I'm Smarter Than Most People.

I can't believe I just said that! What kind of person, no what kind of woman, would believe she was smarter than most people? That is a statement of such hubris. No one could love a person, no a woman, who thought that.

I was put in "Gifted and Talented Education" in the 4th grade. My dad explained it was a program for people with no social skills. He repeated this over and over till I called him on it last month. When I had my first letter to the editor published, at 11, protesting the funding of contra-aid in Nicaragua and comparing the history of our involvement there to our involvement in the Philippines, the head of the journalism department at the local college wrote to tell me I should be a journalist. And my dad said "he thought there would be something wrong, but he wasn't ashamed or anything."

If I'd argue facts. He'd reply: "Is it better to be right than to be loved?" Obviously, no one could love a person, no a woman, who was right. And so I'd try to ignore facts. Giggle and ask a question. Or state something I thought right, but with an ever-escalating pitch. So if I said "well, I think Reaganomics is increasing social stratification" I'd inflect it like "Omigod you guys, want to go to the mall!?" And then I'd say "but that's just my opinion--I'm probably wrong. What do I know? Sorry."

I took an IQ test 2 times--146 & 154. Now, of course those tests are biased. It doesn't measure physical ability, or musical ability or emotional IQ or any of Gardner's multiple intelligences. My father told me, often, and surprisingly common for a man who graduated with a doctorate from one of the top 5 programs in the country, that IQ didn't matter. Over and over. But deep down, I still believed I was smarter than most people, and I also believed that this primarily served to make me unlovable.

By 20, I was a TA for college courses. My GRE scores qualified me for Mensa--I didn't mean to know that--I never tried to get in. I read it accidentally in the back of a magazine. I thought about going to a Mensa thing so that I'd fit in, but I didn't want to be like that.

I spent my 20s trying to hide the fact I was smart. My father explained that numerous post-graduate degrees just showed I didn't know how to navigate in the real world, so I'd dismiss them with a giggle. If someone found out. I actually did a number of job applications where I left off all the letters except my B.A. (Not in my career, just in day jobs, but still.) I studied how to act dumb. I'm also blond, with a relatively high-pitched voice, so that didn't hurt the perception. A problem developed, repeatedly, however: I hated people assuming I was dumb. I hated myself for not being able to be myself and I hated other people for believing it.

Now, I know there are lots of different ways of processing information. I happen to be good at thinking the way our society tends to reward. I have a lousy sense of pitch. I'm not athletic. I let my sense of 'facts' and 'right & wrong' cloud emotional needs of people. But, it is statistically true that I am smarter than most people in the way our society tends to measure. That doesn't mean I'm better. And I honestly would change it if I could. Ideally, I'd like to be in the top 10%, not the top 1%. But it is just who I am. If I had been taller than most people, I wouldn't view it as being superior--just a fact. Why it become so hard to accept this fact, not make it a bigger deal than it is, but also not deny my perception of reality, I don't know. I really believed, for a very long time, that it made me essentially unlovable. And no man will argue with a woman over whether she is worthy of love.

None of my friends understand why I stayed with my ex for as long as I did. But he liked the fact I was smart. He revelled in it. And he thought I was sexy looking. My two greatest flaws (my looks and my mind) and he said "me likey!" We were great friends, even if we weren't compatible on a number of core issues. But that profoundly healed the absolutely certainty inside that I was unlovable. He taught me that I could be myself and be loved. What a gift!

Just to be fair: my dad is actually a wonderful human being, and I hate that I have unresolved issues with him. Part of the reason I do is that he is a really wonderful friend and parent and I idealized him until recently. If I'd started to unravel the few places he sabotaged me (as do all parents, no matter how well-meaning) at a developmentally appropriate time, like as a teenager when most people do, I'd be more balanced here. But he isn't at all the ogre I make him out to be. He would be the first to say "I goofed up there--do you want to go to therapy together and talk about this?" My problem is I hate doing therapy, especially with my parents. If you met him, you'd think he was truly an amazing man.

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.

The Rules

I should preface this by saying, I've never read The Rules, only deconstructions of the book. Maybe it is a perfectly nice book that just got bad press. But I doubt it.

Steven is teaching me his rules. I was late on Sunday for a date, and I was running 2 blocks from the bus stop to the restaurant. (I'd already called him to tell him I'd be a bit late.) And he said later: "Listen to me: If you are late, I don't want you running. I can wait." Twice he has dropped me off at home, and both times, he has gone several blocks out of his way so I wouldn't have to cross the street. Then he puts his blinkers on, gets out of the car and opens the door for me. Oh, and I'm not to reach across the car to open the door for him--he doesnt want me to strain myself. And it is charming. All of it.

He is SO sweet. And he adores me. I've never had any man treat me the way he does. he cares more for me than I do for him. It isn't a question of us not being on the same path--he's just a couple of miles ahead of me and I need to catch up. But all the little things he does for me are indicative of how much he adores me. (And other things too--we've had a couple of long conversations where he has made that abundantly clear.)

It got me thinking about The Rules, and all the games gals play--it seems like they are just a way to try and force a man to behave as if he adores you. I can see in moderation, not seeming like you are insane is a good thing. And if you don't have a life, there's no reason to be too obvious with that. But most of the rest--it seems predicated on the notion that actions bring emotions, rather than vice-versa. It is true, I've tried like hell to not seem insane by whispering "I love you" to someone I hardly know. And I've attempted to fake not being clingy. But the rest just seems bizarre--almost like "well, if I wear hoopskirts, then men will behave the way they do in 19th century romance novels!"

The flip-side, however, is that the more protected I feel in a situation like this, the softer I get. And the softer I get, the more he wants to take care of me. I had an ugly incident with a crazy, probably homeless, man, who came up and shoved me and started yelling at me after I stepped on his imaginary dog or something, and the fact that the men on the street didn't even stop what they were doing to keep an eye on it, it really surprised me. I'm just as capable of taking care of myself as I was 5 years ago, but it draws on a part of me I rarely call on anymore and it took me an hour, at least, before I felt less jumpy. I wouldn't trade my softness, but it is a trade-off.

Being Tamed

Steven (ignore the last post--everything changed, again) said everything I’ve ever wanted to have said to me, most importantly that he wasn’t looking for a relationship, hadn’t wanted to find one, but he wanted to be with me and had to come at it from my end of things. He also thinks I’m “magnificent” and that I make him feel like he hasn’t felt for years. He actually said something like “how would we live together? There’s so much energy that we’d use it all up!” The fact that he is thinking those thoughts, and saying them outloud, is really lovely. I wasn’t sure for the first minute that we met, but then he put his arm around me and turned me towards the table to ask which seat I’d would prefer and it felt natural, like coming home.

After dinner we went for a walk in the park, and he kissed me. And kissed me. And kissed me. And for that moment, I was tamed.

I love my bouncy, bubbly energy. I love the spontaneity and joy and playfulness. But under that, and only occasionally, there is a completely different girl down there. She isn’t sophisticated or smart, or witty or clever or cynical. She doesn’t need any of those. She looks up into his eyes and knows she is safe and protected and she doesn’t need any of the skills she uses to try and survive in the world. All she needs is his arm around her, telling her she is safe.

Every time I get to that place, it surprises me, and it certainly surprised Steven—he said several times during dinner “You are the most unlikely submissive” and “are you sure you’re a submissive?” And then he knew absolutely. I know where I belong.

Steven really likes me, and I want to be careful I don’t lead him on because I need a little more time to get where he is at, but I believe I’m headed in that direction. I really enjoy his company and he can tame me and he would cherish me. I’ve never been cherished. So I really want to give this a chance. I'm excited!

Staving off the Panic

Bad week. I can feel the panic start to fill my lungs. Not a full-blown panic attack. My heart heart is normal. My palms aren't sweaty. But my lungs feel constricted. I don't really want to get out of bed. Like a Jane Austen heroine, I'm trying to keep up a good face as I come face to face with the realization that no one loves me and I will die alone.

Of course, intellectually, I know the first half isn't the least bit true and the second half hopefully won't be and it is a long way off (hopefully).

But it makes me aware of what it is I've been so frantically avoiding. When I wrote I was "addicted to dating"--it was my fear of this feeling.

I'm a Scorpio--incredibly passionate, but also there are times I just freeze. I ignore my emotions. Run, run far away. Don't let myself see anything. For years at a time. I do not want to go there ever again.

I've avoided going back on-line to find someone else for days now (for me, this is hard). I need to face this. I can't use men, even as much as I enjoy being with them, as a way to stave off the panic. That isn't the basis of anything good.

And I finally figured out the source of my panic: I'm going to die. Not this year, or next, or this decade, or next. But I'm probably about halfway through my life. I'm not young anymore. This year, I started to put moisturizer on every day because I now have lines on my face. Intellectually, I've always known I would die someday. But I didn't really.

The funny thing is, realizing the source of my panic makes my dating obsession a little more OK. I think humanity has often used sex to avoid dealing with our own mortality. If I were using it to avoid dealing with something else, I'd need to confront that and deal with it. But how much do I need to face my fear of my own death? How much do I need to deal with it?

I have regrets, though. I never really was young. I can't be now, and I never will be. I never was pretty till the last few years, and I only have a couple years left of that. I didn't learn how to flirt. I got a doctorate when other girls got boyfriends. I love my work. But I don't want that to be all of me. I want a do-over! I want to go be young and get to be skinny and confident this time! I hate that this is the only life I get (at least that's what I think). I wish I believed in God or reincarnation, or something. But I don't.

And I feel like I get a choice--I can focus on finishing my book or try to find someone to decide whether I want a family or not. Try to make a very small impact on a large scale or a large impact on a small scale. But, I have to focus my energy and let the other go, at least for now (if it is my book) or forever (if it is wanting a family). I don't even want a family--I just want to make that choice with someone. I'm leaning towards the latter. I wish I had the discipline to do both.

Hillary shows vulnerability

This isn't a political blog, but I need to comment on the reaction to Hillary saying she was having a hard time.

In my town, every single paper (except our biggie one), even the Spanish language papers have Hillary Clinton on the front with statements about how she is 'losing it.' And for what? Saying it was hard? Blinking away a tear of exhaustion? I was 12 when I picked my first monologue for acting class. It was from Arthur Laurents' A Clearing in the Woods and it went: "I'm not strong any more. I'm exhausted from pretending to be. I'm human. I'm vulnerable. I hurt." 12 years old and I was already exhausted from pretending to be strong. When did I not have to be?

Much of why I am here as a kinky soul, is that it gives me permission to be vulnerable. It is expected that a submissive will be vulnerable. It is also expected that the Dominant will create a safe environment for that vulnerability and cherish it. It is a real gift.

But why the hell shouldn't all women, no all people, have the freedom to show vulnerability? We actually give men far more credit when they do it. Well, straight men. Gay men probably have it worse than women. But if any of the men running had done that, all the media would be congratulating him. Bush repeated how "hard" the presidency was about 50 times (and used that as an excuse for incompetence) before it became a joke. But if a woman says "It is hard" and some people say she might have blinked away a tear, all of a sudden she is falling apart, emotional, unfit.

Edwards' attack of her was unforgiveable. I'd given him quite a bit of money, but I won't be voting for him. He basically just told ever woman everywhere that if they let their guard down, for even a second, men will attack. We have to spend all that energy appearing strong.

We need to get to a point in our society where all of us can share our vulnerabilities, not just build little fortresses up to defend them.

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.