Somehow among the night's beauty, I felt that looming not good enough feeling. I started to cry.

Tim was thrown by this, and I felt like such an idiot, which I had always dreamed of.

He asked me if he had done something wrong; I said, "no, I am really overwhelmed."

"Please tell me why," he asked.

Somehow, in between music from his car, the pretty lights, and stars, he managed to draw out my abuse story and shattered happy endings. Which I was so furious for; I never talked about that on the first date, maybe like 12 months down the track if I am lucky.

Tim just listened. Then he asked me, "can I give you a hug?"

"yes, and it's ok if I am not good enough for you?" I said quietly.

Tim got almost cranky.

"Don't ever say that this is not your fault, and you're the most amazing person I have meet; you are the bravest lady I know and the most beautiful."

I was so shocked all I could say was, "what how, ok."

Tim just smiled and had, only just stopped hugging me. The sun was coming up, and there was this warm glow sweeping across his face.

"Don't worry, I am here now; let's take you home, and there are many more dinners in store for you."

Just like that I believed in fairy tales.

Written by Emma White