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.
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Showing posts with label depression. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Sunday, July 13, 2008
All you've got to do is ask me.
I was writing a post about beauty and aging, and how I'm far more concerned about holding onto the vestiges of my youth than I ever thought I would be. And then I took a break to go to the CD release party for Passing Strange (If you are going to take my advice on anything, run to see Passing Strange before it closes on Sunday, buy the CD on Tuesday and get the Spike Lee DVD that will be coming out in a year or two--the best new American art in the last few years) and I just started to wonder--how did I turn into this? What made me so cynical? So focused on playing the dating game? So willing to buy into a culture that I don't believe in?
There seems to be this giant chasm of regret that I never found someone who loved me. Steven loved me, but not enough to want me. There were several men I've loved. But none loved me back. And I'm scared that there never will be anyone. And I have so much I would love to give someone. I know: a cliche from the 1950s. But true, none the less.
I'm staying with a friend who lives at the end of the line, and taking the subway home (at 1:30 in the morning, by myself--and they say I'm not a New Yorker!), I was listening to one of the songs I'd downloaded from their website:
I'm amazed at the amount of shit I do, like video games, to just try to numb myself out to what I'm feeling sometimes.
More than anything in my life, that's what I yearn for: "Both to be seen and be seen through." Someone to care enough about me, see the real in me and want to pursue the real enough to want to see through me. I honestly have a persona that is kind of impressive. Not like "top 1/10 of 1%" impressive. But probably in the top 1%. But who cares? I'm faking it. All of it. Every single bit. I don't care about that. Well, maybe I do. I love my life, actually. But it isn't fair that this chasm never disappears and I seem to have no control over it. I would trade my job and house and car for someone to love me as much as I'd love him. I really would. No. I wouldn't. Because I couldn't love someone that would ask me to give up my job that I love. But I'd trade my home that is the envy of all my friends with real estate envy. Gladly. More gladly, though, I'd share it with him.
I guess because I never got to be pretty when I was younger, and I knew it from a very, very early age, I just knew no one would ever love me. After all, Daddy told me so. And I built a life for me alone. And it is a good life. Hell, I can got to New York for the weekend just because I wanted to see Passing Strange one more time before it closes. And the feminists say "A woman needs a man life a fish needs a bicycle." Intellectually I'd believe it, but emotionally I'd say "but I need someone to love. I need to curl up next to another being and feel his heart beat. And have him care enough to want to see the flawed, conflicted messed-up girl that lurks, like an alien in Men in Black, under the well-put-together persona. I need that. Not like a fish needs a bicycle. Like a fish needs oxygen.
There's a Sondheim lyric:
In a way, though, that lyric doesn't describe me. In a way, my inferiority is very much on the surface because of my weight. And I've struggled and struggled and struggled to have someone care about me despite it. And then I lost weight, and now I'm still plump, but in the sort-of normal category. And yet, still alone. All alone. And intellectually, it's all right now. But emotionally...
There seems to be this giant chasm of regret that I never found someone who loved me. Steven loved me, but not enough to want me. There were several men I've loved. But none loved me back. And I'm scared that there never will be anyone. And I have so much I would love to give someone. I know: a cliche from the 1950s. But true, none the less.
I'm staying with a friend who lives at the end of the line, and taking the subway home (at 1:30 in the morning, by myself--and they say I'm not a New Yorker!), I was listening to one of the songs I'd downloaded from their website:
Now you are knee deep in your head's footnotes.Is there a better description for me and my blog? Me and my life? I care about other people's head's footnotes too--I just love head's footnotes.
I've been thinking about leaving my fingerprints on your being.Wow. So I start to tear up on the subway. And then the narrator asks:
So come down now, remove your mask, see.
All you gotta do is ask me.
I'll give you all the love life allows.
What does this feeling mean to you:And I start to cry. On the subway. I know the left coast wears its emotions on its sleeves, but that's ridiculous. But I have to take out my ipod and play Klondike to distract myself until I can get to my friend's apartment (who was, blessedly, already asleep).
Both to be seen and be seen through?
I'm amazed at the amount of shit I do, like video games, to just try to numb myself out to what I'm feeling sometimes.
More than anything in my life, that's what I yearn for: "Both to be seen and be seen through." Someone to care enough about me, see the real in me and want to pursue the real enough to want to see through me. I honestly have a persona that is kind of impressive. Not like "top 1/10 of 1%" impressive. But probably in the top 1%. But who cares? I'm faking it. All of it. Every single bit. I don't care about that. Well, maybe I do. I love my life, actually. But it isn't fair that this chasm never disappears and I seem to have no control over it. I would trade my job and house and car for someone to love me as much as I'd love him. I really would. No. I wouldn't. Because I couldn't love someone that would ask me to give up my job that I love. But I'd trade my home that is the envy of all my friends with real estate envy. Gladly. More gladly, though, I'd share it with him.
I guess because I never got to be pretty when I was younger, and I knew it from a very, very early age, I just knew no one would ever love me. After all, Daddy told me so. And I built a life for me alone. And it is a good life. Hell, I can got to New York for the weekend just because I wanted to see Passing Strange one more time before it closes. And the feminists say "A woman needs a man life a fish needs a bicycle." Intellectually I'd believe it, but emotionally I'd say "but I need someone to love. I need to curl up next to another being and feel his heart beat. And have him care enough to want to see the flawed, conflicted messed-up girl that lurks, like an alien in Men in Black, under the well-put-together persona. I need that. Not like a fish needs a bicycle. Like a fish needs oxygen.
There's a Sondheim lyric:
In the depths of her interiorProbably the most brilliant lyric ever written in the English language. She is scared to make this vulnerable confession, so she uses the amazing rhyme scheme in order to distract from the vulnerability. I've always thought that that, more than anything else, described me. And, crazily enough, I've shared the lyric with tons of people because it is so clever, no one realizes it is vulnerable. People just here the ear ee er and don't realize that I'm sharing something about myself. And I've often wished someone would ignore the rhyme to realize the unguarded, exposed, unprotected girl and say "you don't have to pretend with me. I'll love you no matter what." But that, I suppose, is just a naive wish from a romance novel.
Were fears she was inferior
And something even eerier
But no one dared to query her superior exterior.
In a way, though, that lyric doesn't describe me. In a way, my inferiority is very much on the surface because of my weight. And I've struggled and struggled and struggled to have someone care about me despite it. And then I lost weight, and now I'm still plump, but in the sort-of normal category. And yet, still alone. All alone. And intellectually, it's all right now. But emotionally...
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Probing the pieces
I've avoided dealing with this because I thought it would pass. But yet another night reading a dirty novella only to find ennui and tedium and this conundrum isn't beginning to unravel. I don't see the way out. I thought, perhaps, if I didn't look at it, maybe it would pass quicker. And, of course, it isn't exactly in line with my blogger persona. But it has been three months, and I'm committed to exploring the elements as they are, not as I wish they would be. So here goes.
Something inside me just broke, to steal a line from that magnificent and prescient Stephen Sondheim. When the Republican was an asshole. It wasn't that big a deal. I've been through worse. But it was the last straw. Something just broke.
I could feel part of me shattering, in slow motion, as it happened. I tried so hard to fix it at that moment. If I'd just been able to get his approval then, it would have been OK. But he withheld it. I think he knew what he was doing--he wanted me and was trying to pull me in closer, but he overplayed his hand and I rebelled.
Part of me has been willing to consider seeing him again because, as much as I intellectually know how dumb this sounds, emotionally I feel like he could find the pieces to put them back together. But only if he would do it my way. He hasn't been willing to do it my way, and I haven't been foolish enough to do it his.
But that leaves all the fragments on the ground. Just lying there in odd combinations.
The funny thing is, my life is going really well. I got this new job that I'm very excited about. My friends are joyous and fun. I've finished the first draft of the romance novel, and I think it is really darn good! All the energy I used to have for sex seemed to go into that manuscript. But now it is done, so it does feed that creative energy and I left slightly numb and slightly needy.
I go through the motions of my old self, but without my heart being in it. I tried reading some vanilla erotica, but it was as boring as always. I haven't changed my profiles. What would they say. "Damaged girl seeks someone to comfort her?" Intellectually, I'm fine. But "I'm fine" has always been a masque to hide vulnerability.
And it all sounds so melodramatic. I'm embarrassed. It wasn't that big a deal. I've been through much worse. I had to go to the police because of a borderline stalking. After I changed my number, I bounced back after a couple of weeks. I don't even try to comfort myself the way I initially did. I don't crave physical contact. My favorite nightie is washed and put away for another day.
I miss that part of me. I miss feeling erotic, orgasms, abandon, not thinking for flashes of moments. Surrender. And I miss that strength and that joy and that stillness. At the same time though, it is sort of like missing Europe. Much as I love Paris, London, Florence--you can't live there. I glance through my scrapbooks once a year to remember. Intellectually I'm scared my sex life will become like a long-ago trip to Europe.
Did you ever read The Golden Compass (books 2 and 3)? You know how he used the knife to cut between the worlds that were very similar but very different? In a way, that was almost an analogy for who I was. It really did feel like I had these 2 separate beings--public woman and private gal. And with a slap they collapsed into one. In a way, I'm much less bifurcated. Which, ironically, is something I have long wished for. Be careful what you wish for. But collapsing the two worlds leaves private gal's world vanquished. Kapish. No more. And it isn't like I've all of a sudden sprung a vanilla sexual orientation. I've just lost all sense of eroticism. Part of me is scared that with aging (I'm almost 40!), well women's sex drives do often diminish. But not, I think, overnight. The weeks before I met the Republican, I couldn't keep my hands off myself. 2 or 3 times a day. I probably would have masturbated even more frequently if I could have found the time. It was embarrassing. Now it is 2 or 3 times a month, and always with a 'well, I really should do this because hopefully I'll find my erotic self again with some looking.'
Or maybe I need to go back on eharmony and find a nice vanilla boy who doesn't care about sex either. But I still expect to bounce back some way or other. I just need to get out of the tribute to John Paul Sartre and, as the once again brilliant Sondheim would say: "Move On. Stop worrying where you're going. Move on. Just keep moving on. I chose and my world was shaken. So what. The choice may have been mistaken. But choosing was not. You have to move on. Look at what you want, not at where you are, where you'll be."
Something inside me just broke, to steal a line from that magnificent and prescient Stephen Sondheim. When the Republican was an asshole. It wasn't that big a deal. I've been through worse. But it was the last straw. Something just broke.
I could feel part of me shattering, in slow motion, as it happened. I tried so hard to fix it at that moment. If I'd just been able to get his approval then, it would have been OK. But he withheld it. I think he knew what he was doing--he wanted me and was trying to pull me in closer, but he overplayed his hand and I rebelled.
Part of me has been willing to consider seeing him again because, as much as I intellectually know how dumb this sounds, emotionally I feel like he could find the pieces to put them back together. But only if he would do it my way. He hasn't been willing to do it my way, and I haven't been foolish enough to do it his.
But that leaves all the fragments on the ground. Just lying there in odd combinations.
The funny thing is, my life is going really well. I got this new job that I'm very excited about. My friends are joyous and fun. I've finished the first draft of the romance novel, and I think it is really darn good! All the energy I used to have for sex seemed to go into that manuscript. But now it is done, so it does feed that creative energy and I left slightly numb and slightly needy.
I go through the motions of my old self, but without my heart being in it. I tried reading some vanilla erotica, but it was as boring as always. I haven't changed my profiles. What would they say. "Damaged girl seeks someone to comfort her?" Intellectually, I'm fine. But "I'm fine" has always been a masque to hide vulnerability.
And it all sounds so melodramatic. I'm embarrassed. It wasn't that big a deal. I've been through much worse. I had to go to the police because of a borderline stalking. After I changed my number, I bounced back after a couple of weeks. I don't even try to comfort myself the way I initially did. I don't crave physical contact. My favorite nightie is washed and put away for another day.
I miss that part of me. I miss feeling erotic, orgasms, abandon, not thinking for flashes of moments. Surrender. And I miss that strength and that joy and that stillness. At the same time though, it is sort of like missing Europe. Much as I love Paris, London, Florence--you can't live there. I glance through my scrapbooks once a year to remember. Intellectually I'm scared my sex life will become like a long-ago trip to Europe.
Did you ever read The Golden Compass (books 2 and 3)? You know how he used the knife to cut between the worlds that were very similar but very different? In a way, that was almost an analogy for who I was. It really did feel like I had these 2 separate beings--public woman and private gal. And with a slap they collapsed into one. In a way, I'm much less bifurcated. Which, ironically, is something I have long wished for. Be careful what you wish for. But collapsing the two worlds leaves private gal's world vanquished. Kapish. No more. And it isn't like I've all of a sudden sprung a vanilla sexual orientation. I've just lost all sense of eroticism. Part of me is scared that with aging (I'm almost 40!), well women's sex drives do often diminish. But not, I think, overnight. The weeks before I met the Republican, I couldn't keep my hands off myself. 2 or 3 times a day. I probably would have masturbated even more frequently if I could have found the time. It was embarrassing. Now it is 2 or 3 times a month, and always with a 'well, I really should do this because hopefully I'll find my erotic self again with some looking.'
Or maybe I need to go back on eharmony and find a nice vanilla boy who doesn't care about sex either. But I still expect to bounce back some way or other. I just need to get out of the tribute to John Paul Sartre and, as the once again brilliant Sondheim would say: "Move On. Stop worrying where you're going. Move on. Just keep moving on. I chose and my world was shaken. So what. The choice may have been mistaken. But choosing was not. You have to move on. Look at what you want, not at where you are, where you'll be."
Sunday, March 2, 2008
What the hell is wrong with me?
I always fuck everything up. Somehow or other, everything I touch is either bad for me, or I mess it up. I don't understand how. I'm not clear enough, or I'm too clear.
John wanted me to be able to joyfully be a masochist, and maybe what he wanted and what I thought he wanted were different, but I couldn't do it. And it left this hole in my heart. And so, Maginot line style, I forced myself to do that with Ben, and that just numbed my soul. I met someone for a 2nd date this week and I had a drink (big mistake) and talked too much and he disappeared (and if you frenchkiss someone good-bye--I think it is kind to drop an e-mail and say "I think we are looking for different things").
And then Steven. Oh, god. Oh, god. How the hell did I mess that one up? But I did. And now I'm crying and that is making the sunscreen run in my eyes, which is making me cry worse. When the hell did I get too old to cry without sunscreen running in my eyes?
Steven wanted to get together yesterday and I was scared it would be till Monday when he'd send me another e-mail and basically said I couldn't sleep with him last night--I needed to know it wouldn't be just for a night. And then today it seems like I miscommunicated or didn't understand or something. But he says it is over. Period. Clean break. And I'm left with sunscreen in my eyes.
It seems the only man that can tolerate me is my ex. And I just don't think he is healthy for me.
John wanted me to be able to joyfully be a masochist, and maybe what he wanted and what I thought he wanted were different, but I couldn't do it. And it left this hole in my heart. And so, Maginot line style, I forced myself to do that with Ben, and that just numbed my soul. I met someone for a 2nd date this week and I had a drink (big mistake) and talked too much and he disappeared (and if you frenchkiss someone good-bye--I think it is kind to drop an e-mail and say "I think we are looking for different things").
And then Steven. Oh, god. Oh, god. How the hell did I mess that one up? But I did. And now I'm crying and that is making the sunscreen run in my eyes, which is making me cry worse. When the hell did I get too old to cry without sunscreen running in my eyes?
Steven wanted to get together yesterday and I was scared it would be till Monday when he'd send me another e-mail and basically said I couldn't sleep with him last night--I needed to know it wouldn't be just for a night. And then today it seems like I miscommunicated or didn't understand or something. But he says it is over. Period. Clean break. And I'm left with sunscreen in my eyes.
It seems the only man that can tolerate me is my ex. And I just don't think he is healthy for me.
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
The Lady's got the Blues. (Again)
I'm amazed at how unstable my mood really is, and how closely linked it is to the dating situation (although, recent setbacks at work have deeply affected my mood as well. It seems that work can help stabilize my mood when the dating world sucks and the dating world can stabilize my mood when work sucks. But when they both suck, my mood gets really erratic. Work has me blue enough I don't even want to think about it, but when my current contract expires at the end of the 2FQ, I'm not quite sure what I'll be doing.)
Objectively, dating is, I suppose, going fine. Last Saturday, I went to a city about 100 miles from here, for a date with a guy who lived another 100 miles beyond that. He was nice and I had a good time at the local museum, but not enough to start that much commuting. I have a date tomorrow with the ex (why? What was I thinking? But it is just dinner and a show--it won't lead to anything else. Although, lately, I've been wondering if it would really be SO bad to get involved with him again. I know it would. I know I would need him to change far more than he could. But, I ache to be held. Frankly, I ache to be held by Steven, but Steven can't make up his mind. At least my ex would drive images of Steven away!) Thursday, I'm having a drink with someone I saw a month ago, right before he went out of town. My gut feeling is that it won't lead to anything. I think he is more interested in 'play,' and I don't want to go there.
And, of course, there are several more men I'm flirting with on-line. So, objectively, it is fine. But emotionally, I feel a little hollow inside. Part of it seems to be a string of men who have disappeared after they've gotten my photo. That's never happened to me before. I'm not sure why, given that it is the same photo I've been using for the last 5 months. I don't think saying "this is from September of 07" is really so long ago that it is a red flag. I did mention I go to the gym on my new ad. Maybe that needs to disappear--I do go to the gym, but I don't look like the kind of gal that goes to the gym. But something is going on, and that, of course, is hitting my self-esteem.
And I'm getting obsessed with the food I'm not eating. I don't think I've ever been this obsessed with food before, but I'm also been pretty damn disciplined about eating healthily (although that seems to be slipping, and it can't slip--food issues and weight and self esteem are things I may someday have a little more clarity on, but they are scary things to touch. Even here.)
So I'm watching the mood swings (and I should ad, I don't think anyone else is aware of my mood swings--I keep that closely under wraps) and trying to find an equilibrium.
Objectively, dating is, I suppose, going fine. Last Saturday, I went to a city about 100 miles from here, for a date with a guy who lived another 100 miles beyond that. He was nice and I had a good time at the local museum, but not enough to start that much commuting. I have a date tomorrow with the ex (why? What was I thinking? But it is just dinner and a show--it won't lead to anything else. Although, lately, I've been wondering if it would really be SO bad to get involved with him again. I know it would. I know I would need him to change far more than he could. But, I ache to be held. Frankly, I ache to be held by Steven, but Steven can't make up his mind. At least my ex would drive images of Steven away!) Thursday, I'm having a drink with someone I saw a month ago, right before he went out of town. My gut feeling is that it won't lead to anything. I think he is more interested in 'play,' and I don't want to go there.
And, of course, there are several more men I'm flirting with on-line. So, objectively, it is fine. But emotionally, I feel a little hollow inside. Part of it seems to be a string of men who have disappeared after they've gotten my photo. That's never happened to me before. I'm not sure why, given that it is the same photo I've been using for the last 5 months. I don't think saying "this is from September of 07" is really so long ago that it is a red flag. I did mention I go to the gym on my new ad. Maybe that needs to disappear--I do go to the gym, but I don't look like the kind of gal that goes to the gym. But something is going on, and that, of course, is hitting my self-esteem.
And I'm getting obsessed with the food I'm not eating. I don't think I've ever been this obsessed with food before, but I'm also been pretty damn disciplined about eating healthily (although that seems to be slipping, and it can't slip--food issues and weight and self esteem are things I may someday have a little more clarity on, but they are scary things to touch. Even here.)
So I'm watching the mood swings (and I should ad, I don't think anyone else is aware of my mood swings--I keep that closely under wraps) and trying to find an equilibrium.
Monday, February 4, 2008
God Laughs
Steven dumped me. All you regular readers (both of you?) won't be surprised. He was a Gemini through and through. If he was telling the truth, and I'm inclined to believe he was, because we didn't sleep together, and he totally could have if he'd tried, so I don't think he was just playing, anyway, if he was telling the truth, it isn't me--I'm fabulous, wonderful, beautiful, magnificent. But he doesn't want a relationship, doesn't want to feel that way about anyone. Wants to keep to his life plan, and he would come to resent me (through no fault of my own, if he was telling the truth) and so, he must break it off.
It came out of nowhere. We were making plans to see a singer at the end of the month, but they only had general admission, but I've been there before and thought general admission was fine in that space, but then, out of nowhere, he was having grave doubts and just couldn't go through with this.
He sent me the most beautiful e-mail last week. Just incredible. He really saw me, not as I try to pretend I am, but the me that I'm scared no one could like. And he said "I love you--you're beautiful--you don't need to hide."
"What makes God laugh," goes the saying? People making plans. I wonder if God (if there is a God) is laughing with me, or at me. Is something else coming along, someone that would have life goals that are easily intertwineable with mine? Or is it just another emotional roller-coaster ride, pointless, just to see how much I can take before I break.
They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over again and expecting different results. Now, given that the men are different, there are certainly changing variables. But it all seems to have such a similar narrative, logically, I would think it probably is me. The variables I can change are:
a) where I meet men (Steven would say "real life"--but I never meet men in real life)
b) whether I open up or not. But I'm already hidden a great deal. Or maybe I need to hide less? But I don't have it in me to be any more vulnerable--it takes every single ounce of strength I have in order to be as vulnerable as I am. Perhaps I'm vulnerable in the wrong ways? Someday, when I have a little more resilience, I need to go through Steven's e-mail of last week because he hit on several key things. But I don't think I could bare to open it right now.
c) how I deal with break-ups (if they can even merit that title, but emotionally they do).
The last is the only variable I can control tonight. I feel myself torn, back and forth, between pain and cynicism. It would be so easy to say "well, men, can't live with them; can't live without them." Or even "He was a Gemini through and through." Something to define, to contain, to explain. And I want to define, contain, and explain. Especially explain because I feel like this is one more bit of proof that, ultimately, there's just something different enough about me that I will never make connection. No one will ever be able to understand me as I am, which means no one can ever appreciate and love me. Just me. The good, the bad and the ugly. I'm like one of those stereotypes of an old spinster: "I have so much love saved up for you!" and yet, well, I want so badly to share my life with someone and share in his. But if that isn't going to happen, better to know now and just freeze my heart and my eros than continue with this roller-coaster.
I don't know how to open my heart again. But I seem to always find my way through it. And yet, I wonder, how to pick up the pieces this time. I have less and less strength. I wish I believed in God so I could just freeze the eros that seems to run, uncontrolled, through my body and enter a convent. How many more swords through my heart? How will I have the strength to endure?
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Into the Deep. Again
This weekend, I bought a sexy nightgown and a pair of cute flats. (Steven is only 3" taller than me--I wouldn't want to be taller then him.) And I sent him the first text message I've sent: "I ache to have you devour me." (He has talked several times about wishing to devour me.) And I added him to my saved numbers on my cell phone. I had done that twice before, but always deleted it, out of fear that I would curse it. Today, I saved it and even called him from the saved number.
I guess I cursed this one:
(These are direct snippets from our phone call tonight--I had it on mute so he couldn't hear me crying, but it meant I could also type, which helped my intellectual mind take over and my primal, visceral girl calm down.)
"I love you. It's because I love you so much that I couldn't be more convinced it's a mistake. I adore you. I'm hopelessly in love with you. We have to stop it. The difference in where we are in our lives makes it impossible. You create emotions in me I haven't felt in decades. But I don't want to act on them."
Basically--he wants to retire in 2 years and move to Mexico and live on the beach. 17 years is a big, big difference. And he finally realized what I contemplated a month ago, and it terrified him.
And I'm plunged, again, into the deep. I'm in the business center of my hotel, grateful it is completely empty because I have tears streaming down my face and I have to get ahold of myself.
Steven was, in some ways, like dating a mirror image of myself with men that have smitten me. He fell completely and totally in love with me. Said all the things I'd never let myself say, but probably said by actions. And he had more angst than I did! He couldn't proceed, unless he knew exactly how we'd look. I wanted to figure out if we could be on the same track; he wanted to make sure we could love each other forever and make it work. He said he loved me on several occasions, and I felt bad for not being able to say it back. He was the first man to ever say he was in love with me. He said he was considering, not that he was insane and wasn't there yet, but was trying to figure out if we could be married. And we both knew that we'd make love in the next couple of weeks. But I couldn't say "I love you" to him.
So why did I start to arrange my emotional life around him? Why do I feel dead and cold and numb inside? I just don't see how I'll do this again. I know, someday, I'll find the strength to pick up those pieces, but I don't know how I can keep letting my walls down and getting this hurt and going back there. I just don't know. I feel so alone and lost and just plain old tired. And the thought of going back there, any of the places that are there, just exhausts me. I'm beat! The world won. I give up.
I sometimes wonder if it would be safer to just learn to have no strings attached sex, rather than these huge melodramas where I get hurt so badly, where I feel like I'm drowning. I don't know what is wrong with me. Most every female friend I know is totally skeptical about men, assuming they are jerks, unless proven otherwise. I've met several men who were really lovely. OK, Ben was a dick, but the funny thing is, he didn't hurt me nearly as much as these lovely men who then, all for reasons I understood, said "no." And I feel like everyone will say 'no.' No one will ever say 'I want you so badly, I'm willing to change my plans and also willing to risk hurting you, but I'll try not to.' Everything Steven said made sense. Intellectually, I can see his point of view. And yet, I despair inside. I really do. I question whether I'll ever meet someone who truly wants me more than his well-laid plans, more than his best intentions. Just me. For better and worse. For fabulous sex and fabulous conversation. Maybe I should just give up on trying to find kinky and go back to eharmony land. But I doubt I could be a good partner of any kind without having my sexual nature engaged. Steven was a compromise on age. John smoked. I've tried to let go of my illusions and not confuse them with my dreams, but I don't see my way out of this one.
And how pathetic--I keep checking hotmail--hoping he'd change his mind or have figured this out or send me something to assuage the pain.
The problem is, I feel like if I 'play' or if I start having casual sex, I will get bitter. There is a woman in the local 'community' who is very bitter. Angry, alone and unhappy. And I expect it is because she gave things she didn't have to give, in hope of getting something longer-term. And now she has nothing left. But the unicorn in The Glass Menagerie has this beautiful horn. Just beautiful. Makes her special and unique. And fragile. So fragile it could break if you breathed the wrong way. Completely unlovable because humanity requires a little more sturdiness than that. And she just doesn't fit in, so she is all alone. I have so much love I would love to give the right man, and instead, it feels like it is poisoning me in my special, fragile, unique aloneness.
I guess I cursed this one:
(These are direct snippets from our phone call tonight--I had it on mute so he couldn't hear me crying, but it meant I could also type, which helped my intellectual mind take over and my primal, visceral girl calm down.)
"I love you. It's because I love you so much that I couldn't be more convinced it's a mistake. I adore you. I'm hopelessly in love with you. We have to stop it. The difference in where we are in our lives makes it impossible. You create emotions in me I haven't felt in decades. But I don't want to act on them."
Basically--he wants to retire in 2 years and move to Mexico and live on the beach. 17 years is a big, big difference. And he finally realized what I contemplated a month ago, and it terrified him.
And I'm plunged, again, into the deep. I'm in the business center of my hotel, grateful it is completely empty because I have tears streaming down my face and I have to get ahold of myself.
Steven was, in some ways, like dating a mirror image of myself with men that have smitten me. He fell completely and totally in love with me. Said all the things I'd never let myself say, but probably said by actions. And he had more angst than I did! He couldn't proceed, unless he knew exactly how we'd look. I wanted to figure out if we could be on the same track; he wanted to make sure we could love each other forever and make it work. He said he loved me on several occasions, and I felt bad for not being able to say it back. He was the first man to ever say he was in love with me. He said he was considering, not that he was insane and wasn't there yet, but was trying to figure out if we could be married. And we both knew that we'd make love in the next couple of weeks. But I couldn't say "I love you" to him.
So why did I start to arrange my emotional life around him? Why do I feel dead and cold and numb inside? I just don't see how I'll do this again. I know, someday, I'll find the strength to pick up those pieces, but I don't know how I can keep letting my walls down and getting this hurt and going back there. I just don't know. I feel so alone and lost and just plain old tired. And the thought of going back there, any of the places that are there, just exhausts me. I'm beat! The world won. I give up.
I sometimes wonder if it would be safer to just learn to have no strings attached sex, rather than these huge melodramas where I get hurt so badly, where I feel like I'm drowning. I don't know what is wrong with me. Most every female friend I know is totally skeptical about men, assuming they are jerks, unless proven otherwise. I've met several men who were really lovely. OK, Ben was a dick, but the funny thing is, he didn't hurt me nearly as much as these lovely men who then, all for reasons I understood, said "no." And I feel like everyone will say 'no.' No one will ever say 'I want you so badly, I'm willing to change my plans and also willing to risk hurting you, but I'll try not to.' Everything Steven said made sense. Intellectually, I can see his point of view. And yet, I despair inside. I really do. I question whether I'll ever meet someone who truly wants me more than his well-laid plans, more than his best intentions. Just me. For better and worse. For fabulous sex and fabulous conversation. Maybe I should just give up on trying to find kinky and go back to eharmony land. But I doubt I could be a good partner of any kind without having my sexual nature engaged. Steven was a compromise on age. John smoked. I've tried to let go of my illusions and not confuse them with my dreams, but I don't see my way out of this one.
And how pathetic--I keep checking hotmail--hoping he'd change his mind or have figured this out or send me something to assuage the pain.
The problem is, I feel like if I 'play' or if I start having casual sex, I will get bitter. There is a woman in the local 'community' who is very bitter. Angry, alone and unhappy. And I expect it is because she gave things she didn't have to give, in hope of getting something longer-term. And now she has nothing left. But the unicorn in The Glass Menagerie has this beautiful horn. Just beautiful. Makes her special and unique. And fragile. So fragile it could break if you breathed the wrong way. Completely unlovable because humanity requires a little more sturdiness than that. And she just doesn't fit in, so she is all alone. I have so much love I would love to give the right man, and instead, it feels like it is poisoning me in my special, fragile, unique aloneness.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
Into the Deep
I must believe in astrology, because if part of me didn't find it useful, I wouldn't follow it. Intellectually, I doubt it, but it just seems right an awful lot of the time.
And astrologically speaking, the full moon in my opposite sign means I'm having a hard time: "arguments are raging, conflicts are emerging, stressful situations are arising and misunderstandings keep taking place. It is also why you feel so emotionally vulnerable - and why secretly, deep down within, you feel fearful" (Jonathan Cainer, http://www.bubble.com/).
Well, I'm glad there's a good reason that I feel like hell. I was in the park yesterday, walking and looking down at the city, and I just burst into tears. I could have stopped myself. I've always been good at keeping up the public persona, but it didn't feel worth it. I'm tired of manipulating my emotions, tired of the gaping chasm between my public persona and who I am inside, tired of spending so much energy to protect my vulnerabilities. I did find a nook with privacy, but it surprised me that I just cried in public like that. I hope that isn't the first step towards tinfoil haberdashery, but I guess if that's where I end up being happy, I'll be fine with it by the time I make that choice. I'd rather live fully right now than spend so much energy on trying to stay within other people's definitions of normal.
What have I learned from this roller-coaster ride? Nothing. If I had to do it all over again, I'd do it exactly the same way. And so much. I've begun to actually feel (and not just know) that my biggest weaknesses are some of the best things I've got to offer. I've learned that I won't compromise on human connection. I can compromise on a ton of stuff that isn't essential, but truly connecting with another person, and letting him see who you really are is magical. Terrifying as all hell, but worth risking for, every single time. I've started to connect with people better--I don't multi-task when someone comes in my office to ask me a question. I actually stop what I'm doing and give them my full attention and work is more joyous and present because of it.
I would love to not need another AFOG (Another Fucking Opportunity for Growth), but, fundamentally, I don't believe we get to pick that easily. We have a choice: go deeper or numb out. We don't get to be static.
I spent a lot of energy (and pills) in the last decade trying to feel happy. I can manipulate my emotions pretty easily. Even though I've been off the SSRIs for 3 years, I still can on a short-term level--I have 'happy lists' on my iPod. I can choose what to think about, control my thoughts to be content, at least on a surface level. This seems like the ideal for a Jane Austen heroine, but it wasn't working for me; it kept me on a more superficial level and didn't allow me the level of connection for which I yearn . Not that I need to involve everyone in my own personal melodrama, but I probably need to allow myself to go into it and not view it only as a sign of weakness.
I'm proud of myself for not running away from the pain. It is really hard for me, but I am allowing myself to feel, and I believe I can only connect with another person as deeply as I feel the pain of loss.
And astrologically speaking, the full moon in my opposite sign means I'm having a hard time: "arguments are raging, conflicts are emerging, stressful situations are arising and misunderstandings keep taking place. It is also why you feel so emotionally vulnerable - and why secretly, deep down within, you feel fearful" (Jonathan Cainer, http://www.bubble.com/).
Well, I'm glad there's a good reason that I feel like hell. I was in the park yesterday, walking and looking down at the city, and I just burst into tears. I could have stopped myself. I've always been good at keeping up the public persona, but it didn't feel worth it. I'm tired of manipulating my emotions, tired of the gaping chasm between my public persona and who I am inside, tired of spending so much energy to protect my vulnerabilities. I did find a nook with privacy, but it surprised me that I just cried in public like that. I hope that isn't the first step towards tinfoil haberdashery, but I guess if that's where I end up being happy, I'll be fine with it by the time I make that choice. I'd rather live fully right now than spend so much energy on trying to stay within other people's definitions of normal.
What have I learned from this roller-coaster ride? Nothing. If I had to do it all over again, I'd do it exactly the same way. And so much. I've begun to actually feel (and not just know) that my biggest weaknesses are some of the best things I've got to offer. I've learned that I won't compromise on human connection. I can compromise on a ton of stuff that isn't essential, but truly connecting with another person, and letting him see who you really are is magical. Terrifying as all hell, but worth risking for, every single time. I've started to connect with people better--I don't multi-task when someone comes in my office to ask me a question. I actually stop what I'm doing and give them my full attention and work is more joyous and present because of it.
I would love to not need another AFOG (Another Fucking Opportunity for Growth), but, fundamentally, I don't believe we get to pick that easily. We have a choice: go deeper or numb out. We don't get to be static.
I spent a lot of energy (and pills) in the last decade trying to feel happy. I can manipulate my emotions pretty easily. Even though I've been off the SSRIs for 3 years, I still can on a short-term level--I have 'happy lists' on my iPod. I can choose what to think about, control my thoughts to be content, at least on a surface level. This seems like the ideal for a Jane Austen heroine, but it wasn't working for me; it kept me on a more superficial level and didn't allow me the level of connection for which I yearn . Not that I need to involve everyone in my own personal melodrama, but I probably need to allow myself to go into it and not view it only as a sign of weakness.
I'm proud of myself for not running away from the pain. It is really hard for me, but I am allowing myself to feel, and I believe I can only connect with another person as deeply as I feel the pain of loss.
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