Why do I need a man to be my savior? What is that about? What is he saving me from?
My fundamental lack of trust in any women. The void that was left when I was left behind. When I was all that was left. Is it because I wasn’t good enough? Do I really feel like I wasn’t good enough and that’s why I was left behind?
Is he saving me from the ordinary? I’ve always celebrated lives extraordinary, authors who write about overcoming unimaginable odds, defeating foes that seem unconquerable. But here I live my normal life. I don’t sing, I don’t write, I’m over-addicted and over-caring about a corporate job where, in the end, I’m replaceable. Am I looking for someone to come and sweep me off my feet and carry me finally to the exceptional world of perfection? Where I become the perfect object of someone’s desire?
Am I a junky? Addicted the emotional roller coaster? Or do I have a sick compulsion to always live inside my mad passions?
What is that place inside that is so desperate to be saved that I’ll imagine and project onto a man what I want to see? At the expense of an individual person and his uniqueness.