Where there is desire
There is gonna be a flame
Where there is a flame
Someone’s bound to get burned
But just because it burns
Doesn’t mean you’re gonna die
Grief is a profound part of recovery and new life. Tears of regret, remorse and despair water the roots of love and life itself. To deny and avoid the hurt and pains of life’s losses is to negate life’s importance.
It’s hard to think where exactly to start my story… I suppose the best way to start would be the first time I met him.
The first time I saw Scott Douglas Rogers I thought he was the most attractive men I had ever seen. Tall, muscular, great smile, a sense of confidence that no one could resist and these ice blue eyes that gave me chills every time he would look at me. I had never been so attracted to someone in my whole life. My heart was still recovering from all the pain and shock from a pervious love lost when things between Scott and I started up.
Even when we met somewhere inside my head I knew that he was not the right guy for me. From the very beginning he would tell me horrible stories about things that he had done in his past.
He never lied or tried to cover up that he had cheated on almost every girl he had ever dated.
He didn’t lie about how him and his friends would do sexual things just to humiliate the girl involved.
He told me all about his baggage from childhood, his mom that committed suicide and how he still refused to get counseling for it.
From the very beginning I knew that Scott Rogers was not a good person.
But somewhere between my freshly broken heart and his piercing baby blue eyes, I lost myself.
It wasn’t long after we started dating my whole world became about him. I stopped worrying about taking care of the other relationships in my life, but only wanted to be around him. I stopped hanging out with my friends, I started screening my phone calls to avoid certain people so that I wouldn’t have to think of an excuse as to why I didn’t want to hang out.
In the beginning things were exciting, we would lay in bed all day and just talk. Talk about anything and everything that we wanted. I would lay there in his arms and just watch the shadows of the day crawl across his bedroom ceiling.
Like I had said earlier I had never been so attracted to someone in my life, and that scared me. He was more experienced in almost all ways of life then me. Sex, relationships, paying bills, you name and he had been doing it for years. And I would not hesitate for a minute to tell me when I needed to work on something.
Quickly over the months he began to be more and more critical of the things that I would do. In such a subtle way that I didn’t even notice the effect that it was having on me. Comments like…
“You really suck at cooking…”
“I need to start on your domestication training…”
“What kind of woman doesn’t know how to iron?”
He soon was critical of the way that I looked, encouraging me to dye my hair blonde or even getting fake boobs. Always talking about girls in the past that he had been with and how amazing their fake boobs had been. When I would stand up for myself it was normal for him to make comments like…
“There are tons of other girls that I could go be with! Your lucky to have me!”
When I would cry or try to tell him that his comments hurt my feelings, somehow I would always end up feeling like the bad guy. Even if in my head I knew I had done anything wrong, the arguments would get so ugly that I would rather just say I’m sorry then deal with anymore yelling.
“Your acting crazy…. your being overemotional…”
….. And it wasn’t long before I began to believe it.