It’s true; I don’t necessarily have a knack for which men I’ve allowed into my life—and, quite often, into my heart in the past. In the last six years, working as an escort girl, I have often fallen in love, failed, almost drowned and picked myself up again after endless evenings with my friends and many glasses of wine.
I have internalized “toxic relationship” or “toxic masculinity” as a narrative of my time and generation. But am I not responsible for the countless experiences I have had with emotionally unstable men and my exhausting work to make them aware of their feelings?
The enthusiastic vs the calm
I could have had the men, too, one or the other. Working with a popular Escort Service gave me confidence regarding men. The one who served me his affection on a silver platter openly said how much he thought of me and what plans he had in mind for me. And yes, these types of men should also be treated with caution because deeds do not always follow such words. However, I rarely tried at all.
My weakness was that quiet men didn’t push me up, and their introverted nature made me think I was at peace. Who didn’t need to be loud? But unfortunately, I was wrong very often. Because in the end, as I often had to find out, calm nature is just insecurity, and insecurity is just a mirror of inner turmoil.
My weakness was in quiet men, who didn’t push me up, and their introverted nature made me think I was at peace.
This brings us back to toxic behavior patterns. The adjective “toxic” means malignant, dangerous, harmful, and gruelling in the dictionary. Looking back, I can say: indeed.
In the fabulous film Maybe Tomorrow, the introverted protagonist asks his teacher, “Why do lovely people always choose the wrong ones?” His teacher replies, “We accept what we think we deserve.”
And yes, maybe it’s that simple. Isn’t it worth it if I don’t have to fight to make someone love me? What a self-destructive thought. But if we’re honest about looking at our behavior patterns, there’s a lot of truth.
In bed with the one who can’t commit
Recently, I asked myself these questions again while lying in bed and in the arms of a man who enjoyed the intimacy and togetherness with me but didn’t manage to commit himself after more than half a year with me. But one thing is new: he is neither calculating nor strategic or consciously procrastinating. He’s just waiting and, yes, undoubtedly anxious. And something else is new: I had to realize that I am too. The experiences of the last few years have made me hesitant and cerebral.
The experiences of the last few years have made me hesitant and cerebral.
I like our moments just for two. But the outside influence made me insecure. Friends who expected a commitment or at least an explanation of “what this is here”. Family members always talked about the “friend, so to speak”, and found it strange when they were told there was also an “in-between”.
“Aren’t you fooling yourself?” It was often said. Did I do that? I have to admit; I sometimes desire to get to know a man who will eventually (preferably not too late) recognize what I mean to him and tell me from the bottom of his heart and with full conviction, without these words after the next to be revised.
But what I keep putting aside in this thinking is myself and my point of view. I’m talking about wanting a man to reveal his feelings to me. But can I even return it myself?
I’m talking about wanting a man to reveal his feelings to me. But can I even return it myself?
Oh yes, I’ve loved it in the past. Selfless, self-sacrificing and with every fiber of my body. But the last great love and her loss changed me. You changed my view of love. It is no longer loud, shrill and expressionistic. She is expectant and cautious. Does that make her less accurate? I have learned that it is not advisable to strive for a love that can look into the other person’s soul without words and immediately know what they are feeling or thinking.
How arrogant are we to expect someone to understand us wordlessly, and if they don’t, what? Aren’t we meant for each other? That sounds a lot like blinders to me. A man who suits me must meet this criterion of the so-called “soul mate” (strangle)? One word: bullshit!
Our partners do not have to meet all their needs.
Isn’t it instead that we have people, friends, family members in our lives who all serve what we are passionate about in different ways? I share my taste in music with one friend, and I spend nights talking with one friend about true crime and nerdy reports. I go to handball with my dad, and I’m going on a long wellness weekend with one of my friends. If we still expect our partner to share everything with us, we are unfair and quite selfish.
If we still expect our partner to share everything with us, we are unfair and quite selfish
And so here I am again in the arms of a man who’s not sure about me, and I’m not sure about him. A man who doesn’t share so many of my interests. For whom I have sincere affection but no deep love. And I ask myself, “Is that enough?” One answer: Yes!
We should move more away from established patterns or other people’s opinions of how a relationship between two people should be. We shouldn’t just project the notion of soulmates onto one person, and we should learn that love can be silent.
Six months hoping for a sign of life from you – and then suddenly you were back.
It’s not that long ago. Or is it? Relative. However, since this year seems to have passed me in seconds anyway, it may not have been that long ago. In any case, the feeling is still as present in me today as if it were yesterday.
I’ve waited for months. I placed countless orders with the universe, so I hoped for credit that I would not be able to pay back until the end of my life.
Suddenly you were there again
And then, six months later, the day came. Six months after, you just walked out of my life without a word after turning it upside down so much. Your black hair, brown eyes, and manner were so different from all the rest.
When I saw your little picture on my small screen, I was so shocked that I had to put my phone down. I couldn’t read your words until a few hours later. I needed the time to run around my apartment in confusion and stare at the wall.
When I saw your little picture on my small screen, I was so shocked that I had to put my phone down.
Naturally. From today’s point of view, I can no longer gain anything from what you said back then. As if they could only be read with special glasses that I can no longer find. But back then, they were exactly what I was waiting for. Six months Every week. Every day. Every minute.
Six months, not a day has gone by that I haven’t thought of you. When I didn’t wonder where you are and especially with whom. Are you okay? And whether you sometimes sit in front of a gin and tonic and I touch your thoughts for fractions of a second. I shed so many tears for you, which I then had to use to wipe up all the mess you made inside me.
Six months, not a day has gone by that I hadn’t thought of you when I didn’t wonder where you are, especially with whom.
You’re back. You are close again. It’s you again. Finally, you can give me the answers to the questions that have been pounding against the inside of my head day after day. But when we see each other, they hardly play a role anymore. The answers to the questions are no longer critical. I accept it, but it doesn’t matter what you say. You’re back. Finally.
Is it all just a mistake?
A mistake. I should not have just accepted your answers; I should have dissected them microscopically, examined their substance and placed them in a petri dish to see what mold grows out of them. Then I might have noticed that you’re back, but I’m not. What was important was not what happened six months ago but the six months themselves.
Because: This time, too, your words were nothing more than euphemisms for the reality that I didn’t want to see. For your authentic self, which was unknown to me until then. That could only be guessed at in these six months of your absence.
Again, your words were nothing more than euphemisms for the reality I didn’t want to see. For the real you.
You knew how much you attracted me. You knew what to say, so I’m back on your couch a few hours later. I wanted so much the big happy ending, the plot twist, the little miracle. Instead, just a few days later, reality hit me in the head with a hammer: Zack, laceration.
I decided to sew up the wound myself without much fanfare. Of course, there were days when the scar still hurt. It may have cracked open now and then and bled a slight distrust and hopelessness. But she heals. Not perfect, but solid.
Finally no more words for you
And now. Now another six months have passed. There were only sporadic moments when I was in my archived chats and paused briefly at your picture. I have nothing more to say to you. Finally, there are no more words I want to devote to you. There is nothing more I want to save to you, not a single spark of energy, not a second of my time. You showed me everything I needed to know, even if your words tried to prove otherwise until the end.
There it is. Suddenly, your picture is not in the archived chats but on my home screen. There are the exact words that I’ve read from you so many times, just in a different, random order. There is an attempt to put on the mask of the person I met exactly a year ago. But – your show has cracked. More than that. She’s hanging in tatters from your face, so I can’t even see her anymore.
There are the exact words that I’ve read from you so many times, just in a different, random order.
I only recognize your natural face. The face I no longer want in my life. That hurt me tremendously and abused my trust. That showed me that you should be careful with your wishes.
Or maybe yes?
Or am I just exaggerating? Is there just a misunderstanding between us that your character isn’t as repulsive and pathetic as I’ve been making it out for the past few months? Did we perceive our connection from entirely different perspectives? Do you not have the empathy to realize that you haven’t treated me well?
Those are probably the only questions that are still in my head today. I kept quiet this time. The fact that my allotment of words to you has been used up doesn’t seem to have changed. But I still have a few thoughts. Free refill.
Two beauty tricks to apply every morning
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Ice
On mornings when you feel overly tired, all you have to do is drive to the fridge. Take some ice, wrap it in a paper towel, wait a few seconds for moisture to penetrate the towel, then gently rub your face with it to close your pores and revitalize your skin. Or you can fill the entire sink with cold water, ice cubes and pieces of cucumber, and then dip your face in it. Another option would be to use green tea in ice cubes instead of plain water for an antioxidant effect and extra shine.
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Spoons for the eye area
This trick again involves a trip to the fridge. You should have cooled two tablespoons there, which you will take and place over your eyes. The cold will help you get rid of swollen eyes in just a few seconds.
