A Handsome toxic scorpio
Where do I even begin? First and foremost, let me emphasize the importance of safeguarding your personal space. Whether you’re a seasoned traveler through life’s twists and turns or a curious soul just setting foot on this path, remember this: Your space is sacred. It’s the canvas upon which your life unfolds, and you hold the brush. Be discerning about who you allow into this intimate realm. Not everyone deserves a front-row seat to your heart.
The Scorpio Poison
That truly is a reminder for myself because I have been through it this month. I was entangled with a Scorpio. Someone whom I had been talking to for exactly about a month now. And while the experience was very needed, it was also very toxic for me. We met on a dating app, which is a new experience for me as I have never been on dating apps and I knew all along that this was not my niche nor something that I resonated with. Guys on those apps want booty calls and temporary satisfaction. They aren’t truly seeking a connection with someone. This was totally the case for me.
The first night we were going to meet, I had this gut sensation deep within me - a voice kept telling me not to go over. I sent him a message where I expressed that I no longer wanted to meet because he was overly active on the dating app. And that bothered me because of how I had been approached by every guy on that app. He called me, we talked and communicated things, and I took my gut instinct as fear and insecurity. So there I go, driving through the middle of Highland Park to meet this man. When I first saw him I thought he was very good looking. He had a blonde beard, white straight teeth, and had a very charming smile. He continued to invite me inside his home, and into his bedroom for us to watch a movie. I knew what I was getting myself into. I dont know why, or how but I felt this instant connection and attraction to this man. I somehow knew this connection was beyond physical for me. I knew that I had to crossed paths with him, experience some time with him here on earth and learn from each other.
I was delusional
Our connection was electric, fueled by late-night conversations and stolen glances. Yet, beneath the surface, toxicity lurked. The Scorpio’s sting was both alluring and perilous. This scorpio crossed alot of things from my checklist that I was attracted to. And when you mix that with sex, things can get pretty real, really fast. I started to develop feelings for him. I wanted to help him and elevate his position in life. So as the sagitarrius that I am. I tried my best to do within my means, anything possible to help him financially, spiritually and mentally. We would have hour long conversations on the phone, I stayed over his house several times, I did things for him that only a girlfriend does for her boyfriend and I had to bring myself back to reality. Every situation I was phased with, I kept asking myself, would my husband speak to me this way? Would they be this inconsistent? Emotionally unavailable? And I kept coming across the crude reality that this man was not for me, and that was even harder to digest. In the cacophony of existence, it’s easy to lose sight of our intrinsic worth. We become entangled in the opinions of others, seeking validation and approval. But pause for a moment. Look within. You are a masterpiece, painted with hues of resilience, vulnerability, and uniqueness. Value yourself, not just for what you bring to the table, but for the entire feast you lay out—the laughter, the tears, the scars, and the triumphs
The Dance of Betrayal: Lessons Learned from a Midnight Text
“Here.” A text message arrived like a midnight specter, casting shadows across my consciousness. It was a Saturday night—the kind that hangs heavy with secrets and unspoken desires. My heart plummeted, as if gravity itself had conspired against me. The air in my lungs dissipated, leaving me gasping for clarity. I KNEW IT ALL ALONG! The truth clawed at my insides. Those nights when tears soaked my pillow, when betrayal and confusion danced their wicked waltz—I had sensed it. But his charm, oh, his charm! He was a master communicator, weaving words like silk, ensnaring me in a web of longing. Yet, beneath the surface, an imbalance simmered. The energy flowed one way, a river of emotion, while he navigated his own currents, heedless of my emotional tides.
“Really?” I confronted him, my voice trembling. His reply came, but he mistook me for another—a cruel twist of fate. He described a specific location, waiting for someone who wasn’t me. In that moment, I felt the sting of disrespect, the ache of being an afterthought. A 32-year-old man, with a child, intoxicated and risking his life—for what? A fleeting connection, a primal urge? I slept on it, cocooned in anger and resolve. Morning dawned, and I embarked on a mission. His house, a repository of memories and misplaced trust, awaited me. There, I retrieved a rare plant—a living metaphor for resilience—and a book: “You’re a Badass: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness.” Bitterness clung to my fingertips, but this was no ordinary reclamation. These were gifts, pieces of my heart, bestowed upon him when I believed in more than mere chemistry.
He apologized, remorse etched in his voice. “Nothing happened,” blaming intoxication. But I had already withdrawn emotionally. The website I designed for him hung in limbo, a testament to my misplaced generosity. And then, the text arrived: “Are you done talking to me?” The words blinked on my screen, innocuous yet laden with history. A hook, baited with guilt. I bit, revealing my vulnerability. And there it was, the punchline to a cosmic joke: “I fell for it and called him.” . I coudln’t help but to be blunt and honest about my feelings and emotions. I expressed that I was deeply sorry for taking back the plant and the book that were genuine gifts out of my heart for him. This is where he mistook my kindness for weakness. I decided to drive to his place, grant him access to his site and get this over and done with. I had made up my mind and I was no longer going to speak to him after that day.
The sting
I stood before his door, uninvited yet resolute. The air crackled with tension. He was already setting up a date—another conquest, another chapter in his reckless saga. And there I was, an intruder in his carefully curated world. “I don’t want you here,” his eyes screamed. But I held my ground, my heart a battlefield of wounded pride. “You’re just another person that I let go because I can’t trust anyone in my life,” he spat. The words echoed, reverberating through the plastic that covered his windows.. “Katherine,” he said, suddenly emboldened, “maybe you wanted more than we agreed upon.” His words twisted like vines, choking reason. Had I not been clear? Had my silence been mistaken for acquiescence? The truth hung heavy: He didn’t want me. Not as a lover, not as a friend. The sting of rejection, familiar yet raw, seeped into my bones. Days ago, our bodies had danced, skin to skin, fueled by desire. Now, I was a footnote—a discarded melody in his symphony of fleeting connections. The revelation hit me like a comet: I deserved more. “Recompensation,” I demanded, my voice steady. Gas money, time, energy spent designing— valued at a hundred-dollars. A paltry sum, perhaps, but it symbolized my emancipation. I deleted him, severed the digital thread that bounded us. And his website—the one I birthed from code and pixels—I deleted it. A catharsis, a cleansing of the virtual slate. He mistook my kindness for weakness, but it was my armor. In that moment, I chose myself. Mental health over misplaced loyalty. Energy redirected toward healing. The dance of betrayal had taught me: I am both seeker and sought-after. And this time, I sought resilience.
