Blackness of the Night

In the blackness of the night
I seem to wander endlessly
With a hope burning me out deep inside
I'm a fugitive.  Community has driven me out.
Of this bad, bad world I'm beginning to doubt.
I'm alone.  And there is no one by my side.

It's such an upbeat song for being so hopeless.  Sometimes, when things hurt too much, I roll down the windows at night, and drive very fast, with heat coming in through the floor vents and cold air on my face, and I cry and I sing along to this song.

So here's what precipitated tonight's blackness of the night moment:  there have been 3 men whom I have trusted enough to see the vulnerable wounded child deep inside (John, Steven and Bobby).  And all 3 men, with gentleness and loving kindness, got themselves far, far away from me.

All 3 saw me as a mix of a strong, public side and a very vulnerable, fragile wounded kid.  (It was Steven's description of me that made me think of myself that way, and Steven was during one of the John interludes, but John read it on the blog and started using that language as well.) And all three claimed I was something really special and basically said "I'm not good enough for you right now and I would hurt you."  (Actually Steven said something more like: I'm too old and I don't want to be young again.")

What if every man whom I trust enough to see my wounded, private self runs away?  I think the 3 guys weren't just blowing smoke. Two of the three wanted me in their life as a friend and Steven did to me what I did to Bobby and never had the strength to do to John--cut me out of his life because he wanted to get over me.

There is some evidence that the men were earnest.  John's family was under the impression we were engaged.  But they were awfully cold to me at his funeral.  Steven still sends me sweet notes once a year.  (Steven hurt less because he was in the process of wooing me, and I'm pretty sure I would have fallen for him over time, but there wasn't as much initial crackly feeling because he was quite a bit older.)

It makes me wonder if I should be more careful about whom I let see the private me.  If there is something so wrong with her that, fundamentally, makes me unlovable. In Salon.com today, a woman writes: "Our most meaningful connections with other people are often rooted in shared pain and vulnerabilities."  On one level I absolutely believe that, but on another, I wonder if my pain is just too vulnerable.  If it isn't scaring men away. Steven said he could never have fallen in love with me if he hadn't seen that side, but there are 2 sides to that private girl.  One is the emotionally vulnerable side that can write this blog and the other is the saucy 13-year-old that has hormones racing through her body.  I know the saucy-13-year-old is sexy.  Men like that side.  Ultimately, I would like to find someone who could see the part of me that writes this blog and not be terrified.  But maybe that isn't realistic.

Maybe I should get more cats.  Or a sexy corset, and some saucy photos, and not try for that level of connection before I marry someone and then he's trapped. 'Darling, you said until 'death do we part'--now here's my blog so you can see the real me' (insert wicked witch cackle).  But I can't imagine me being willing to be in a relationship, seriously, with someone who didn't hold this part of me, because if he doesn't know she exists, he wouldn't know how to protect her, and I would never get to see the vulnerable side of him.  That, to me, is still part of what defines intimacy to me.