The One-Night Stand That Left Me Feeling Empty. Part 3: The Night and The Lesson





That feeling of emptiness is an issue for those with Borderline Personality Disorder, I won't pretend it isn't.

But the night after this one-night stand, I felt this awful, disgusting emptiness with a side of deep sadness that was slightly different to the usual emptiness I'm used to.

"Why did I just do that?" I kept asking myself.


Now I realise that the way it all happened was completely against my values, and it all also triggers some very difficult memories. Which, no, that doesn't explain why I went ahead with the act, but it does help me understand why I felt that deep emptiness and sadness. I wasn't doing something I wanted to do; I wasn't doing right by me. I was doing something out of some serious anger and to prove something to...well, in all honesty I'm not sure who... I should probably talk about this with my therapist too...

Either way, I am finally learning that I don't need to prove myself to anyone. I'm done with doing shit to myself to prove something to others (She says with her fingers and toes tightly crossed).

I do regret this one-night stand...and this is also the one that left me feeling empty and really fucking sad. This was the one in Barcelona.

By the way, both of these nights happened within a month of each other, I sometimes catch myself wondering what my "number" would be if I actually liked meaningless sex.

Anyway, by this point my "boyfriend" had returned to the UK. I actually went out of my way to meet him at the airport. I regret this too.

He actually returned around three days before I left for Barcelona. We spent his first night back together - and I must point out that I believe he only spent this night with me because his friends were too busy to go the pub with him like he originally planned - and then he disappeared on me again and spent the next couple of days chatting up American girls on Facebook and reminiscing about the girls he had "hooked up" with. This is not an assumption.

I know this, it's a fact, I found and read the messages ...oh so many messages...when he forgot his Facebook logged in on my laptop, whilst we were living together and I was trying to write a motherfucking dissertation and manage an events fucking job which required me to assist with the planning of events that would take place at the motherfucking (Football) European Championships...I was fucking hurt, exhausted and broken.

Anywhoozle, back to one-night stand numero dos. We met in a club by the beach. I was tanned, wearing a tight red dress and sexy heels. Even though I regret this night, and I don't remember his name, I do remember that he was a gorgeous, tall, dark, handsome Spaniard. He hardly spoke any English, and the little English he did speak was in that sexy Spanish accent that I imagine everyone loves.

We danced for a while, his hands kept wandering and I didn't try too hard to stop them from going places.

After what felt like hours of sweaty dancing to latin beats with this gorgeous specimen, I let him take me back to his apartment. I felt it was only fair after I had spent all night turning him on, and also I wanted to hurt my boyfriend. His apartment was lovely, and he had a balcony. He gave me deep, passionate kisses on this beautiful rustic balcony. I felt like a whole other woman. I no longer felt like that heartbroken girl. I will also admit that, standing on that balcony, in that beautiful summer's night, in high heels, in that red dress, overlooking Barcelona, with this gorgeous man all over me, had me feeling like I had control and power over my life. HAH.

I felt like I was making this choice for me. It wasn't long after I left his apartment that I realised, that actually, I didn't really want to do that at all; it happened because I was angry.

I needed revenge.

It took me a few years but I eventually also worked out that I have some terrible and dangerous self-destructive habits. It's extremely harmful and soul destroying. And this one-night with this gorgeous Spaniard was no different to the nights that I spent drinking way too much to numb the pain or the cutting episodes I've had. It's no different at all, and now I have to process that night along with all the other fucked up self-destructive shit I've done. FUN.

When we finally got undressed and into bed, the sex actually wasn't great, I don't really know if it was the sex or me but it felt forced. I wasn't enjoying this. I kept trying different things, it felt like hours of trying this position, that position, another position or maybe that one. I felt like Samantha in Sex and the City, but I only enjoyed maybe five minutes of the actual sex, the kissing was great but the touching and actual sex made me feel exposed and defiled. No position felt good, and I swear we tried everything.

Eventually, I gave up. I was done. I wanted to go. I wanted to disappear.

When he was done, I got up, got dressed, went to the bathroom and washed my face. It's like I didn't really believe that this was actually happening; I needed to wash myself or something. In the bathroom, I found myself facing a mirror (surprise surprise) and I had to fight really hard to hold in the tears.

I then started to notice other things in this bathroom, like nail varnish, big hair brushes, jewellery. I can still feel the panic that took over me when it hit me "He has a girlfriend" "Oh my god he has a girlfriend" "Did I just become the other woman, for one night only, but still. Did I just do something horrible to another woman who is probably in the same painful and fucked up position as me? Was there a woman or women in the same position as me right now, after having slept with my boyfriend?" Probably. Most likely.

I managed to calm myself down and when I stepped out into the living room, I looked around and noticed photographs; photographs that couples take. Him and her hugging on a ski holiday type photos. I felt like I couldn't breathe all of a sudden. I needed to go. I needed to leave. I actually wanted to leave the universe and never come back, but unfortunately the taxi driver couldn't take me that far.

In the taxi going back to my holiday apartment, I found myself staring out of the window and watching the lights and the sun rise, and I remembered when my boyfriend woke me up to watch the sunrise in Jamaica back in 2007. I felt so confused. The same guy that had fucked me around and helped destroy me, was also the guy I was thinking about now; about having this wonderful moment with. Relationships are too complicated. They are too hard. I then felt nothing. I dissociated. To this day I still feel that emptiness when I think of this night. It wasn't worth it.

Relationships are fucked up.

Or are they? Since finding a good therapist (three or four months ago) I'm starting to learn that actually, I've never experienced or witnessed a healthy romantic relationship. I don't know what they are like. From birth until now, I have only experienced and witnessed fucked up romantic relationships. I am actually in the process of learning the basics of a healthy relationship, to make sure that I don't follow old stories and habits.

I think I can safely say that I will never use another human being or have meaningless sex to self-medicate again. It still hurts that I broke my values and boundaries only to get back at a guy who took me for granted. If it happens again, it will be because I want to, not because I'm angry and looking for revenge and some serious mind numbing. I've learned that I am sensitive and emotional, I am not someone who can have sex with others and not get attached or not feel used and/or exposed. For anyone who really enjoys that and can go ahead and do it with no emotional attachment, Hey! That's great! HAVE FUN! But it's not for me.

I actually like to think that there are no regrets in life, only lessons learned, or not. And well, I think I've learnt my lesson when it comes to having meaningless sex with strangers to get revenge at a boy who mistreated  me.

It's not for me.

. . . 





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