He shared with me that, for a while, he was a woman hater. A woman hater is a man who seeks out women, dates them even, for the sole purpose of hurting them. A woman hater is not to be confused with a rebounder, or a player. A woman hater is a relationship masochist. He wants to make girls cry. He will see a girl regularly until he knows she likes him, then he disappears.
I was in Daly City the last time I became so angry that I couldn’t concentrate on the task at hand. Driving, that time. I wanted to rip the steering wheel out of its shaft and let my Jeep careen off the side of the road. I wanted fire to accompany my fury. I wanted blood.
I pulled over in a suburban neighborhood. I was still logical enough to know to stop. The walk home was long, as it required me to traverse through Daly City, South SF, and then turn north toward Brisbane. I wanted to find someone along the way and antagonize them. A woman, perhaps. Someone with her white skin and freckles. Dark, straight hair like hers. Nimble hands like hers. Confused soul like hers. I wanted someone to hurt and had no other way of letting it out. I made plans for myself to be better and excel for the sole purpose of revenge. I would unleash the pain on any woman who fell for me from then on. I was growing weary and ignored my aching feet. I raged in my mind and in my heart. The field of many broken hearts would sate me.
I walked for hours. The January rain poured and I marched on toward home. There was something pathetic and petty in me that screamed to be let out. I contained it so well that I lost all sense of passion, self, and love. It took years to recover a fraction of who I used to be.