If you were to slice me open with let’s say a Swiss army knife or a switchblade or a bread knife (I am not suggesting you attempt such an utterly irresponsible task of course, my olive skin is quite lovely and it would be completely rude to blemish its exquisiteness), instead of fountains of vivid crimson blood, my guess is a murky black tar-like substance would ooze out of the wound. If you carved deep enough, and poked around for a bit (like some sick and twisted version of Operation) you would probably prick your finger on a thorn or some barbed wire hidden behind my heart, or (less dramatically so) my rib cage. Which would be a perfect example of poetic justice… after all… what in the flying fuck were you thinking cutting me open anyways? Don’t you know who I am?? Geez…. (ha!)

Recently I have had a series of conversations with people who have been kind enough to read and follow Without-a-heartbeat-Rouble-Rust_thumb#pumarules (I still have a hard time people actually enjoy the ranting). These tête-à-têtes have led me to appreciate that some of you take everything I say on this blog site quite literally. Therefore, I feel the need to clarify that I don’t actually have a tar-like black substance running through my veins. I know this because I am a total spaz and have required stiches (self inflicted or otherwise), on more then one occasion, and I can tell you that I bleed only blood (don’t worry no one is more disappointed about this fact then me).

I don’t know how it feels to be you… but on the inside of me there blisters a ferocious hatred. It slithers its serpent body around my heart and gushes forth in venomous (but rarely violent) outbursts of malicious rage… usually at random people… senior citizens driving… people who wear their sunglasses inside… Twilight books… Twilight movies and the fucktarded Twihards who love them… and being asked “if I have any spare change?”, by a kid in nicer kicks then I ever hope to own…. Sigh… I digress…

Is this normal? I am fairly sure from conversing with others that it isn’t – but then I have always felt this way… so I truly have no form of reference.

To avoid tedious bullshit responses from amateur psychotherapists and psychologists, yes… I am well aware and fully acknowledge that there are deep-seated traumas that underpin the terry texture of my mortal soul. My Daddy issues (the constant need to please everyone no matter what) and subsequent MEN issues (never being good enough… low self esteem… body issues…) have spanned a lifetime and are not going to be cured with a magic wand (unfortunately the patronus charm doesn’t work on the magnetic force field that attracts me to douche bags, cheaters and masochistic narcissicts). I am over it… so you should be…

Becoming-You-Rouble-Rust_thumbBut that’s not totally it. #TheDarkSide. It’s not an alien thing attacking from somewhere else… it dwells inside me already. No inoculation, flu shot, vaccination or otherwise, is going to cure me from it. Nor is sitting for hours on the “couch” explaining to someone why I am the way I am. I know why I am the way I am… I didn’t just wake up one day like this… I am pretty sure, despite childhood trauma and adult betrayal… I have always been like this… My serpent heart was alive and vindictive at the age of three when I deliberately smashed my toy piano over my cousin Lisa’s head as retribution for her biting my arm. And at age six, I deliberately played dumb by opening my big green eyes and telling my mother I had no idea where my brother was… when I knew damn well he was riding naked down the street on his tricycle trussed up with tampon streamers and maxi pad clackers tied on by none other then myself.

It is not pretty is it? My soul? Even though it is encased in a cute gnome like, green eyed little person. (Ha!) I am slightly evil, and mostly twisted.

And that is a problem, romance wise, as I am fairly sure that evil thoughts and undefined hatred isn’t the number one quality most stable, smart or indeed stupid and broke – men look for in a woman. Although, I would like to point out that the black hearted are almost certainly guaranteed to provide a more interesting landscape of love then your conventional or garden variety sugar coated sweetheart…

By listening to pop music, reading Nicholas Sparks novels, and browsing online dating profiles, it is easy to see how the mass majority of singletons have decided that it is a good idea to form a mate-like match with a person who has fairly simple (if no somewhat dull) emotional needs. People seem to want sensitivity, cute public displays of affection, physical contact and kindness. They want a someone who can swallow pain and transform sin/betrayal of the heart into rainbows, kittens and gentle make-up sex.

Fuck that noise. That is just not me. Nor is it any single, straight female over the age of 30 that has had at least Blog (39)one serious relationship go wrong. No one is Bella (moon face, weak willed, redonkulous)Swan chasing after Edward (fuck face, what is wrong with his nose?… mouth breather) Cullen. We are broken, beaten, tired and fierce #pumas who know what we want, aren’t willing to settle for less and want a man who appreciates and can rise to the challenge. Men who see our darkness and accept it… a man who don’t run from it, but acknowledges it as being the thing that makes us unique and embraces it.

Let’s face it darlings, I am vengeful and prickly…. hard… stubborn… loud… unyielding and tiny. I am calculating, ambitious, witty and fucking bitter at best on a good day. I am Louise after she shoots the rapist in Thelma and Louise… I am Carrie at the prom after the pig blood covers her … I am Janice from the Sopranos… only better looking…

I am not going to apologize for it either. I’ve learned, after a very long time, to love what lies within. I have Blog (151)earned the scars on my heart and the notches on the belt of my mortal soul. #TheDarkSide is a cherished and precious part of who I am, one I tried to balk for years, and have finally surrendered too. As much as this is a positive and necessary thing… loving #TheDarkSide is also another reason to remain single. For the good of mankind and his sanity … or at least until I can find the right breed of alpha male to tangle inside my love nest of pleasure and pain. And on that note, if you know anyone like that… feel free to toss him my way. Make sure you pre-empt the conversation by telling him that I am not ALL about #TheDarkSide. I mean … sometimes I cry at orphaned puppies and stuff…

Stay true to your #TheDarkSide my loverlies. It is yet another amazing reason to enjoy #singledom. We all have one, embrace it.

Franki Figgs

Amazing Artwork by Rouble Rust