in search of saviors 

by noni limar 

I was waiting for someone to save me from myself. A knight that would beat back the loneliness like a dragon slayed. A friend that would comfort me in my own darkness. A man who could swallow up my venom whole, laying yellow roses at my feet. Someone that would tell me---Yes, your father was abusive. Yes, your mother was neglectful. Yes, those men were monsters for touching you there and leaving your heart so unprotected. I was waiting on someone who could see my gaping wounds and still call me magic, unparalleled. 

I remember finding those someones. Men with scars as deep as my own. Trading the secrets of black pathology. We bonded over molestation, poverty, and fear of abandonment. I remember hearing these someones whisper back to me their own brokenness and calling it love, soulmate, destiny. We chased orgasms with insatiable hunger. The emptiness in my heart needing all of the heat, passion and pounding each man could bring. I relished in the fervent lapping that made my legs shake and voice call out for freedom. Yet, at every end, i didn’t feel free. I felt...hungry, again. 

Famished and heartbroken, I was ready to exit the rollercoaster. Every relationship I entered went from mutual obsession to discomfort and disdain. As soon as the fantasy faded, we were over each other, the reality of our communal sickness too much to bear. I was ready for a new kind of someone. I remember praying for someone new, unlike anything I had ever imagined. My imagination had been fueled with the traps of Hollywood and worn out romance novels. I was ready for something real. 

When I met him, I was intimidated. He was a large light who played no games. He let me know he was interested and pursued me directly. His desire was not based on my beauty or my brain (or a combination of both). He saw that we were direct reflections who had the potential to heal and build one another into the best possible versions of ourselves. 

He was not initially tender. He did not make things easy for me. Unlike my lovers before him, he did not sympathize with my traumas. He challenged me to be grateful for them. He refused to hold me at the doors of death or coddle my demand to cling. He told me i was strong enough to stand on my own, to heal myself, to craft my own crown and put it on my own head. He called me queen from a distance, letting me know he was present and waiting. 

The road to freedom was HARD. I hated it. I fought it. I blamed him. I let the blade of my mouth slash him 100 times for making me feel so alone. Relationships exist so you don’t ever have to feel alone right? How dare he make me face my shadows. How dare he watch me dance with demons and not rush in to slaughter. 

Tearful, I sealed myself in a closet of my own darkness. He sat at the door, patient. He prayed for me. Sang songs of my magic. Told tales through the crack of the door of wild women who gave birth to gods. He told me I was one of them. He knew I held the highest magic. He knew I was the highest priest. He knew that if he walked me back to my own self, I would not remember how to get back to my center alone. 

This was love from the highest height. A man who challenged me to be my best self, even when i hated him for it. Someone who loved me enough to know, we must all cultivate our own will to live. Someone who knew true love must save her own damn self.