Wild Child, part one

When I was about nineteen or twenty, I was living in California on my own. Well, mostly on my own; technically I was living at my grandmother’s house with her and my uncle, but I had a job or two, was going to school, and was paying my own way for things. This is when I met Ken. He was terribly cute. He had lovely brown eyes, a perfect straight nose, freckles on his face, and sexy hair. When he talked to you his eyes lit up and laughed a little, letting you know that he found you interesting, and that he was at the pinnacle of life, able to do and have anything he wanted. His compact, muscular physique was perfect; he played baseball in high school and may have been a gymnast earlier in life. His arms were strong and muscley, his chest was perfect and hairless, his thighs were thick and strong, and he had the cutest ass imaginable. His ridiculously good looks made him hard to ignore, but his personality made it impossible. Ken had a gregarious and fun loving personality, and an intensity and inner fire that burned bright. He was spontaneous, interesting, inquisitive and slightly daring. He didn’t seem to care about convention or norms, and was willing to say what he thought openly and without concern for the opinions others might make of him. He was a voracious flirt, a chick magnet, and a bit of a ladies man, and I fell madly in love with him.

Ken was full of a charm that was hard to resist. While he seemed to always have a girlfriend on his arm, it seemed he equally as often had a girl or two on the side. Perhaps that was perception, because he was so flirtatious that he SEEMED to be bedding all the women. Perhaps it was my fear, because I was hoping that I would be the one steady girl he would reign himself in for. Perhaps it was reality, because while I did get my chance to date Ken, it was while he was dating someone else. Ken had a girlfriend that he didn’t seem to want to be with, but wasn’t quite ready to break up with, and somehow I ended up in the mix. He’s come up today because I think I just scolded myself about spending time with him. I knew Ken through a mutual friend, and we ended up going to the same church back in the day, and eventually ended up working together at a pizza joint. Somewhere in there we started dating, though since he had a girlfriend it wasn’t really dating, it was dating on the side. One day he asked me to the beach, and of course, being an intelligent woman with eyeballs that worked fine, I said yes. How could I pass up a day at the beach with a hunk like him? Like all of the time I spent with Ken, the day was fun. He was always silly and lively and interesting. But inside I wasn’t really happy. I didn’t want to be a side dish for this guy, I wanted him to myself. I didn’t feel comfortable pretending he could be mine when he wasn’t, especially because I knew his girlfriend and liked her a lot.

This whole blog so far is really a distraction, because the issue isn’t Ken, but my lost time with Ken. Eventually the day had to end, and as we drove his VW bug back to his house, we got into a car accident. He rear-ended someone in front of us, and though the accident wasn’t serious, it was scary for a few of us; the girl we rear-ended, because she had just been in another accident, and me. Because I had let myself love.  I was talking to my sister today about “locking myself down”. This is a phrase and/or feeling I get sometimes when I have failed to do something I needed to do. Work on a project. Clean the bathroom or my bedroom. Make an important phone call or send in some time sensitive paper work. Everyone misses deadlines, it’s sort of a universal situation and frustration that is common and probably avoidable, but happens nonetheless. Having Multiple Personality Disorder can cause these situations to seem more drastic and scary than they maybe are in reality. A late bill can still be paid, after all, and a missed luncheon can usually be rescheduled. But there have been situations in my life when I have needed to take care of something important, say, go to court to argue a ticket. Having DID can make this situation frightening. What if I shift that day, and forget I have to go to court? What if I go to court and shift then, forgetting why I’m there or what I’m supposed to say? What if I shift while I’m there and I become little, and behave like a kid in front of a judge and a room full of people, and then can’t find my car afterwards? And if I do find it, what if I don’t know how to drive myself home again, because it’s a stick? Or what if I shift into one of my danger personalities, who likes to throw herself down stairs, or often thinks of driving off the road and into a nice fat Maple? More on this issue tomorrow…

About denelle

writer. artist. ponderer.

Posted on July 21, 2010, in biographical, MPD and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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