My Secret Boyfriend

Lately, I have been really into dating bad boys.  Well, not bad boys, per say but one in particular.  I suppose they say everyone goes through a bad boy stage.  But mine is different because we have been dating on and off for quite a while. Years actually.

It seems that whenever I thought I was over him, he comes right back, and our relationship is more powerful than ever.  He is quintessential bad boy material in his tough exterior and unrelenting nature; impossibly obnoxious and rude and honestly, all together annoying.  And yet, I just can’t kick the habit of this bad boy relationship.

I don’t like to talk about my bad boy boyfriend,  whom I shall only call “I”.  After we spend the night together, I saunter into work like it’s just another day, hoping no one notices the bags under my eyes and slowed responses after another long night tossing among the the sheets.

It’s not so much that I’m embarrassed about “I” it’s just that there isn’t much to talk about.  He doesn’t have much substance under those impossibly annoying bad boy traits and I feel like ours is a relationship that only we can understand in the moments of twilight spent together.  In the daytime I become much more logical, charting plans and strategies for avoiding Mr. I and ending our volatile relationship. Every morning, I swear to myself with unwavering conviction that this was the last night spent together.

And it’s funny because my personal bad boy- Mr. I- is, with all certainty, the worst man I have ever shared my bed with, leaving me always on the brink of orgasm but pulling away just before that blissful peace that you crave.  Leaving that tantalizing itch unscratched until it is the one and only thing in this world that you feel that you want and need.  Yes, the satisfaction he withholds creates a kind of mental madness in which you feel certain you would do absolutely anything on this planet in order to reach that pinnacle of of relief.

OK.  I know.  Now I’ve got your attention.  I suppose, I’ll tell you who he is.  I’ll give you a name since we’re such good friends and all.  And the interwebs have a way of making one feel an-albeit false- sense of security.

His name is….

Insomnia.

That’s right.  Insomnia is my badass mother fucker of a boyfriend these days.  If anyone has met this kind of boyfriend, you know they are funny little guys; so  strange with their random arrivals and inconvenient departures; showing up unannounced on your doorstep one night and inviting themselves into bed with you, leaving you no room for protest.  Such an ego maniac, this Insomnia!  So much so, that he can’t leave you alone for too long, lest you -God forbid- find someone else.  Someone like Peacefulness or Sleep or Rest.  No, he is far too jealous for that.

And he is such a sneaky son of a bitch.  Why is it that I can be so weary staring at the pages of a book, that my eyes are drooping, but once I put that book down and try to sleep, my mind is awake and running?  It is almost as if the light switch is not really connected to my bedside lamp, but rather, my mind and entirely controlled by Mr I.

The worst part is, he never lets me feel awake enough to actually do anything.  Instead I lay here thinking “Oh, you’re so close; you’re so tired that you *must* be close to sleep.  Just a few more minutes and you will be asleep.  Don’t get up and read.  Don’t turn on the TV or draw a bath.  You’re too close to sleep”.  But no.  I never do fall asleep this way.  Leaving me with the slumbered version of blue balls.  What a tease, that Insomnia.

So far there has been no outsmarting him. This bad boyfriend with the mind tricks and bad bedroom manners.  No yoga poses, lavender oils, hot showers before bed and chamomile tea can change his ways or romance him into a more tender pattern.  I can’t even roofie him.  Instead, pills leave me even more on edge than it’s worth and my internal dialogue becomes even more neurotic and deluded.  “Ok I took one.  How long before I feel something.   Am I breathing evenly?  I don’t want to be the next Whitney Houston, dying on a bad combo of Xanax and wine.  I did have that one glass of wine at happy hour….it was 6 hours ago but still… ” 

So if any of you have ever had a bad boy relationship with Mr I.- and let’s be honest, I hear that his kind gets around a lot- and have found a way to kick him to the curb where he belongs, I’m all ears.  Lord knows you know where to find me. Here in my bed.  Alone and awake.  Staring into the ceiling as if it were the sky itself and praying for the sweet abyss of sleep. Day dreaming about dreaming.  Nostalgic over my ceased love affair with Sleep, the biggest stud I ever did date.

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One thought on “My Secret Boyfriend

  1. Pingback: Aug 27th | Separate Ways

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