And the Walls Come Tumbling Down...

If anyone actually reads this, sorry I disappeared. I gave John the URL for this blog when I had told him I couldn’t be friends, but somehow, I assumed he found it boring. But I was wrong—he did read it, although not on a regular basis, and I doubt he’s reading it now, but it makes this whole thing feel narcissistic or manipulative, or something. So in case John reads this again at a later date (hi John! ;), I can’t write about how I feel in that area. But I would expect he has cut me out of his heart. But I wasn’t sure how to proceed because I couldn’t write about how I was feeling without including him and I didn’t want to manipulate.

Steven continued to keep my interest and my energy is slowly focusing there. Our conversations were good—not the level of sharing and depth that John and I had, but sincere, intelligent with some vulnerability. Steven either has his life together more than I do, or he is less forthcoming with him vulnerability. I trust him, but I don't feel like I know him as well--he seems to be really normal and well adjusted (weird!;). Steven didn’t understand why I cared that men thought I was attractive—he felt like it was so irrelevant, but he also called me beautiful and gorgeous, and I liked that.

My ex believed I was beautiful and he loved my energy and passion and intellect. That was an incredibly gift. I realized, over the incredibly long holiday, that my family doesn’t value me as individual, just the way I am. I’m the only extrovert in the family and my psychiatrist of a father seems me as incredibly flawed when it comes to interpersonal relations. Anytime I get excited about an idea, I’ve been known to speak quickly and that is a great flaw, which makes me essentially unlovable in their eyes. Or lovable. They love me, but it is hard for them, very, very difficult to love, so I just shut down and shut up. They all have such fun around me when I don't talk or engage and just smile and ask questions. Them, I'm a girl that can be loved easily. I can’t have that level of judgment in my personal life as well. The fact that my ex liked that energy, loved it, valued it, was incredibly healing and wonderful.

But there was a missing piece. Even as he loved my intellect and passion as a friend, on another level, he didn’t value me as an individual girlfriend—just as someone to fulfill the ‘girlfriend’ spot in his life. Steven, it seemed, might be different. I was blue and he said “I wish you were chained to my bed and I could just cuddle you.” I mentioned that I hated being tied down other than sex and he said ‘OK.” And I said “wow—that’s fine? Really?” And he said “You are amazing. And I’d rather be with you, doing what makes you happy, than anything else. I need control. That’s what touches my sense of the erotic (OK, he used different words than that). Beyond that, I need for you to be joyous and fulfilled here.”

That was pretty fucking incredible. I’ve really yearned for someone that would see me as more important that the list of activities they could do with me. I think part of my inherent resistance is that sense that I need someone to be aware and concerned with how something impacts me. To care.

***

When I was in high school, I always wanted to drop acid. None of my friends would do it with me (and there was no way I’d do something like that by myself) because I was innocent. Everyone’s little sister. (I was a year younger chronologically than my grade and also pretty socially inept.) I know people were protecting me, but I would rather have fit in, belonged, been touched by the world.

Steven broke up with me today (if you can call it that) and then maybe not, but wants a week to think it over, because he wants to go to D/s while being open to a relationship and I want to establish a relationship to find D/s. Exact same fucking reason that John said he didn’t pursue me. And with both of these men, I had what I needed to consider it a fucking relationship!!! I mean, I wouldn’t wait till I was married to have sex with someone! With both men we had a level of intimacy and emotional vulnerability. It wasn’t like we met at a bar and said ‘hey—let’s fuck.’

It is like “Relationship” is such a scary word for men that they think it means much, much more than it means to me. In both instances, I would have followed where they led (provided they led in a way I could follow—not what Ken did—I tried that once, it doesn’t work. Don’t tell me what I’m in for and make me agree days in advance (yes, John tried that—I couldn’t follow—give me baby steps in the immediate moment)).

Part of me thinks I need to not communicate the way I do, but part of what I loved about both these men (John and Steven) was that I could talk openly to them both. If I start to modulate my communication, I won’t be spontaneous and open, and I don’t think I have the energy to be constantly monitoring what I say so I don’t scare someone.

I feel defective. It doesn’t matter that John and Steven both said “it isn’t that there is anything wrong with you—I just don’t work that way.” I would have met them half-way. At least. But I needed them to want to meet me halfway. Steven claims he was falling for me. Cared a great deal. Didn’t want to hurt me. Might be in love with me. He would hurt me—didn’t want to do that. But I don’t want to live in a bubble. I am willing to risk being hurt. We hadn't even had lunch; that was tomorrow!! Doesn't want to risk hurting me.

There are various issues here: are my standards unrealistic? Dan Savage would say I’m the kind of woman in demand and can write her own ticket (kinky, relatively attractive, relatively young) and the first part seems to be true, but the second part isn’t happening. It was rather nice to go to a munch on Friday and have both of the single men that arrived after me sit themselves right by me, even as the organizer tried to get them to sit at the other end of the table. But neither asked me for a phone number.

And I’m lonely. It is Saturday night and I’m home, alone. Part of it is that I’ve been sick this week, so I didn’t go out with friends to a karaoke bar because I sometimes get sick if I sing when I’m not 100%. But I’m lonely. My body aches for a man’s touch. These men keep brushing against my soul and leaving. But they leave these traces and touches. I don’t know what I wrong with me. Maybe my family is right and I’m just not lovable the way I am in the way I want to be. I am aware with Steven, it is the rejection that hurts more than losing him. I didn’t fall for Steven as badly as John and I’ll get over him quicker, but I just don’t feel strong enough to keep putting myself out there, over and over and over and rejected and rejected and rejected.