When I look back at 2009, all I see is a load of relationship disasters. I met a guy at the end of the year who was so ridiculously perfect for me. Like, he was basically the male version of me, we had SO much in common. So we had sex, and then he switched. Changed pretty much overnight. Turns out he suffers from depression too, and is currently in the midst of a bad spell. I could deal with that except he's completely pushed me away; told me he can't deal with a relationship at the moment and seems to have no interest in me anymore (despite all the usual "lets be friends" bullshit).
I am so sick of men. I hate saying that, because I want to believe that there is someone out there who will love me for me and not just because they want to get in my knickers, but where they are hiding I do not know. I'm only 22, and already I'm bitter. If anyone has any kind of evidence that real love exists (especially for fucked up people like me) then I'd love to hear it, cos I'm struggling to believe it does anymore.
""I don't let anyone touch me," I finally said.
Why not? Because I was tired of men. Hanging in doorways, standing too close, their smell of beer or fifteen-year-old whiskey. Men who didn't come to the emergency room with you, men who left on Christmas Eve. Men who slammed the security gates, who made you love them then changed their minds. Forests of boys, their ragged shrubs full of eyes following you, grabbing your breasts, waving their money, eyes already knocking you down, taking what they felt was theirs. It was a play and I knew how it ended, I didn't want to audition for any of the roles. It was no game, no casual thrill. It was three-bullet Russian roulette. "
- Janet Fitch (White Oleander)