Lying on the Bathroom Floor

Last season, on an episode of Grey's Anatomy, Dr. Izzy Stevens got engaged to heart patient Danny Duquet and he died hours later. Izzy went home in a ball gown and lay on the bathroom floor for what seemed like days in her pain.

Do you know how many times I wish I could lie on a bathroom floor?

The strong, motivated, determined thing is a front. I am shattered.

I gave my heart to a terrible man. Even worse, I took it away from a decent man who loved me and gave it to this monster. He promised to be gentle with it. Promised he would never hurt me...just before he hurt me more than anyone ever had. Just before he destroyed me entirely.

So I never really got that heart back. When he was done with it, there was nothing left to return. What is worse is that he did it deliberately. It was a game. A scheme. A grand manipulation. A plan. A challenge. A conquest.

I still cry. I don't cry for him because I hate him with every cell in my body.

I cry for me.

I cry for what was done to me. I cry for how much I still hurt. I cry for being such a fool. I cry because this monster ruined me - took away everything I believed in and left me for dead. I cry because I fell in love, followed my heart and ended up losing it forever to a worthless piece of shit who took it and destroyed it. Smashed it. Crushed it. Set it on fire and cut it into tiny pieces to ensure that it could never ever be put back together.

If you ever read me before. If you 'knew me then' - you know...I had a deep and great capacity for love.

Had.

I wish I could lie on a bathroom floor for a few days. Will myself into a catatonic state and just be still. But with a daughter and two full-time jobs, that's not a luxury I can afford.

I still cry. I just don't do it in front of people and I don't cry for him. I cry for me.

It hurts more to know that no one knows me now. The last person that did was him. He read my blog. He slept beside me. He knew my thoughts. Now, between the loss of any intimacy with another person and the tall, hard walls around my heart - no one knows me. No one knows that I still cry. No one knows what I think or how I feel and I can't tell them. I just can't.

At work last night, two things happened. One, a line cook who is the young 'heart throb' flirted with me. He's in his 20's and spoken for I think, it was harmless and I know he was just trying to be friendly. It was funny how it happened.

There's another line cook - also just a young kid. He has the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen and I have to admit I am mesmerized by them. I am always trying to sneak a peek at his eyes without him noticing me doing it. The funny thing is that I confided this in my sister and the guy is not considered cute by anyone else's standards. When I mentioned how nice his eyes were, my sister was shocked. I had to remind her that the kid was about 13-15 years my junior and I wasn't lusting for him, I just liked his eyes. Thick dark lashes and light eyes. Very pretty. I like to look at them the way you might like to look at a pretty sunset. You'll crane your head to catch a glimpse, but you don't wish to touch the sun. You know?

I was walking towards the kitchen when Mr. Eyes was heading for the men's room and I tried to glimpse the eyes and found myself nearly 'caught' by the heart throb cook doing it. I thought he saw me do it and I think I blushed and grinned and looked away. Now I suspect he didn't realize what I was doing and probably thought I reacted to him that way. Hence the harmless flirting.

Anyway - he caught me alone in the back of the kitchen and turned the dimples and smile on me and told me he needed me to be his 'bodyguard' and keep the other line cooks away from him. Jokingly suggesting they were going to beat him up. (He's a personal trainer during the day and has the muscle tone of a God). I pretty much ignored him. He tried to convey the joke a second time and I finally looked up at him and told him I wasn't that kind of girl. He was baffled.

"You haven't heard about me, have you?"

"No..." (confused)

"Okay, well - know this. I hate men. Seriously hate them. If a group of men want to beat the shit out of each other - I consider it sport. If you're looking for a bodyguard, I'm not that kind of girl. I think men should bleed and bleed often."

Line cook backs away slowly. Mission accomplished.

Next, we have the restaurant 'whore'. A cute guy they call Sam. Sam is older - late 20's, maybe even the big 3-0. He's cute and charming and clever and is known for bedding his co-workers. Yep. Reminds me of someone I used to know.

Sam is nice to me and we kid around in a non-flirty way. Sam does know about me. He knows that if he's androgynous around me we can get along fine. If he displays a hint of being male, I walk away. Well, stalk away. Okay, storm away.

Sam asked me a favor with a table and I did it because I like him and someone joked that I "wanted" him. Yeah. I put that rumor to bed pretty fucking fast.

The men I work with are slowing learning to leave me alone. I'm nice and I'll kid around, but don't even joke with me about love, sex or flirting because the wall goes up and the freeze comes on and I stomp away.

Once again, I maintain that no one - and I mean no one - will ever get close enough to hurt me again. And as much as it sometimes hurts that no one knows me anymore...no one is ever going to either. I have the blog for that. My diary knows me. You know me - but you really don't.

Safe, you see?

So, I'm telling you. Sometimes, when no one is around - I put my head in my hands and sob.

Not every day. But some days. Today.

Then I clean myself up and carry on. Because I don't have the luxury of hurting. Because no one is going to be able to make it any better. Because in the end, it matters to no one that I cry or that I hurt - not even really me. What's the point?

What was in me is gone and it's never coming back. Don't tell me "in time" and don't tell me "one day" because I would rather die than to ever love a man again.

I really would. And that's not the kind of thing you can put in a personal ad, is it?

I've seen the very worst in a person and it's scarred me for life.

I just wish I had a bathroom floor of my own to lie on.