It's Free Library Friday once again, folks! I've been creating these posts every Friday on social media for a while now, where I share a book or two that I found at one of my neighbourhood free libraries. This one was originally published in June of 1960, and boy is that cover dreamy! This post is actually not about this book at all, but the cover seems fitting. This post is about a book that was published almost 6 years ago that I was just made aware of, and it features a chapter about me.
It was written by a guy that I had a casual thing with roughly 15 years ago. He wrote this book about 100 of the women he's slept with, and the book divulges graphic descriptions of his escapades, including specifics about body parts and performance. I wasn't sure if I made the cut, until I was. The chapter heading was a dead giveaway, and anyone who knew us would know that this chapter is about me.
So I tossed the question out to Twitter yesterday: do I read it? The replies were mixed, which is exactly how I feel. Am I curious? Hell yes. Do I need to know what this guy thought of me and my body? Hell no.
The past is the past. I was a 25 year old kid who was going through a transitional time in my life, and I was trying to figure out who I was. So, the fact is that this guy didn't even know me then because I didn't know myself. What I do know is that I think I enjoyed our time together, from what I remember, and I don't think we had a falling out or anything. Things just went away. Clearly for him, that was not the case.
Things must have weighed heavy on his mind in order to include me in this book, which from what I understand is supposed to read more as an apology to the women he has hurt over the years. But when the chapters are titled "Shovel Face," "Dirt Bag Filth Trap" and "Fat Chicks Love Anal," to name a few, you do start to question the motives. The title of my chapter is nowhere near as vulgar, but who knows what the content is. I mean, we fucked. That's when you're at your most vulnerable, right?
While my curiosity almost got the best of me and I considered having a trusted friend read my chapter just to let me know how bad it is, I ultimately decided against it. Because who really cares whether this guy thought my vagina was garbage or gold. It really doesn't say anything about me.
There was a time in my life when I would not have been able to resist reading something like that, but that wasn't the real me. That was a young woman who was self-conscious and scared, who deeply wanted to be liked and cared what others thought about her, despite the tough exterior. The thing about that young woman is, I love her. I really do. She wasn't able to love herself then and neither was anyone else, but that's ok. I've learned in recent years that how others feel about you is not important in the least. An opinion is just words strung together in thought. They are not fact. Even the opinion you have of yourself isn't the truth. But right now I can safely say that I'm feeling pretty good. I'm proud of myself and the woman I've become. And, you know what? My vagina is gold.
I'm finally doing it--pulling my insides out and splattering them around for all to see. Here we go!