Confiar

In Spanish, Confiar means “to confide in” and “to rely on.” And for me, the two really are the same. It isn’t possible to separate them. As I started to confide in my blog, I relied on it. I’m embarrassed that I care about the occasional comment. The mere fact that occasionally people write is a form of acceptance. And as I started to confide in John, that was far, far more. It was an embrace and a dance.

If there are any long-time readers, you can save yourself some time by just remembering the blog from a little over a year ago. This is three moments from the last day (my internet is out, and oh, is this a difficult time for my internet to be out!) It is less intense this time, but in a way more devastating, because, well it was much more of me and there was just about nothing left of my public persona. I completely misunderstood John. I thought he was seriously considering us. I thought he thought that I was someone he wanted to play ‘for keeps’ with. And he does want to want to, but he doesn’t want to, if that makes sense. Intellectually, I’m what he wants, but something isn’t right. He likes hanging out and he’s open to keeping a finger in the wind, to see if it changes. He said: “All the ingredients are there. I don’t understand why it’s not soup.” I was everything he told himself he wanted. But it wasn’t enough.

And that is one of the most devastating things anyone has ever said. I know John would say this is absolutely not what he means. But to me, what it says is: “Wow--you are right. I totally thought you were wrong, but having taken the time to get to really know all of you--I can’t love you.” I believe he would say, "I want to give it time to see if something changes.” And if (when) it doesn’t work I expect he would say: “it isn’t you--it’s just us. You’re actually pretty amazing.”

I still think, though, if John and I were physically intimate, it would gel. I do believe that is the missing ingredient--the cornstarch if you will. But he doesn’t, and he isn’t willing to try and see. And I do appreciate that he doesn’t want to hurt me (as if that were possible, but still--he could hurt me more). He can’t be physically intimate with me, unless he knows we’ll work, and I don’t believe we can know that unless we’re physically intimate. He thinks time might solve it. I think sex probably would.

But it isn’t time I’m scared to give. I feel like, with him, I was a butterfly, living on the end of a pin in a display case. Leaving means ripping part of my soul out from under that pin. Staying means confirming my worst fear about myself. It means trading the possibility for a soul mate for a good friendship.

I regret little. I had to try and see if things would work, or I wouldn’t be able to let go of John (not that I know how I'd do that right now) and I’d have massive regrets at being scared to try. I can’t regret not playing games because the authenticity of our friendship is what brought it value. I do regret that I couldn’t be the person he saw on that first date, the only time he has referred to me as his girlfriend. But, re-reading our correspondence, I really couldn’t. We met because he really wanted to explore S&M and there were several things he said that would freak me out if he said them today. I do believe I was right then even if I wish I were different.

I think, and I don’t think it is just me reacting in pain, I think I can’t do this anymore. I can’t want something that I’m obviously never going to have. And I don’t mean “John.” I mean a life-partner. Did you ever see that Judy Dench movie where she plays an old spinster school teacher, and talked about the aching loneliness of not being touched for decades? Maybe she would be happier if she hadn’t hoped for something more. Maybe it is the act of wanting more that makes the pain so much greater. There’s one man I promised a month ago I’d go out with when he gets back from Japan in a couple of weeks. And then, I think, that’s it. No more dating for me. I’m too tired and too broken. Of course, if I meet someone in a bookstore, and we’re both reading the same thing and start a conversation and magic happens, I’ll be open. But I don’t believe in magic.
I can’t be satisfied with someone like my ex. I just can’t. Even if he had been kinder in bed, it wouldn’t have worked. I need someone care about me, to want to plumb the depths of introspection, to be truly, vitally, alive. Or I can’t be with him. It might work for a year. But not for a life. And so maybe, I need to just let go of that dream. To know that it doesn’t happen to people like me. Our society is too fucked up. A fraction of a single percent of men would explore the introspection that is far more vital to me than I care to admit. Maybe I just need to hire a shrink and a masseuse. Pay someone to care about my feelings and someone to touch me, and to find other things in my life to focus on. Get a dog. Dogs always love.

My astrologist (yes, I go to an astrologist once a year, and he’s great and it is very helpful) said that the great love of my life appears in 2011. Now, I’ve never really believed in astrology for dates, as much as “you tend to gravitate towards this.” But it certainly seems it is not happening in the near future. It would be nice to know that I do get to have a great love in my life. But if I want a family, that’s too late. I don’t need a family. But I can’t live with my life on hold for 3 years, hoping an astrologist is right.

“It’s just not fair!” screams the 8-year old. “What did you expect?” snorts the teenager; “Life’s a bitch.” “No, it is the patriarchal system that objectifies women and makes it impossible to have a joining of equals” shouts the 20-something feminist. “John is a good man, destroyed. He had no problem dating women he didn’t view as equals, or even calling you his ‘girlfriend’ before he knew you well enough to know who you were. But the patriarchy has destroyed the chance for men to love equals. There’s nothing wrong with you. It is the system.” But the nearly 40-year-old woman says: “I don’t care if it is the system or me; I can’t change the system and the end result is the same. I’m unlovable.”

Women like me, women who don’t fit in, who buck social trends, who are too smart for their own good and don’t fit societal beauty norms, who demand authenticity, and who could never respect a man she manipulated by adhering to “The Rules,” we have to find another way. In today’s society, most men want someone cute who doesn’t challenge them. I know the games women are supposed to play. I just harbored hopes that it wasn’t actually necessary. That an exceptional man would embrace the chance for something more. Not just intellectually--viscerally.

The women John has dated (funny enough, the names I know all start with “J”s)--the J-Girls have one major thing in common: they were damsels in distress whom he saved. When he realized they were using him, he was deeply hurt. He wanted someone to love him for him, and not for his money. He doesn’t like his pattern, and he recognizes it. But recognizing it isn’t enough to change it.

And I’m not only not a damsel in distress, I also didn’t play hard to get. I looked at him and said “wow--one in a million. Wow.” And I let him know it. I kept dating other men--mostly because I thought I had to. I thought if I didn’t, I’d get clingy and it would destroy our chance. But they became less frequent because I knew I couldn’t bond with someone else if John were in my life and I felt like I was using them.

My ex and I both compromised and said “Sure--it’s as close to soup as we’ll get.” And that’s a disaster. John is right to demand authenticity.

I hope like hell Maslow (as in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs) is wrong and I can develop self-actualization without love. The twenty-something feminist would say that Maslow is only reinscribing the patriarchal obligations. But I’m scared Maslow’s right. I’ve never been able to do it. But to hope, and to wait for, is just too painful. I’d rather be wistful than bitter.