SLIDESHOWS

When times are tough, I close my eyes and imagine all the men I've ever slept with. I think of their hard bodies against mine and the rough cheeks and soft lips that could only belong to a man. I browse through my memories and pick the ones that soothe me the most.

The bed sheets are crisp and undisturbed on the left side of my bed. I sleep alone. There is no reason for that side of the bed to look used. My hair is spread wildly on my pillow and my gaze is set on the ceiling slide show. I can see all of my sexual interactions as clear as day.

Gazing at the popcorn ceiling above my bed, I see an unending slide show of men that mock me as they float by. A parade of men that no longer exist in my world; men that are stuck in my world for reasons unknown to me; and men that I wish were part of my present world.

Is it a sign of addiction to obsessively remember the high you once felt? Could it be unhealthy to savor the memories of each kiss and each caress? I question if my need to be loved is an addiction or just a basic human need.

It’s a pastime of mine to relive my sexual encounters. Moments that meant more to me than to the men who were my partners. Moments that haunt me more than they comfort me. It’s a sexual ballet where I am the star who is dancing for brief dramatic moments with a partner who eventually pirouettes off the stage to vanish and be forgotten.

Although long gone, each man lives in my memory at his peak and best moments. Even though it is unrealistic, I never remember these men at their worst. But I remember the sexual dance we did together as muscle memory never to be forgotten.

I look back at all my encounters and realize that these men shaped my life in one way or the other. I made decisions to boldly show emotions when I was with them and decisions to withdraw emotions when it was time for them to walk away from me. So many times my heart was broken; yet there were so many times I experienced joy beyond belief. A joy so perfect in my mind it can only be remembered through rose colored glasses.

Many regrets and wishes live in my mind. Wishes that I had done things differently. Remorse that I can never go back and fix these relationships. Despite having lost all those relationships, I go to all my happy relationship moments and re-live them so that I can feel the euphoria; the feeling worth being addicted too; and the feeling that comes when you are in perfect bliss. A hit of goodness that goes a long way when there is no joy whatsoever in your life.

Watching the slide show on the ceiling above me, I am bereft of all the happiness that left me for reasons unknown. From men who told me they were leaving to men that never announced their departure and just left.

Of all these men, I can’t say that there is any single man that I regret losing because I regret losing all of them. If I could just have one of them back? If I could just not be lonely tonight – I’d take even the worst one back.

But it wasn’t always doom and gloom, loss and separation. There were beautiful moments filled with laughter and connection. It’s just that these moments were fleeting and aborted once my frailties came into fruition. I lost what I gained under false pretenses. Maybe if I had said something ahead of time, things would have been different. An informed mind is prepared for any emotional disaster.

I know that I sound like a crazy and desperate person – and maybe I am. Watching mental slideshows and trying to get high off my memories. But I ask, is this really a sign of being crazy or am I just wanting what everybody wants - love and companionship?

The Slideshow plays on and I watch it one last time hoping that perhaps tonight will be the last showing and I will go to sleep and wake up an independent sober woman without addictions and regrets. Who knows? Stranger things have happened.

Jo Zuniga-Banks is an author based in South Texas, where she resides with two of her five adult children. Passionate about exploring the complexities of relationships, she is currently working on her novel, Zoom Girls, which delves into the lives of a group of 55+ women who meet on a Zoom and ban together to support each other’s come-back, give-back and payback