Magical Thinking

So I went out on a date with a guy I'd met at a bar maybe 3 weeks ago. He is the only man who's ever asked me for my phone number in a bar. (I've been making a concerted effort to make eye contact and smile at men.) I'd been out of town, and then this happened, and part of me said 'You're being melodramatic, Constance.--You haven't dated him for over a year.' So I didn't break our date.

He is a sweet guy. But he's 23. I would never have agreed to go out if I'd known he was 23. But, whatever. I couldn't actually walk out on him because of his age.

He kissed me and I started to cry, and then I felt so bad. He was like "it isn't me, is it?" And I assured him it wasn't. We went to John's and my park (although we went to areas that weren't where John and I would hang out). That park is very much at the center of my world. After John left, I had to reclaim it. Now that he's dead I will have to reclaim it again. But this was maybe a bit too quickly.

The kid said he knew I was older than him, but he loved how confident I was and then he kissed me and I burst into tears. Why the hell can I be confident for everyone except someone I actually love? I guess it is that whole bifurcated thing. Ms. Chatterley Esq. is totally confident, but little Constance (Connie?) is not. John knew how fragile Connie is. When he said: "nothing will ever be so intense as the anger and disappointment of a man. And nothing will ever be finer than his warmth and acceptance and love, the joy of release" that's for Connie. Well, maybe it is for Lady Chatterley too. I don't know.

Here's the weird thing, though. Since John left me and the Republican slapped me, Connie has sort of disappeared. I don't fantasize about wiitwd anymore. I mean, I do if I want to come, but none of the rest of the time. By the time the guy I was dating this year and I broke up, we were hardly having sex. (Part of this is he was a morning sex guy and I'm an evening sex gal, but still...). I hardly ever 'take care of myself' (and I used to like every day--now it is once or twice a month I bother to finish the job) and when I do, my orgasms are maybe 10% of what they used to be (when I bother to have one at all).

I am taking care of Connie is odd ways. She likes pink and flowers and playing on swings and blowing bubbles and cupcakes, and skirts with lots of fabric. I kid you not. Next I'll be buying a Disney Princess dress (or not). Since John left, the more attention I've paid to my 'inner child,' the younger she got, and she lost interest in sex. I'm trying to check in with her more often. I've been journaling, with using my left hand for Connie and my right hand for Lady Chatterley, Esq.

So in a way, I am much less bifurcated than I was. But I miss really intense, strong, fabulous sex. Part of me wonders if shame isn't sexy. If getting rid of the bifurcation means I lose having strong orgasms, I wonder if it is worth it?

And I miss John. I miss conversation that could go anywhere and share anything. I miss being with someone rather than doing things with someone. (Unless you consider walking and talking 'doing' something.) I miss the level of sharing. I've never had that with anyone in my entire life. Not any shrink. Not any friend. John's the only one. With John, I knew he would always support me in my vulnerability. (Not in my insecurities; he wanted me to slay them, but that's a different story.) And I miss the intellectual fireworks. I miss other things too. He was terribly handsome, and when he smiled, his whole face would light up. And he smiled often. Whenever we went out to eat or drink, he always ordered for me. And he knew me well enough to know exactly what I'd like, but that I'd always order from the bottom of the menu, so he'd pick out the dish that I would love, but would never want to spend money on. (He never let me pay for anything. I actually argued with him about it because I felt like I was taking advantage of him in a way. Or more, he had issues with women taking advantage of him, and I didn't want him to feel like I was.) Intellectually, I wouldn't think I'd like having a guy order for me, but it was so sweet and loving. If he hadn't ordered what I'd like, it would have been odd. But he'd be like "ooh--this fish with truffles---I bet you'd love truffles--let's see if we can get it on chicken instead, with fresh string beans, and plenty of wild mushrooms. And you'll have the arugula and pear salad, with the dressing on the side." And he wouldn't even ask if I'd want a drink, he'd just order me a sidecar or a whiskey sour, or some beautiful, sweet, fresh, girlie drink. And when I'd slow down, there would be San Pellagrino just waiting for me. We'd meet for a late brunch because he knew it was my favorite meal. Once he bought me an $18 pear and blueberry martini! And I said "don't waste your money on that!" and he said 'I want you to enjoy it.' And the pears were sliced so thin, all over the bottom of the glass, with beautiful fresh blueberries all over. It was so decadent. And so lovely. And sometimes, I'd send him an e-mail--a silly one, and he'd write something like: "You probably have no idea how honored I am that you share these inner thoughts with me." Me, honored him by sharing the ideas that most people think are just boring. The number of times he spoke of me honoring him is more than I can count.

Or something like this:

Do not think you disappoint me, Constance, as you do not J

I reject that in you which seeks to confine that in you! I embrace your releasing self, very truly! Very fully. I feel like I have life I can share with you! And I need not even touch you (unless you want that). I feel truly that it is a simple matter. Know what we are. Accept ourselves. See the way in which it works with someone else who understands. You are reborn into beauty. Pain becomes power. Anguish becomes joy. The beauty of our people is that they cannot achieve these things alone. We depend on each other. We must depend on each other. We depend on each other.

When you integrate, my friend, it will take your breath away J

I hope you will be there to witness it.

That is part of the beauty, and part of the curse, of what we are. We want so much to stand alone, but we cannot. We must eventually yield to the fact that we need each other. And we need something nobody else can give us. Only those who understand.

And when we find that understanding and acceptance, it is the feeling of coming home, of finding others of our kind J

Oh, and he always wrote his e-mails to me in blue. (Well, not always, but most of the time) and used Zap Dingbats to make those smiles, which he used often. I don't think in our hundreds of pages of correspondence he had a single typo (and I had several--probably one every 3-4 pages or so.) And it really felt like we were simpatico. We were kindred spirits. Both damaged in various ways. I told him once that he'd like my parents and he replied: "I am utterly certain I would like your parents and yet pardon me, really forgive me, for wishing they hadn't wounded you while they were protecting you." (And I'm sure my parents would agree with that one.) And that's really it, isn't it? I trusted him enough to show him my wounds because he had similar wounds and could understand why something hurt. And he could see my love for my parents and that the wounds were real.

He loved my writing. He ever read an early (and bad) draft of my romantic novel and wrote

I think it's entirely great :)

I knew you could write but this is exceptional even for you, especially when I factor in the time you needed to achieve it - this just poured out of you in excellent condition :)

The dialog! If I had to point to one thing that I was most impressed with, that would be it. In hindsight I can't imagine why I should be surprised. You've only devoted a large chunk of your time, your life, and those wonderful brains of yours to studying the art of the word, but you my dear have a black belt :)

When are you going to start shopping it around?

I am kicking myself for taking so long :)

I think it's excellent that MY friend can do this - I know it's silly but somehow it makes me feel like this whole choosing the right people business is something I do get right once in a blue moon :)

He supported me in some many ways. "For the record, I find you entirely charming J You fear, but you persist – you relentlessly seek clarity – as habits go, one could do a lot worse J"

God, I loved him so much! If I had to do it over (and I knew what was going to happen), I would have just cherished every day with him as a friend, instead of wanting more. Not that I know how to do that, but that's what I wish I could have done. If I'd just been happy in the present moment, and never read "He's just not that into you." I could have had another year of his friendship. If I hadn't been so scared that he didn't like me, maybe he wouldn't have been scared to express that. He didn't want to let me down, I don't think. (Of course, he claimed he didn't realize the scope of my feelings, which I don't think is true. But I'm a Scorpio. The week before he died (well two weeks, but I'm not counting the week in the coma) he asked why I had kept the scope of my feelings from him. I just assumed he knew. And I assumed that it wouldn't bring us any closer. If I hadn't felt that way, it wouldn't have been hard to be his friend. And since he never agreed not to read the blog, and I know for a fact that he read it for a while, I figured if he ever wanted to know how I felt, he'd read it.

I keep thinking this isn't real. If it weren't for the obituary that ran on the NY Times web site, I really wouldn't think it was real. I half expected him to be at the memorial. Like it was all some elaborate hoax to test me, or something. I don't understand how this gem of a man can actually be dead. I just don't. Dick Cheney doesn't even have a pulse and he has to be plugged in every night and John is half his age and is dead.

I know I have to be brave enough to love someone again. Knowing it will never be the same, but maybe it will be different. But I don't see how.

And never a new love will be the same...

I keep singing "The Man That Got Away." I collapsed in hysterics last night, and, in a melodramatic moment, told the universe I would give half of all my remaining days on earth if I could have them with John, if he and I could have figured stuff out.

Going through all our old e-mails is kind of torture. I'd estimate I have about half of them left to do (There's a total of 247 threads with him, some of which are 100 messages, and some of which are only a dozen, and I have 119 threads left). January of 09 is when I was the most in love with him and I'm almost dreading it; I'm up to the end of November, 08. We are getting in deeper, but for the most part, I'm sharing more than he is. But it isn't a huge mismatch. He knows specifics about my dreams--I know general contours of his. But I know that he has almost super-powers in his dreams, but feels horrible in them because he doesn't have the willpower to control the superpowers--he can stop something from falling for a while, but the energy wears him out and things eventually fall. The perfectionism he gave me a hard time for was evident in his dreams.

It's funny--"John" didn't like "Steven" and "Steven" didn't like "John." I was in love with John and he wasn't ready for a relationship; maybe once he became the man he aspired to be. Steven was in love with me (he said at one point), but broke up with me because he didn't want a youngish relationship (if I'm remembering and understanding correctly). (I think I would have fallen in love with Steven, with a little more time. John and I dated on and off for ages.)

Both men cared about me a great deal, at least it seemed at various moments, and both diagnosed my bifurcation with similar love and care and wanted me to accept both sides of myself. Both men thought that I could do that with them, and I think if either one had turned into a long-term relationship, I would have.

Each guy (the only 2 that I've dated who have my blog URL) thought the other wasn't serious about me and thought I deserved a true love who would have loved me the way he would have if it had been the right time. Steven was 15 years older than John, and Steven sent me a lovely note after I told him that John died.

As Ira Gershwin wrote: "Never a new love will be the same." But maybe it will be possible, to get a different love.

John didn't actually want me for himself as much as he wanted to see me thrive. Last night, I had to get sheets out of the laundry room, and I actually found myself, as I cried in my nightgown, saying "Constance, John would want you to get your bed made and sleep comfortably." And it worked. I did what I knew I had to do. John wouldn't want my back to hurt from sleeping on the floor because I was too beat from mourning him.

And ultimately, I think John would be touched by how much I miss him. And maybe, if there's any form of afterlife that allows beings to peak at earth, he would look through our relationship and see my good sides over my bad and wish me loving kindness and peace.

But he'd want me to thrive. He's want me to thrive more for him having touched me. It would devastate him if he thought he'd done me harm. And so I have to make sure that I keep perspective and don't drown. Not today, or this week or even this month. But this year. I have to work on taking his lessons, and be stronger for having loved him. And know: never a new love will be the same. But a new love can be different.

Now you know. Life is Crummy. Well now you know.

I've been going through John's and my e-mail. At 231 pages (singles spaced, 11 pt font, but who's counting), I'm probably about halfway through.

There's a lot of gems, some hurt, some long spaces, when I know he was seeing other people. I forgot about the woman in Texas he started seeing after he and I had the most wonderful time together. And this exchange from October 27, 2008

Constance, I'm not good enough for you. I say that with no false modesty. It's just the simple truth as I understand it, after long and careful thought. You deserve the man I aspire to become.

If you ever truly want to, really and truly, we could journey there together.

And, FWIW, I'm not the woman I want to become. I'm working on it. Slowly, slowly, slowly. I really, really respect that you are in process of becoming.

And thank you for sending that e-mail. It means a great deal.

I need to be in a better place, Constance. Else I dishonor you.

I know I may sound hokey but hey, what do you want, I'm a little hokey.

I'm hokey too. I understand.

I really wish you so much joy and happiness and the way to find the journey that suits you.

I miss you!

I miss you too. And I understand that you need to sort things out.

I hope that once things get a little easier in your life, maybe will have the opportunity to re-connect.

and I have so much respect for, and like you *so much*.

Damn it. He thought I deserved the man he wished to become. Even if I believed in reincarnation, that won't happen in this lifetime. And so I sing Sondheim to try and comfort myself, but I don't even want to grow from John's death. That feels wrong and selfish and horrible. I want to wake up and find it's all a bad dream. Or a test.

All right, now you know:
Life is crummy.
Well, now you know.

I mean, big surprise:
People love you and tell you lies.
Bricks can fall out of clear blue skies.
Put your dimple down,
Now you know.

Okay, there you go —
Learn to live with it,
Now you know.

It's called flowers wilt,
It's called apples rot,
It's called thieves get rich and saints get shot,
It's called God don't answer prayers a lot,
Okay, now you know.

Okay, now you know,
Now forget it.
Don't fall apart at the seams.
It's called letting go your illusions,
And don't confuse them with dreams.

Yes sir, quite a blow —
Don't regret it,
And don't let's go to extremes.
It's called what's your choice?
It's called count to ten.
It's called burn your bridges, start again.
You should burn them every now and then
Or you'll never grow!

Because now you grow.
That's the killer, is
Now you grow.

You're right, nothing's fair,
And it's all a plot,
And tomorrow doesn't look so hot —
Right, you better look at what you've got:
Over here, hello?
Okay, now you know.

"For you, love when you are imperfect"

I'm trying to go through all my e-mails with John. The first three weeks produced 134 pages, single spaced, so I'm saving the most important bits, especially those that feel loving or wise in a separate document.

I was rather shocked to read that I wrote this on Oct 6, 2007: None of your things (his list of his own faults) scared me (aside from the thought that you would die young, and that's what was really hidden under your words, but you didn't want to tell me), because it is what it is.

How the hell did I pick that up? Was it the smoking? I look at his list of flaws and cannot figure out where that came from.

But this exchange from October 15, 2007 seemed worth sharing. (John's e-mails are in blue. Mine in black. Turns out if you use google chrome, you can put and paste instead of having to retype.)

I just got turned down by the one man I've always tried hardest to please. And it hurt like fucking hell. I wrote him:

Hi Dad,

I propose you and I apply to do this together. If we try to do it with the 4 of us, it will never happen, but I would LOVE to do this for a week with you. If we do it, we should both apply.

http://www.yosemitepark.com/Accommodations_HighSierra_HowtoApply.aspx

Constance

And he didn't reply and then he was like "Oh, I went to the high sierras when I was a kid." Really casually. But he and my brother go hiking in the same areas all the time. And I hate the fact that I'm 35 years old and a casual comment from him can still bring me to tears. I know if I tell him, he'll care, but I don't want to make a big deal of it. It just seems, with me, it is evaluating whether the activity is worthwhile, and with my brother, it is finding time to hang out with him.

Part of it is that my brother is really busy and just doesn't make my parents a priority. My dad is the only man I literally 'play hard to get' with. I don't return all his e-mails, don't call him unless he's called me first, get off the phone quickly half the time, because our relationship works SO much better when I do. But I'd so much rather just relax and be. But when I do that with him, he pulls away and starts to get critical. God, I sound like a mess! Ah, well. You asked to hear about my dirty laundry, and I guess I trust you (mixed signals and all) enough to share it.

Mixed signals? I assure you my signals are genuine. They are simple but not easy. I would not trouble you with less.

You show me yours, I will show you mine.

All I ever wanted was to have the love of my family. I didn’t have it when I was a kid. Always the castoff, the rejected. When I was a teenager I tried again, to the same result. I went to the edge of the continent, worked a decade to prepare myself, strengthen myself, develop wisdom and strength and resourcefulness. I tore myself from my uncle who had sustained me, went to Seattle to truly stand or truly fall on my own merits. When I returned to my homeland it was with the deepest sacrifice. I gave up my home. My work. My friends. My success. My money. Everything.

I remember shortly after I returned to my homeland, Ohio, and I called my family and told them I was planning a family barbecue. I had no money. I scraped and scraped to buy hot dogs and soda and buns and charcoal. Everything was in readiness. Nobody showed up.

Seventeen members of my family didn’t show up.

I am with you, Constance. I know that ache, that need, that anguish. I have been there, and nobody came. I know the howl you hear within you. I hear it too. Sometimes it’s what howls me to sleep at night. Sometimes it’s what wakes me up.

I am not so naïve as to offer you solutions. Instead I offer solidarity. That howl tears me too.

I wish we lived close by. I would love a hug. And give you a really long one.

Thank you for sharing. I wish I could go back and hang out with you on that day and let you know how much you mean to this world.

We are wounded birds, Constance. To you, nothing will ever be so intense as the anger and disappointment of a man. And nothing will ever be finer than his warmth and acceptance and love, the joy of release. For me, nothing will ever be so painful as the rejection of those who should love me, and nothing will ever be finer than expressing my pain, my anguish, the joy of release. Do you know what I mean? We are symmetrical. We are each personal pain accepted and personal pain delivered. We are tales of ruin and of redemption.

Yes. That resonates as true. And I also think our strengths come from there. Neither of us has just ignored it and numbed out. We've faced it, and we're alive and vital. We can't avoid the pain without limiting our capacity to feel all the wonderful things too. The depth of our pain is the height of our joy.

Thank you for sharing and being a safe place to share.

Absolutely our strengths come from there J

Where do you think you found the will to *deserve*? And you do deserve, so magnificently. Where did you find the will to achieve?

Where did I find the strength to controvert? To transcend? To obviate?

But our old pains still ache us, and we still long for what satisfies. For you, love, when you are imperfect. For me, likewise. Your inner father is a tyrant, to whom you wish to yield until he is pleased. For me, my inner mother is a monster, whom I long to rise up and conquer, and earn her love with my strength.

That we have learned to take joy, even rapture, from our deepest wounds, shows us that we have indeed transcended, incorporated. It is not the way one would wish to learn powerful things. But one does not learn powerful things the easy way. Ours were long hard roads. We emerge weary but also toughened and able. We went so long without shelter that we need it not. But oh how we crave it. We must conquer, each in our own way, what both gives and deprives us of shelter. But it is shelter we seek. Shelter and warmth and acceptance.

Reading your summary, it seems like all my sex issues come from my father issues, and I feel like I ought to have moved beyond that, so much! I've never go to the "daddy" playing because it just feels SO wrong! Moving on and letting go. And yet, I never do it completely. Never able to stop proving myself, trying to be enough of something. I don't know.

And I know you don't have any judgment there--and I'm so grateful to you for that. But I still have judgment there. I keep thinking I ought to be able to make myself whole and complete on my own, and on one level I have, but on another, I still yearn for approval and protection and not to have to do anything--just to be. But I do project my inner father, no a healing of the wounds created by my inner-father--into the sexual sphere. I need a partner who will help heal those scars in my soul. And I wonder if that is true for all of our people?

It's funny--my dad told me this year, the week of my grandma's funeral, and it was clear he'd felt guilty about this for years--he and my mom had an agreement that if she got pregnant she'd get an abortion, and once she got pregnant she said "I can't" with no discussion, and my dad resented her and me for a while. And I totally understood his resentment! Totally. But the fact that he felt guilty about it, for 35 years! He is normally SO careful around me--he never criticizes me. He's even told me several times in the last year how beautiful I am, and how he expects men are falling all over me, and I couldn't believe how much that meant to me. I was in the 7th grade when he told me that no man would ever love me if I didn't lose weight. And I told him to fuck off (although not in those words) and closed my heart and never even tried to date.

Anyway.... thank you for listening. And thank you even more for sharing. You are an amazing person John. Really amazing--I've only ever shared that stuff with a shrink. I am loving getting to know you.

Do not think you disappoint me, Constance, as you do not J

I reject that in you which seeks to confine that in you! I embrace your releasing self, very truly! Very fully. I feel like I have life I can share with you! And I need not even touch you (unless you want that). I feel truly that it is a simple matter. Know what we are. Accept ourselves. See the way in which it works with someone else who understands. You are reborn into beauty. Pain becomes power. Anguish becomes joy. The beauty of our people is that they cannot achieve these things alone. We depend on each other. We must depend on each other. We depend on each other.

When you integrate, my friend, it will take your breath away J

I hope you will be there to witness it.

That is part of the beauty, and part of the curse, of what we are. We want so much to stand alone, but we cannot. We must eventually yield to the fact that we need each other. And we need something nobody else can give us. Only those who understand.

And when we find that understanding and acceptance, it is the feeling of coming home, of finding others of our kind J

Yes. Yes. Yes. Amen.

How the hell did you get to be so enlightened? So aware? So strong in your vulnerability? So clear and focused?

Sleep well. Deep, restful, peaceful, joyful loving sleep.

I love you John. Not in a sexual way, or a romantic or an erotic way. In a "I trust you completely with who I am, and I'll be there for you--you can call me at 3 in the morning if you need someone. Or even at 7 in the morning!" kind of way.

Then, he spoke about Jamie, the gal he was 'playing' with in a non-sexual way. And I shut down. And the next day he wrote: "I love you back" and I forget he had ever said that.

John's Memorial

I went to John's memorial today. I cried I was a getting dressed. I cried as I put on make-up. I cried as I took off make-up, knowing there was no way I could handle make-up today. I passed a wedding on the way there, and I cried under my sunglasses. And when I got there, I cried and cried and cried. John would never have recognized the gal who has the small talk on the surface and the simmering passions underneath. I was clearly the only person there who was mourning.

Frankly, I think it was fucked up. Everyone, except a few, were people from the company he worked at, which went out of business about a year ago, so most people were mostly just wanting to catch up with each other. Sorry that John died, but more 'wasn't he a great guy?' Even the slide retrospective was of the company, not of John.

One of the women brought a single-tail whip that John had given her, and people were playing with it and everyone was assuring everyone that of course, John wasn't into S&M and making fun of people who were. And I just held my tongue.

There were a lot of other places that people just didn't know John at all. They knew a persona. Which I find odd, because he was so proud with me about not having a persona. I somehow thought that extended to the rest of the world. My stories just didn't fit in with the John they knew.

Everyone was so upbeat! I don't get upbeat memorials. You would think if there was one place that public displays of emotion were OK it would be a memorial. But I guess that's outre. I was outre. And I was drunk. I haven't been that drunk since the night John and I had a big fight, but 3 drinks will totally take me out. I seemed out of place--a downer at that memorial.

I went in the bathroom because I could tell I was going to lose it (again) and I bawled my eyes out. I cried SO hard. I was a downer. And this lovely woman, Ana, just held me and held me and held me. For 10 minutes maybe (maybe more) and I sobbed. And she kept saying "It's fine. We're here." It was a willingness to be with me in my grief, to just hold me and bear witness. It was really touching.

One of John's friends talked with me. He was gay and said he was shocked at how much he and John had in common, in the dating and the connection sides. And he said that John had referred to me as his "soul mate, but then there was a struggle." And his friend said: "And that was John's issue--he wasn't able to deal with a struggle."

But the fact that he called me a soul mate to a friend of his means a lot. This wasn't all in my head. I told the friend that John and I had never had sex, and he said something like 'well, sex came easily to John.' Staying through difficulty did not.

And John did come back to me, after difficulties. Maybe he recognized a pattern and thought if we held off on sex, he could change the pattern. I don't know.

I met an ex-girlfriend of John's and there were clear parallels between us. They dated for 4 months in 2005. It was intense. John kind of disappeared on her too (although they worked at the same company, so it wasn't the same). She hasn't dated anyone seriously since. I was under the impression that the women before me took financial advantage of John, but John never mentioned her, perhaps because she didn't fit into that narrative.

I met his sister, and she seemed to look past me, but his sister's partner was lovely and she took my hand and looked at the ring and touched it on my hand and smiled and was lovely.

I left fairly early because after his sister left it was once again all the company and I didn't fit in.

I don't have anything profound to say. I refuse to look on John's death as a positive. It just plain old sucks. If it makes clear things that were already clear, that will come. But not today. Today I grieve.

Wallowing Week, Pt. 3

So, tomorrow ends the week I gave myself to wallow. No more listening to "The Man That Got Away" while walking where John and I walked.

No more that all time thrill.
For you've been through the mill.
And never a new love will be that same.
Good riddance. Good-bye.

I have a picture John took the first day we met and another from the last day we spent together. In the first, I have on my camera face. I look cute. In the last, I'm laughing joyously at the camera. Completely unselfconscious. Joyous in that moment. I'm so scared, I'll never feel that way with anyone else again.

But I feel like there are 3 real issues that John would have liked me to tackle:

1. I hide how I feel when I'm dating.
2. I'm bifurcated and, as John said, "your two halves are not friends."
3. I don't deal well with criticism.

So, dealing with these one at a time. I've decided not to try and change the first issue. I don't think women do all that well going first in sharing emotional feelings. I don't think John would have been more likely to want to commit just because I said "I love you."

The bifurcation issue is real and it is something I'm working on. Strangely enough, the diet book I'm reading is addressing it. I'm doing stuff that sounds silly to me (like journaling with my non-dominate hand) as a way to try and get in touch with that 'inner-child' (I can't believe I'm using that phrase non-ironically). I'm finding my sweet tooth belongs to someone quite younger than the gal that eats healthily the rest of the time, and I think that the sweets-loving gal who likes playing on the swings and blowing bubbles and pink and flowers, well, that may be the gal looking for the sir to protect her. Maybe I'll start to embrace her that way. Maybe I'll do it another. But John is right.

Finally, I wilt in the face of criticism from someone I love. John said: "You often behaved as if you waiting for cosmic permission to simply trust me and trust yourself."

The trusting John issue was a different issue; he was into much harder S&M than I was (wanted to play with a single tail, and that was about it) and he never articulated the tenderness when talking about it. (Although the few things we did do were tender beyond words.) The first time we broke up, it was because I said that if he wanted reaction and power dynamics and submission, I was his gal, but if he was looking to exercise, I simply wasn't and he said he was looking for exercise. (Keep in mind, I was the first person he met from S&M community.) When I let him go (and I told him this), it was because I thought he needed to explore and I hoped we'd get together later.

There was another issue with John, which makes sense now. He didn't always behave in a consistent way. He'd be one way with me, and then another. John confided his fear about his memory problems to me, but I didn't know exactly what that meant. One of my best friends is a doctor, and she believes John might very well have been having mini-strokes. And that would explain a lot.

The final issue is permission to trust myself. If someone I love criticizes me, I hear "you are not a lovable person, Constance." John was harsh with his criticism, and he said basically, that he disengaged because he didn't think I was strong enough to take criticism. (Clearly, it would have been best if he had worked on tempering the criticism a bit and I had worked on withstanding some. He was right that I do hear "you are not lovable" in almost all criticism.)

My mother said that when I was born, she held me and said "you don't have to be perfect to be loved." Unfortunately, I didn't remember that. Clearly, this is an issue that runs in my family.

Part of it is linked to my weight. I'm a size 14 now, which is larger, but not huge. But I used to be a size 22. And I grew up fat. There was a recent story about how growing up fat fucks you up more from a social development point of view than growing up thin and putting on pounds later. I seem to think that if I do everything perfectly, then somehow, someone will love me. I have to earn love. Who I am, is never good enough. I think this is absolutely tied to submission, where I earn a 'good girl' if I'm good, but not if I'm just me.

I also have a dating persona that is unsure of herself. I 'know' I'm too smart and opinionated and headstrong, so I think I've cultivated insecurity as a way to undercut that smart, opinionated headstrong element. I played dumb for a decade when I dated, and now I don't play dumb, I just am unsure.

I'm trying to tell myself that John loved me. He never said it. (He said he was too damaged to know how to love anyone; he didn't even know how to love his sister, whom he adored above everyone else int he world.) But I think he really did. He told me that I was the only woman he could imagine looking at 'for keeps.' He borrowed my ring. He spent 12 hours a week walking and talking with me. He knew me very well, and kept coming back.

And so, I am trying to view my ring, that he kept for a year and a half, as cosmic permission to trust myself. To know that John believed in my potential (although he felt like I hadn't yet emerged from my chrysalis). In John's memory, I will try, just try. My ring, with John's love, can maybe be cosmic permission to know that I am lovable.

I am sure I will be coming back to John as stuff arises. But after tomorrow, I'm going to try and figure out how I go on without him, And I am sure that he would want that for me. Hell, he'd probably point out I didn't have him this last year. I should have done that already.

Wallowing Week, Pt 2

I wish I had a sense of John's presence. Something. A dream. Something. But I don't. Just an aching loss. The agnostic believes that's because this is our only shot at this life. But then I rewatch Truly Madly Deeply for the six thousandth time, and I wonder if maybe the dead don't stay away because they know we need time to grieve and move on. Or maybe the dead have way too much cool stuff and earth is boring. But I don't think so. I wish I didn't believe that. But I do.

I'm trying to think what John would want. For me and from me. Not that I can know, but I can, of course, reread correspondence and guess.

Of course, he'd want to not be dead.

But here's what I know:

He didn't date anyone after me. And he kept my ring. And he said he kept an eye (two when he could spare them) on me.

The e-mail listing my flaws--he ended by saying:

Hmmm. Should I hit send? She's sounding pretty rugged, actually, which pleases me a great deal. I don't want to put cracks in her shell, but then again, I do want to be acknowledged as legitimately entitled to her respect. And I hope, hope hope she can tell the part I do *not* respect detracts not one molecule from the part I do. That believing myself to have some insight into her true character means that none of this bullshit is necessary. That if she has one place where she can truly be herself, "flaws and all," as it were, she should *do* so.

Because either I will a) snap down on a persona like a rat trap, or b) attempt, in my way, to deal with it gracefully by not dealing with it all.

Hmmmmmmm. Thinking, thinking....

So, I think I get it. He knew that I don't handle criticism well. Especially from men that I love. And his style of criticism tends to be quite blunt. And he thought I'd wilt from the criticism. And maybe I would have. I don't know.

I think if I hadn't felt like I was auditioning for him, always, I would have been more robust. But not with the criticism. I have always needed criticism to be loving and gentle and constructive. Maybe, I could have learned to handle it better. To respond with "well, this is why I do that." But I don't know. Maybe when he said: "I'm a bit of a rough ride and you're a bit of a delicate flower...You know the principal reason I held back was my worry that you were a wuss." Maybe he meant it. Maybe he was right. Maybe when he said:

See, I could never do that (tear down the obstacles that he saw separating us), because that would put me at odds with one of your halves.

I could only reach one of them by damaging the other.

Only in my restraint could you know that I cared. I would not embrace one half at the cost of the other. I would not embrace the strong, successful, entirely legitimate but incomplete Esquire Chatterley, eligible bachelorette, world traveler, talented, glib, heroic... and leave innocent, vulnerable, delicate Constance out in the cold. I would not embrace the girl who longs for a Sir to keep her safe and love her and show disrespect to the illustrious Esquire Chatterley.

Sadly, the only way I could show that I cared for you was by not giving either half what it wanted, because I, perhaps uniquely, perceive and care very much for *both*.

Maybe he was wiser than I was. Certainly he could have taken me and I would have loved him with every bit I had. But maybe the Esquire Chatterley would have shattered. I don't know whether it would have been a little for a little while or a lot for a long while.

Certainly, my relationship with the ex shattered one side at the expense of the other.