Easy Does It April 20, 2008

It’s been a while since I’ve written here, and I’ve missed it.  I got scared off (turned off?), I’m sad to say, by the snarky comments of another writer whom I respect, and the funny thing is, they weren’t even talking about me.  One of my biggest character defects, I’m learning, is my outrageously narcissistic inclination to take everything personally.  And I don’t even mean narcissistic in a critical way, just an honest one: so much less is about me than I ever think it is - everyone else is thinking about themselves.

The Quell of Loneliness (get it?) February 29, 2008

Someone whose blog I liked very much has deleted it.  My head spins - why?  Where did she go?  Away from potentially critical, questioning readers?  She’d been miserable in her marriage and in relationships in general, started on a journey of self-discovery, and then met a man via this medium whom she decided was the answer to all her questions.  Many people congratulated her and wished her luck, but one or two cautioned her that she seemed to be repeating history.  I guess my fantasy is that she didn’t particularly want to hear the naysayers, wanted to remain blissfully ignorant and throw herself into the (unquestionable) joy of the beginning of a relationship without the buzzkill of cautionary tales.  And maybe she will, in fact, be blissfully happy.  Maybe for some, it’s possible to change a tune without learning a different instrument.  I’m probably jealous, more than anything.  Yes, I want what my higher power wants for me, blah, blah, blah, but I’d also like someone besides my sponsor (though she’s been right so far about everything else) to tell me that life will keep getting better and that I absolutely, positively will meet someone and be capable of a loving relationship.  Because most of the time, I honestly don’t believe it.

Being with my mother and the goddamn Blackberry that’s surgically attached to her thumbs for twelve days didn’t help matters any, to be sure.  I’ve never been so lonely in someone else’s company, yet here I am, sitting next to her, seeing the world and dying to talk to someone about all of it.  We might as well have been driving through Elizabeth, NJ for all she paid attention, yet we were driving through the streets of Mumbai and Manila, past local culture and sights unseen.  For sure, my recent ease in my own company helped me tremendously, but it was still incredibly lonely.  It made me miss B: suddenly I’m back to looking for her on Facebook, Googling her…someone with her name, living in her area, won honorable mention in a squash cooking contest.  A f–king squash cooking contest?  All she could cook when we were together was macaroni and cheese from a box and fried eggs.  So I start wandering down the road of “has she grown up?,” “should I contact her?”  Yuck, yuck, and yuck.  At least I know better than to listen to myself at this moment.  It’s just little drops of the drug, still stored in my veins somewhere, come out to haunt me.

One thing I WON’T do to quell this loneliness is sleep with boy C again.  All it did was make me miss women even more than I already did.  How do straight women deal with 5-o’clock-shadow-burn?  Or with all that hair?  If only I felt as much of an ease flirting with women as I do with men, I’d at least find someone to sleep with.  But that probably isn’t the answer, either.  I need to get back into my groove, to fill the emptiness myself.  I need to do what I think - correctly or not - my blogger-in-absentia was unable to do, to become truly at ease in my own company so that being with someone else never again has to mean abandoning a part of myself.  It’s a wonder I’m not emotional cheesecloth after being with my mother for twelve days: let me give myself the time to return to my former level of contentment before I start making any big decisions.

Journeys February 14, 2008

It’s been a whirlwind couple of days, and while I want very much to recount some of what went on, I’m also in a first-class lounge in London, on the first leg of my trip with my mom, and part of me just wants to be in the moment.

But some stuff happened that I think is important to document here.  C spent the night on Tues. night, as much due to the weather as any sort of lukewarm desire on my part.  The first time we had sex, I think my body was so hungry for touch that it could have been nearly anyone stroking my skin and I would have responded.  But the second time (Tues night), my head just wouldn’t shut up: I didn’t want to explore his body, didn’t particularly like the way he was touching me (it wasn’t bad, but it would have required a fair amount of coaching to be orgasmically effective), didn’t get very wet, and had a tough time staying present.  The wonderful thing, though, was how it made me realize that whether I’m lesbian or not (I’m not questioning that, per se, it’s just not the point here) I so-o-o-o-o do not want to be in a relationship right now, with anyone except me.  This new comfort in my own skin has been so hard-won, and now there are guards at the gate, making sure no one gets through.  He could have been my dream partner (he isn’t, but he’s lovely and kind), and I still wouldn’t be ready.  We talked about all of this, and he was extremely understanding, and we left on very good terms - I will look forward to seeing him again.  I’m just relieved to have given myself the space to figure out how I feel, and to have discovered this.

So, I’m on this trip with my mom, which in itself is an incredible statement, as I swore many years ago I’d never travel with her again.  One of the most helpful teachings for me in Al-Anon is how to recognize that people are not extensions of or reflections on me - I can like or not like her behavior, but unless it is directed at or involves me in some way, I can detach with love and just see her for who she is.  She’s being very solicitous so far, and we’ve mostly been reading or sleeping, and my excitement about traveling trumps any trepidations I might be having.  It’s exciting to be in the London airport, where B and I were just a few months back, and to be in such an incredibly different, far stronger place.  I’m happy, grounded, in touch with myself, and I look forward to remaining that way as much as I’m able, while eating great food and taking as many pictures as I can.

Illusions of Deficiency February 11, 2008

I think the thing that gets to me is the way I sell myself short without even realizing that’s what I’ve done. For the record, none of what I’m about to write is terribly pretty, but if it can all be seen in light of being someone who’s a self-declared work-in-progress…

C has a page on one of the friend/connections boards, and for no particular reason I just went to it. First I see that he’s added a program that can tell other women he’s interested in them, and vice versa. So, my genetic code issues forth jealousy, however momentary and quickly quashed by the part of my brain that knows I am not interested in a relationship with this man, and that it would be healthier for him not to be interested in a relationship with me. Then, I go to his photos page, and there is, I think, a photo of him and his ex, and while she’s cute and has this impish grin, she’s probably about 30 lbs heavier than I am. Which is wonderful, fine, good, whatever, but what it makes me realize is that any time he didn’t compliment me on some part of my body that he was touching or looking at, I either wanted to apologize for it out loud, or I thought to myself “it’s okay, honey, he’s not perfect, either.” I automatically went to a place of criticism. I have a beautiful body, dammit! It just kills me that I’m so hard-wired to be critical of my physical self, and there are times when my lack of self-esteem can/could potentially put me in a dangerous situation, where I do something risky because I think it’s what I “deserve” or that I can’t ask for something better/healthier.

February 10, 2008

I slept with C.  He came over last night, we had a great time talking and making dinner, we watched a movie and started to move a little closer to each other, and then…

Men are hairy.  Some more so than others - he’s quite hirsute.  But he smells good and has full, lovely lips, and I felt relaxed and grounded and very aware of what I was doing and that it was what I wanted.  And he’s in program, so there was no alcohol imbibed to cloud my judgment or disinhibit me - it was all me, all the time.

Somehow, I’m not so worried the lesbian police are going to schlep out here and take away my toaster and i.d. card: I feel like I’m just letting myself be myself, feel what I feel, explore, and that the less it has to do with rigid labels, the better.  My primary goal is not to get ahead of myself, to not get lost in this or in fantasies of what it will or won’t become.  Do I want to have sex with him again?  I do.  Today?  I’m a little sore, but yes, there’s part of me that would see him again today.  I’m trying so hard to just be authentic, to feel my feelings, but sometimes I don’t know how I feel or what I want, and that’s part of the journey, I guess - learning to know that it’s okay not to know how I feel or what I want.

It Ain’t Always Sunshine and Lollipops February 7, 2008

The time that I’ve taken

I pray is not wasted.

Have I already tasted

my piece of one sweet love?

- Sara Bareilles, “One Sweet Love”

Lest I need to be even more transparent about my feelings…there are definitely moments I worry about this for myself. There aren’t really times when in the moment I wish I were with someone, but more that I hope a healthy, happy relationship is somewhere in my future. I don’t feel lonely, and when I do, I’m usually able to follow the feeling back to its origins and see that it’s not rooted in reality, and occupy my head with more present thoughts. But is it possible that my “life’s purpose” doesn’t include being in an intimate relationship? There is something energy-diverting about being in an intimate relationship - or at least there is as I know them - and I am certainly more focused and driven not being in one. I am learning to see myself as whole, rather than a half looking for her other, but in doing so, am I relinquishing the passionate “I can’t live without your love” kind of experience? Can a person be wholly, excitedly, passionately in love and still feel independent and whole?

I can count the number of good relationships I know on one hand, and still have at least a finger free. My mom said the other day that she thought my relationship with my dog might be the healthiest partnership in the family, and it made me laugh, but she’s also right. My sister doesn’t respect her husband: she’s nasty and demeaning toward him. My mother didn’t respect my father, and my father sloshed around in his own depression and anger to his dying day - I can’t remember ever seeing him deliriously happy. My models suck. My sponsor’s in a great relationship, but it’s not one I would want, and I wonder, looking at them, if I’m too damned picky to settle for one person and all their quirks.

I’m a fabulous pet partner. I love them unconditionally, and I seem to “raise” mellow, loving, easygoing, independent animals. Part of it is their own starting temperament, for sure, but I can see the way my dog is becoming this secure, affable, personable being, and I do believe I have something to do with that. But to be that loving and accepting toward another human being? I’m honestly not sure I’m capable. I’d like to be…I think. As my sponsor’s husband likes to say, more will be revealed.

Faith February 4, 2008

Okay, I think I have to write about something I feel awkward writing about. I feel like I’m in one of the dozen or so Morgan Freeman movies where he plays God and makes himself apparent to someone in such a way that they have to acknowledge his existence publicly.  So here goes: I have a Higher Power, a God, a Spirit Guide - whatever anyone chooses to call a loving, guiding presence that makes occurrences beyond our wildest dreams possible.  I’m sure of it.

The other day - yesterday or the day before - I finally thought to ask my H.P. to help me with coming up with a paper I need to write and pass in order to begin my dissertation. I’ve been stuck and avoiding thinking about it, even though it’s due in less than two months, and I kept telling myself something would come to me, but then finally, standing in my kitchen, I just looked upward (there’s no genuflecting or prostrating myself in this relationship) and asked for help coming up with a topic. Yesterday, I’m on a walk with my sponsor’s husband’s daughter (got that?), and after asking me about the work I do, she mentions a professor who talked about the creation of “safe space” and its contribution to self-esteem. My heart kind of skipped and my head started reeling: I won’t go into it in detail here, but it’s a concept that fits my interests in a way nothing else has: a safe space could mean Alateen or Al-Anon (or any 12-step group, for that matter), it could be a chess club, it could be a team - it’s all about what makes a space safe, and the benefits that has for teens and adults alike. I’m so incredibly excited about it - it feels right in a way nothing else quite has. But the point of this story is not that I found a paper topic, but that I asked for help and I got it, just like that. I could almost picture my H.P. smiling down at me when I realized what had happened - I was looking outside at my wonderful dog playing in the snow and thinking about how amazing it was to have found him, and it clicked: I asked for this dog, I asked for this house, I asked for direction, and I got it. One of the most wondrous things about this program is this notion of a loving, benevolent entity rather than one that tests our faith or punishes us for trespasses: more and more and more, I see evidence of this presence in my life that is conspiring to make me whole and happy. So call me what you will - I had to say something. Morgan Freeman told me to.

Boys and Girls February 3, 2008

It’s so lovely to get comments from readers that affirm my writing. Since being real is my overarching life goal, trying to remain authentic on this blog is its raison d’etre, and it’s encouraging when people corroborate that quality about it. Plus it makes me want to write more.

I woke up this morning from a seemingly very long dream about, in part, a wholly unsatisfying sexual relationship with this older (late 40s, early 50s) man. It took place in this bizarrely Victorian (yet for some reason I think he was Italian) setting, and I think my clothes were of a similar time: what I remember most is him touching me between my legs just to see that I was wet, but not doing anything more, and my feeling very frustrated. I want so much to have a healthy relationship with sex and my body, and I think that ultimately anything is possible, but for the time being it would throw me too off-course to have sex, I’m pretty sure. My most relaxed sex was with a male B, someone I met online after I broke up with C (damn, there are a lot of Bs and Cs in my romantic/sexual life) and before I met (female) B: maybe it was because he was a guy and I didn’t really have a lot of investment in it, but he also knew how to go down on me and made me come the first time he did it, much to my utter and total astonishment. Uh oh, am I repeating myself again? Blog amnesia: it’s a terrible thing. I was incredulous, really - it was partly that the way he did it worked for me (putting his mouth upside-down on me so his lips and tongue were on the shaft of my clit rather than underneath it), but was that all? I think about contacting him sometimes, but he wanted to pursue a relationship with me and I knew that wasn’t going to be in the cards. I just don’t think I can be in a relationship with someone whose body I don’t/can’t love. Why am I even questioning this? Because it’s available. If women knew I was gay, if people’s gaydar went off for me and women paid attention to me in anywhere near the volume that men do, I don’t think I’d be considering men at all. I really like my looks (yay! I can finally say that!), and I’m not about to cut my hair into a mullet and turn in all my cashmere for oversized flannel just so I can be recognized as a lesbian. There’s nothing political about my attractions, either - I’d have no problem being in a relationship with a man if I wanted that.

Another thing that really got to me about “Juno” was how simple she made it seem to figure out who we’re in love with. I do think there’s no question that if I’d had better relationship models, better examples of love in my childhood I’d have gone after healthier relationships. It makes so much sense that the person I fall in love with and want to spend the rest of my life with is also someone who a) thinks the sun comes out of my ass, as I think it was stated in the movie, and b) whom I think is just the coolest person ever. And by cool, I actually mean warm. And interesting, and loving, and loyal, and funny, and expressive, and communicative, and articulate, and smart, and grounded, and optimistic, and self-reflective…oh my. I know I’ll find that person and that what is important to me has really shifted over the past couple of years; that if I’m ever to find a life partner I’m on the right track now, but it’s difficult for me to imagine. I suppose it’s not a bad thing to have experiences that remind me I do sometimes want to be in a relationship, even though I much prefer being content with where I am to feeling any longings for something I not only don’t have but am not in any way ready for. If I’m truly buying this Higher Power notion, I need to believe that it will happen exactly when it’s supposed to.

February 3, 2008

I just got back from seeing “Juno,” and it left me so melancholy. I don’t know whether it was the movie itself that did it - the girl is loved unconditionally by her family and her boyfriend, and as a result she’s allowed to be this quirky, unique kid that I never, ever got to be. Who the hell would I have been if I’d had parents who could separate their shit from their children’s and not blame me for all their shortcomings and failings? I was told by an astrologer (I may be repeating myself) that I “chose” my family in this incarnation because I needed to be held back - my insecurities prevented me from using my power (whatever that may be) sooner than I was ready to. I am seeing myself blossom, that my ability to heal is my gift, and living by example is how I will continue to help others heal. I know I am on an incredible path, that I’m right where I should be, that it couldn’t be happening a decade sooner or an hour later.

I dropped the “gay bomb” on C today - we didn’t end up talking about relationships at all last night, and the evening was nice but a little stilted for me, hard to not jump into my old question-asking, polite-to-the-hilt self. I didn’t know how I felt, and maybe that was okay, but he came over today after the meeting and it was very relaxed: we were just talking and something came up where I would naturally have mentioned one of my exes, so I just said “This is awkward and I have no idea if you knew this, but I’m gay.” And he responded, smiling blithely, “no, I didn’t.” He was very calm about it, but I knew in that moment that I’d disappointed him, and even though it felt good, felt right to have told him, part of me wanted to say “but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to kiss you sometimes or that I wouldn’t like to be crazily fucked by you (he doesn’t really seem the type, but looks can always be deceiving).” I know sex wouldn’t be the right thing, that at this point in my journey it would be too confusing and destabilizing - that’s the other potential reason why I’m (I was) not feeling so great - I haven’t felt lonely in some time, and it’s not a good feeling. We can grow adjusted to almost anything, I think, and I don’t have any desire to disrupt this adjustment. I wish I could just have sex and then “reset” myself.

True Colors February 2, 2008

Okay, so I’m getting ready for this evening, not putting too much thought into it, but enjoying the “fussing” that I’m doing, and I put on this tight-fitting waffle/thermal long-sleeved t-shirt, and as I’m looking at myself in the mirror, my first thought is “God, B’s breasts were so hot.”  They were.  I’m normally a smile/eyes/hands/ass girl, but she had the softest breasts, and they looked so fucking hot under fitted shirts in bras we bought together (Victoria’s Secret Body by Victoria all the way, man) - toward the end of our relationship she started to get more lean and sinewy, but her breasts stayed on the bigger side, and oh my, that contrast between visible arm muscles and round, soft breasts…do I need to excuse myself for the moment and take matters into my own hands?
It just cracked me up that that’s where my head went.  I never, ever swoon over guys bodies.  I’m sorry, it just doesn’t happen for me.  Actually, I’m not sorry, I’m kind of amused.