Ho's Gotta Save Herself First

Well fuck.  The pull to be Captain Save a Ho after my weekend with Manhattan Millionaire has caught me by surprise.  "I can fix him!  I can make him happy!"  Has been looping in my brain.  I've been resisting the urge to be the Neosporin on his broken brain but this feeling has been compelling.

Thursday in therapy I launched into the recounting of my weekend with Manhattan Millionaire with all of the righteous indignation I could muster, "Didn't he see that I was incredibly empathetic to his irrational fear and was willing to do anything to make him feel better?  Doesn't that count for something??"  My therapist patiently listened before he chimed in, "Are you ready Kat?"  (Uh oh.  This is going to be a big fat oh shit bomb.)  "MM's bullying triggered your PTSD.  You weren't taking care of him, you reverted back to survival mode to protect yourself to make his abuse stop."  Woah.  He was right.

I've been crying since Thursday due to this revelation (and probably the hormones from the morning after pill still raging through my system.)  All of this hard work I've been doing and I still don't recognize abuse.  My therapist pointed out, "Many women would have told him to fuck himself, get help for his phobia, bag your shit!, packed up and never spoken to him again.  Instead, you made myself sick and put yourself at risk for serious health issues then spent the rest of the weekend catering to him."  FUCK FUCK FUCK.

Yesterday I told Manhattan Millionaire to pound sand permanently.  I'm setting sail for calmer waters.

Crusty Old Geezer....Scrooged.

According to my horoscope, my intuition is in top form today.  My loneliness and confusion regarding love is top on my mind and this is the optimal time to open up with someone about my feelings with reference to the stars.  Finally, I am about to give up on love.  Just a little light message to take into my day.
I needed to get out of my house, and out of my head according to Foodie.  I am reflective while sipping some brazilian tea and observing the stream of hipsters that enter the Akasha coffee shop downtown Culver City.  I'm sad and I know why; I am Manhattan Millionaire's West Coast booty call.  There.  I said it.  Something wasn't sitting right with me and then I spoke to Mr. MBA last night.  "Come on.  You know what it is......"  I did, but I didn't want to admit it.  "Is Manhattan Millionaire going out of his way to see you Kat?  He has money correct?  In all of the years you have been talking he could have gotten on a plane and visited you for the weekend."  He's right.  I tried weakly to object citing all of the complimentary things MM has said to me and how awkward and excited he is.  All the nerdy sexting we've been doing.  Mr. MBA patiently waiting for me to run out of defensive steam before replying, "He's doing what is necessary to get in your pants."  Fuck.  He is right.  This is why he is my super secret male decoder ring.
I spoke with my aunt later last night and she reminded me it was Christmas and I should go to church, that is where I will meet a nice man.  She also had some of our good ol' fashioned Germanic pragmatic advice for me; "Quit aiming for the stars.  Settle.  Quit wasting time on past loves or worrying about the future.  Live in the now.  Go sing some Christmas carols."  I hung up and cried, not channeling the reason for the season but Scrooge.  Maybe she's right I should settle....my janitor did just ask me out.
I texted Manhattan Millionaire a frowny face and over a very brief text exchange I told him I'd had a rough day.  "You're brilliant and thoughtful and hilarious and wildly irresistible, if that's any consolation. :)" Was the last text I got last night.  I cursed at my vagina for the power it wields over men.
My intuition tells me that I must have the convo with MM and bail on San Francisco in Jan.  My loneliness is saying suck it up and just have fun and tap HIS ass.  I wonder which one will prevail.  Bah humbug.