Nymphomania is a word often wrongly used. People with a lot of sex drive are called nymphomaniacs, prostitutes are also called that and people who just keep the door open for more and more people to get in are also called that.
But in reality, a nymphomaniac is someone who can’t be sexually satisfied so he searches relentlessly for sexual partners just so he can finally climax.
Being a nymphomaniac is a more like a kind of suffering and frustration than love a pleasure because no matter how much they seek it, it never lasts or worst, it never comes.
Love may include codependency but the reverse is not always true.
I know one relationship that emulates perfectly this word. Two people deeply in love with each other, except that one behaves so much like a child that he never had the time to discover his feelings while the other one is so busy taking care of her partner that she completely forgot about hers. HavIng met through mutual friends, she crushed at first sight and decided to push herself onto him, but little did she know that he’ll have her caring for him until death tears her apart from him.
At first, she would come and hang out and, so shocked by his poor living condition, she’d help around the house. But, by the end of the second anniversary since they met, she had already moved in and was taking care of the household and everything else. He was careless, sloppy, but also cute, affectionate and so well-versed with his words. He was one heck of a romantic poet. Sometimes, she’d think that maybe she inspired her words but she’d blushed because it’d be so unlikely.
6 months later, she was all about a good schedule of the chores and her work. Her world would revolve around him, the house, her work. Her friends complained, her boss was disappointed that she wouldn’t work more. She was barely doing okay. By the end of the year, I received a call, she was at the hospital, she tried to commit suicide. I went to visit her but she had been moved to a center treating mental illnesses. All the time, I kept looking for him, asking where he was and when I called, he said he couldn’t take the cab, it was too much of a hassle, he’d wait for her to come back instead. She never did.
5 years later, she was living quietly in another city, smoothly blossoming. That’s when he knocked at the door, as sloppy as ever, he handed to her an amount of 5 years of poetry in a box and ran away. She spent an entire weekend reading every notebook and every word reminded her of the love that overtook her heart, the love that was buried under so much stress and housework. She had forgotten about her flustering whenever he was looking or her, day dreaming about their future together…
She never tried to kill herself, at less, she never consciously meant to do it. Everyday, she used to feel trapped, doing things that she never intended to do and no reason would come to mind why she’d do it. But now, she understood. On the hard cover of every notebook, he wrote his contact information and, after a deep breath, she mailed him. He responded quickly and they continued doing so for three whole months. But they never met.
They never met because she wasn’t ready yet to dive into this lifestyle again, at least she thought so but he never mentioned it either because he was afraid she’d disappear for real this time. They took their time, getting to know each other again.
2 months later, he was having a private celebration with family and friends for the release of his collection of poems. My piling love, he called it. He asked of her to come in a formal white dress, so she did, but never could she have imagined that they’d get married that day. All the guests were as shocked as she was but she couldn’t bring herself to say no when he asked her. Of course, they moved in again together. He still acts as spoiled as ever but she discovered a caring side of herself also.
She loved to know that he’d only rely on her like that, that he’d only behave this way with her, she felt special. Although, she was enjoying this side of their relationship, she didn’t assume all the responsibilities in their relationship, she made him take charge of some of them. And sometimes, he’d had spontaneously done things, for the sake of their love, he grew up and continued doing a little little bit over time. Their marriage was happy. He was still codependent, she was still caring but somehow, they found a perfect balance that keeps them happy.
Evil is greedy.
If you’d even give half the inch of a nail, it’ll eat you whole.
As low as I can get, I still think I should be treated as a human being.
I always think that I’m undeserving, sometimes of any basic needs but I do still have an inch of respect for myself.
Unless I’m being threatened or blackmailed, it’s out of the question to let people treat me like gum under their shoes.
Being bullied to the point where I’d even try to jump under a bus or to attack an officer just to get killed and so be free of my misery is a burden I could never lift.
Yes, it happens of me to think low of myself but it’s a luxury I couldn’t possibly let others enjoy. If I did, I’d probably be already dead by now.
I feel like Breast Cancer is the idol of the cancer family. We do so much about it and forget about all the other ones.