Grief Timetable: Unknown
Being gentle with yourself for wanting to and having the tools to hurt somebody, anybody.
If you have not met me in real life, it might not sink in just how handsome I am. Now, I don't actually connect with that. I have always had a hard time embracing it fully. The implication and opportunity that comes from simply being universally considered a specimen. In my head, I know. I see the face in the mirror and I see the body especially before Monday night — when I eat lamb biryani medium spicy and 2–3 packs of British buttermint hard candy with at least 5 apples.
Last night was Monday night, so I am not writing this feeling fly but the thought needs to be penned.
In simple words — Dolapo is model-worthy and has the tools to attract women from many races, faith, and status. Yet all I want to do is hurt them all.
I’m a technical virgin. What that means is that I have done everything in the book but stick it in. The virgin moniker is an essential part of my internal identity. It's the adjective that sums up how I feel about myself. It sums up where I think my heart is at. It sums up where I get my confidence from. It sums up the enigma that I am. The day I lose it, I will die. Not necessarily a physical death but an identity one. An identity death is the end of a label and usually the beginning of a new one. The day I fingered a woman for the first time, my internal identity got a revision. My favorite adjective, itself, got an adjective or an adverb or a noun — technical. See, I had studied the Bible and found that fornication talked about sex and the definition of sex required penetration. Clearly, not any and every form of penetration is sex because kissing with my tongue would be sex too. So I revised my definition of a virgin to be one who has not been penetrated or being penetrated by THE organ.
Technical virgin.
Holy. Good. Desired. Wanted. Complete.
These are all words that I have anchored my life on as a man. Even though technical virgin is the word that steers these images of myself. These other words evoke deep affirmation from other people. I wanna be a good guy. So much so that when I meet a woman, I give her all the flavors of a bad guy except the quintessential good trait she longs for. The contrast makes for an incredible enigma. It's like getting all the badness in a good vessel. is it still good?
Holy. Well, I am constantly on a mission to discredit every version of holy that doesn't make me feel relevant. By relevant, I mean it must position me at least as a candidature for the throne of men that possess this straightforward essence. I am Holy because Jesus did the work! OR, I am holy because you have no testament that I am anything but good. OR, I am holy because I handle the sacred text with such charisma. So much charisma that the sacred becomes relatable and void of the aura or fear that prevents the simple to come and taste, eat.
Desired. Wanted. Ugghhhhh!!!!! It's the body for me. No matter how much I like ice cream and candy. And I do, if I can do declare myself. I drift back to working on being desirable. Being wanted. It's sad. I need to be wanted because I refuse to work on my ability to hunt. Know, Find, and Get what you want. Nah! If I am being honest, it is cowardice but we are not doing honesty here, just truth telling. I love how pursuing health — physical and mental — coincides with pursuing peak desirability. I can hide my intentions or be intentionally confused knowing that whichever motivates, its still good. I mean, is it seriously wrong to wanna be desired? Come off it!
Complete. This is really what this post is about. Appetizer is done. I strongly believed that if I am good, holy ( holier than most), desired and virgin (technical nonetheless) then it may take me a while to find a woman that loves me but it will give me the best chance at a great long lasting marriage. I truly believed that I cannot be rejected with all these things aligning.
So I set out on a quest — to never be rejected by one whom I love, and to have a model marriage. So much of my life was built on my purpose being leading a home that fears God and raising kids that go onto greatness. I was so lost into this purpose that I even believed that the very first girl that I choose to date will be the woman that I marry. It was meant to be, written in the stars and every evidence pointed in that direction.
I was a 26 year old never dated guy when I found the woman I am gonna spend the rest of my life with. Never dated also has an asterisk to it. It is never officially dated. Like technical virgin, it is a state of identity that was void of truth but as long as I believed it and as long as I have a definition for never that fit the narrative I wanted to believe for myself. Who cares what Merriam Webster thinks about the definition of ‘date’ or ‘never’ for that matter. Apparently, I had dated before (but I didnt know)*. Dont ask me how you can be in a relationship and not know. Talk about being unintentional.
I really dont like this part. I’ve been taking the windiest part to get here. She saw me, saw through me, and saw better. She chose to walk away and she was right.
Ouch.
She was right because I was a fake. Fake love, fake good, fake holy, fake virgin, and fake man. I was the definition of what should be spued out:
“So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.” — Revelation 3:16 KJV
The truth is, noone likes being spued out. Not even cold coffee. Like if coffee had emotions or even just words, I am pretty sure it would be saying unpleasant things to people that spue it out because they expect a different temperature. Like yo, arent you the one that boiled the coffee and let it sit for 3 hours before remembering to go drink it? How is that the coffee’s fault? But I digress.
It hurts.
The ‘why’ doesnt matter as much as I thought. It hurts the same. Rejection hurts. Yes, I was fake — and still am — but it just doesnt feel good. Spueing is an intentional choice to taste a thing, know its qualities and very spontaneously do the tongue thing and eject it out of your mouth. Its an expulsion of unmet expectations out of your system and life onto the pavement or wherever humans land. Why that whole physics and motion happens might be good for lessons, it doesnt change the fact — it hurts like hell fire’s flames. If you jump out of a building, you are gonna hurt when you land. Now you could be Joseph fleeing Potiphar or a gymnast working on sticking the landing, it's gonna hurt. The why doesnt soften the blow, doesnt lessen the hurt, and sure as heck doesn't wipe the pain.
Dont have kids while in hurt, in heat — yes, but not in hurt.
Hurt people hurt people.
Random fact: I learnt this week grief is worse in the second year because the first one the support system comes out and by the second, everyone expects you to be over it. Life should be back to normal. All pain gone. Wrong, you feel truly left alone to wrestle with the magnitude of the hole from the loss.
For the last three years, all I have wanted to do is hurt back. Take the time to get to know other people and just spue them out. The annoying thing is that I didnt know that was what I was doing. I didnt even know that I was still hurting.
That random fact resonated deeply with me but it also gave me permission to say to myself, it's okay to still be hurt. I dont have a fix for wanting to hurt other people but by listening in to my pain’s channel, it feels good to say:
Grief, take your time.
I open the door of my heart to you.
Thank you for slowing me down to see all the areas that I have lied to myself.
Thank you for being a tool for my healing.
You were a friend I was taught not to have.
I fully embrace you as my host.
When this meal is done, I promise:
I will again visit, just because.
Your friend, Dolapo.