Writing is like my Sympathy from the Reflection of Mirror
I’m sick of being treated like dirt and becoming seriously depressed and suicidal on my own and aging parents’ burden.
I haven’t been in any relationships or sexual activities for five years. My life is simple, read, think, read, search for inspiration online, comment on people’s articles, write, and edit.
I love it and appreciate my parents’ support me in quitting a well-paid job.
It’s been over five years since I could really talk to someone in person about what I thought about the current issues.
I met Karl Karsten Neustifiter on Tinder. He said he admired my command of my speaking style and unique observations. I deleted the App right away, not because I was looking forward to a serious relationship. I just thought it was enough to know a guy who could listen and understand me, and one night with such a person was enough.
“You asked for it, grow up!” I could hear people say.
Since he kept refusing to talk on the phone, I invited him to join a language exchange group. It’s a fling, but before accepting his non-stop invitation to his place, I’d like to know what kind of person.
He was polite and kind. He has a BA in mental therapy and two MAs in both mental therapy and international relationships. He said his life goal is “helping all the women have peace of mind after suffering traumas.”
As a mental depression survivor, I thought he would not hurt me. (Physically and mentally.)
“We can watch Netflix and cuddle. Bring your underwear. I love cuddling people while sleeping.” He invited me again by message, and I consented imagining watching a film and discussing it while cuddling.
I was dumb to the point of bringing my laptop and hoping he could use his knowledge and passion to point out my blind sides.
At 7 p.m., I went to his place. There are two double beds for one person, but I didn’t ask much. It was his privacy. We were both adults who expressed the primate desire righteously.
But there was no Netflix or a movie, and he didn’t like cuddle or embrace.
He directly told me to be naked, I was baffled by what he previously said and behaved while submitting to his requirements. He cut to the chase without any preparation though I still reminded him of the protection.
I knew I bled when he was simply treating me like a hole. Then, he saw the blood and freaked out.
So much blood, way more than my first time.
I cleaned up myself, his face had been stone-cold all night since. I kept apologizing. He said, “My previous women are the same height (4'11) as you and they can let me go deep all the way.” I apologized again.
I told him, “You’ve met the worst, I think the next one will be the best.” “I hope so.” He said coldly.
He asked me if I wanted to help him release. I refused, so he jerked off beside me. When he came out, I was swallowing my sleeping pills since I was hurt and exhausted and just wanted to sleep.
He saw and asked about it, and then he plumped into the bed, whining, “I didn’t say you can stay!!!”
I was too stunned to confront him with his previous reminder of bringing the underwear. Feeling vulnerable and tired of the pills, I begged him to let me stay and I would leave immediately when I woke up. He insisted on me telling him more about myself to let me stay.
Being naked, I hid under the blanket and told him about my past traumas, two attempts at suicide, and being sent to a psychic center twice, locked myself in the room for two months eating only eggs until the landlord found me hung on the ceiling.
He sat on the other bed and said, “I’m sorry.” I saw it as a grant to let me sleep and promised him that I’d sleep until around 3 a.m. and would leave to “hang out” (his words) in the nearby convenience store.
I woke up three hours earlier, and he immediately wanted me to pack up my stuff and leave. He said, “I am mentally consulting my female classmate. We don’t have the chemistry. I want to be as polite as possible, but I need you to respect “our American culture.”
He started berating me having issues with socializing, and being out of space, and he doesn’t like me to talk. I kept apologizing…
On the way, he kept telling me how he wanted to help all women in mental suffering, and his next stop was Vietnam. He regrets he wasn’t able to save some women, and
how he wanted to take care of me. (By kicking me out at around 2 a.m. because I didn’t satisfy him.)
I felt disgusted, “It’s okay, I can protect myself.” Karl cried out, “See, you should say ‘thank you’ as a normal person!” I was speechless.
He walked out with me because he wanted to eat at McDonald’s. He’d been learning Chinese for three months but still couldn’t speak a word. I became the translator and told him they were out of beef and bacon.
We walked to the convenience store across the street, and there was no hot dog. I introduced everything to him, fried rice? pasta? chicken nuggets? sandwiches?
He just shook his head emotionlessly. Like a picky child, but he’s already 37 and traveled to over 40 countries to save women’s mentality!
Then, he wanted to go back, and I somehow felt bad he might be hungry. He told me, “Once I sleep, I’ll forget hungriness.” Before he said more, I said, “I got it, remember my two months?” He left and said, “Bye” and I didn’t respond and sensed the curiosity of the only cashier in the store.
