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Why Do I Keep Hitting Myself Over The Head With A Hammer?

Because it feels so good when I stop…..A lot of people have probably heard this phrase before. Meredith said it in an episode of Grey’s Anatomy once. When I first heard it I wasn’t sure what she meant but the more and more I thought I about what she said, I finally got it.As women we do things, certain things, over and over again that usually cause us some sort of grief or pain and more often than not it involves a man. It can be anything from waiting for a date or sitting by the phone waiting for it to ring and usually once these things happen a sense of relief washes over us but the catch is as the high wears off from that encounter slowly but surely we start the cycle…..all….over….again. Hence, hitting ourselves over the head with the hammer.

These blows to the head can come in many different forms these are a few:

  • Sending text messages waiting for and receiving no response for hours or sometimes days, or worse, not at all. And when it finally does it’s a one word response: “HI” or “Hey”
  • Placing endless phones calls that go unanswered for days at a time.A subtle exchange of emails or tweets that get ignored or when answered are very short and one-sided.
  • Promises of a returned phone call that doesn’t happen. At least not within the same 72-hours it was promised.
  • Plans of another date or spending time together that seems to never come.

They say love, or the lack of it, will make you do crazy things and the older I get the more I see this statement holds some truth. It can make you see things that aren’t there are or see people in a light that isn’t necessarily a good one but one that suits you at the time. All in an effort to stop hitting yourself upside the head with the hammer. But I wouldn’t classify it so much as crazy as I would a want to have someone in your life. I don’t think anyone likes being alone and because of that fact we as women put up with a lot and in an effort to fill that void we get so little in return. What we really need to ask ourselves is this: is it worth it? Is the stress and strain from the repeated blows of the hammer worth an emotionless text that may or may not come or the two-minute phone conversation with no plans of another in sight? I will be the first to admit, I have sent texts the night before, sleeping with my phone by my side, only to wake up the next morning disappointed to find no response and I’m sure I’m not the only one woman to have done this. Just like I’m sure there a plenty of women who have rode cloud nine through a date  with a man only to have that cloud crash to the ground when they don’t see him again for weeks and are only left with unanswered texts and phone calls promising “we’ll hook up soon”.

So at what point is it okay to put down the hammer? Or are we destined to beat ourselves silly searching for a high that may or may not ever come again?

via Why Do I Keep Hitting Myself Over The Head With A Hammer?.

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Game On or Game Over?

That day, as you lured me into your world, did you think I wouldn’t notice? Or maybe you were hoping I would be, like the others, blinded by your expert way of making the obvious ambiguous. Did you think I wouldn’t sense the essence of the women that had been there not long before me? Was I not supposed to notice candles melted from misplaced passion or earrings forgotten in the haste to leave without a trace? Or maybe you were hoping your hugs would distract me from the faint echo of all the others, swirling around my body, taunting me or maybe they were warning me?

Warning me that one night with you would leave me stuck with the soul killing memory of being used and the stain of fingerprints and kisses that don’t wash away; no matter how scalding hot the water is or how hard I scrub. Maybe they were warning me that your kisses were laced with heartbreaking venom and your promises were infused with mind-bending deception.

But in your attempt to deceive you failed to realize one thing: I’m not like them.

Because you see, unlike them, my worth is not defined in the curve of my hips, or the pout of my lips. My value doesn’t rest in the swell of my breasts or the intersection where my thighs meet. There is so much more to me than the worthless thousand words a Twitpic can hold or the emptiness of a Sext message disguised as an innocent text message. I am not validated by requests for my image framed by a Skype window just to make you hype, you know? I am, however, mature enough to know the difference between playful banter and artful manipulation for self-satisfaction. I am that smile that can light up a day no matter how dark the clouds. I’m that chick in heels that commands attention when I enter the room, but will only accept it from that special one. I’m expert enough to weave a tale with words and skilled enough to have it rest on a shelf titled: Best Seller, yet grounded enough to pop a green bottle and play a game of Madden. More importantly, I am WOMAN enough to recognize the BOY in you. So as I walk out of your life, your eyes on my back and your mouth hanging open in disbelief; I can’t help but wonder: did you really think it would be that easy? Or has it been that easy because, as women, we are too worn out from the game to make it that hard?

I don’t know the answer, but I do know as far as this woman is concerned: GAME ON!

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