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.

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.

On My Way January 22, 2008

I’m not sure I was all that clear yesterday about the “clap on, clap off” reference, and it’s something I’m still grappling with today. Part of what is happening to me thanks to Al-Anon, therapy, and my own unstinting desire to heal is that I’m starting to recognize that the way I see the world changes completely depending on the frame of mind I’m in, and that frame of mind can “snap” back into place in an instant. Being around my family brings up such negative, old shit for me, but I have another understanding of myself now that I didn’t have as a teenager: back then I knew I wasn’t the sullen, selfish, angry girl my family made me out to be – the trouble was, I didn’t know what I was.

I’ll admit with only shreds of embarrassment (such a useless emotion, really) that I’ve been watching “Star Trek: Voyager” for the past few weeks: it started from the very beginning of the series, and it’s been interesting to see how the crew’s personalities evolved. Oh god, I really can’t believe I wrote that. At any rate, Kate Mulgrew is the captain, and she is so filled with wonder, and yet also able to be commanding and authoritative, and it made me think about how I used to be. Even now, the first sip of really good eggnog, the first bite of fresh summer corn, the chill of autumn on my cheeks when the rest of me is warm in soft clothing – little things can bring such wonderment to me. When I was younger – a teenager but away from home – that wonderment brought on a surge of happiness so great I’d have to skip or jump or hug someone. And I’d cry, too, with the depth of my sadness for certain moments – I remember going to see “Less than Zero” with my first girlfriend and her brother, and tears just streaming down my face at one point. I felt things so very, very deeply. I want to believe that part of the “me” I’m becoming is a returning to that depth of feeling, of uninhibited sensual enjoyment. I don’t think I feel deadened inside, but some of the wonder is gone…maybe that’s inevitable?

So now I’m beginning to see that when the world feels wearisome and predictable, when I feel aimless and passionless, that’s the default, old place I can go to. But within minutes of doing something “esteemable,” as my therapist likes to say – be that making my bed with clean sheets, or cleaning up the kitchen, or paying bills or returning a phone call – I come back to this even contentment with my life. I’ve “clapped off” the light that makes everything look dull, or maybe I’ve “clapped on” a brighter one. Al-Anon is about learning how to live a drama-free, crisis-free life: it’s very Buddhist, really, very focused on learning how not to run away from myself by diving into other people’s problems, or worrying about what their issue with me might be. Live and let live.

I don’t know how to lead a healthy, balanced life, but I know I’m on my way to learning.  And staying single, living away from the city, and surrounding myself with healthy, honest, loving relationships are all invaluable in helping me walk this path.

Clap on, Clap off January 21, 2008

I just returned from a family celebration, and I really thought I was fine, until I woke up this morning. Safely ensconced in the cocoon of my home, I guess it was finally okay to decompress, to feel all my feelings. I did that, as I often do, in the form of anxiety dreams, often about animals, and I awakened feeling glad I’d chosen to wear my mouth guard since I’m sure I spent the entire night grinding my teeth. My family makes me feel fat, out of place, lonely, muted, unattractive, badly dressed, generally ugly-duckling-ish. I know it’s their shit and has very little to do with me, but the attention and comments that come along when I’m at my slimmest versus when I’m filling out my jeans a bit more are astonishingly different. I didn’t think it was affecting me, but it was, and I was just working really hard to fend it off. and then my dreams tell me all about it.

But then I went to my computer this morning, and I truly wish I could remember what triggered it, but I suddenly started to feel like myself again, which now means lighter, happier, funnier, far more at ease with myself. Happy with myself. I’m excited to see the way my real self can click back in so quickly, and I can be aware of the chasm between this person and the one who has to truly struggle to be okay, who has to hear the Greek chorus of critical voices and fend them off. I’m home. I’m safe now. I won’t let those thoughts rule my head or my day, and I’ll take loving care of myself and be grateful for all that I have and the parts of me I’ve been able to discover, and I’ll remember that the path I’m on is one I love.

It just occurred to me that in the past, part of the reason I’ve wanted a girlfriend was to have her as a buffer against those feelings my family arouses. Now I’m learning how to be that buffer myself, and hopefully ultimately how to not internalize those feelings at all, just deflect them like Wonder Woman with her golden wrist cuffs. Kapow!

My dog yips softly in sleep December 17, 2007

Lesbians are mostly thought to have cats. And believe me, I do. Cat, that is – only one, because actually I’m allergic and I have a small lap that wouldn’t accommodate more. But I have a dog, too, a 50-lb poodle-lab mix puppy (please, I beg, don’t use the term labradoodle. He’s a mutt that doesn’t shed much, that’s all) which makes me more into one of those outdoorsy-type women, hiking the Appalachian Trail with her dog. I’m so-o-o-o not that. The truth is I’m much lazier than I’d like to be, and if I could take a pill that would make my body feel tired and exercised, I’d do it most days. B and I had a lot of sex, even toward the end, and I was in the best shape of my life then. I like sex very much, though I can tend to be a bit too much of a performer and not really as present for it as I’d like to be. I know I’m very good at it, though I’m not sure there’s an objective metric on this: I’m extremely sensual and touch-aware, and I think I’m also on the high end of creative and uninhibited, so that has to count for something. Orgasms are hard for me, and they were even when I wasn’t on an antidepressant (or when that antidepressant was Wellbutrin, which is supposed to actually help sex drive)…actually, let me be more specific: the first orgasm is hard for me to reach, but then I can have one after another with very little stimulation, until I’m silly putty on the bed. Or couch. Tables and floors interest me less – I’m a bit of a comfort hound, and sexy as the idea’s been, I get distracted by the unyielding wood against my hipbones or shoulder blades.

Sometimes I question whether I’ve truly had mind-blowing sex, whether I even could, and if so and I haven’t, what’s missing. Attractions to people tend to grow for me over time: the more at ease I am, generally the more genuinely responsive my body can be, so the notion of a long sex life with a life partner is actually very inviting to me. I don’t honestly think I’ve sought out partners who were that attentive, who not only got to know my body but then did the things they knew I liked. For instance, I’m crazy insane for having my feet, neck and ears touched. But B paid very little attention to those parts of my body. She was actually enormously pussy/clit focused and yet, until maybe the second to last time we had sex, was never able to figure out (even with my guidance) how to make me come with her mouth. I love sex, I miss sex, but I am fully aware of how complicating it can be, especially between women. When I got out of my last relationship before B, I slept with a man for a while, and while I came every time, several times, and liked him well enough as a person, touching and tasting and looking at a man compared to a woman is like Turkey Hill lite vanilla ice milk (actually I think cum smells like bleach, which is a smidge less savory than vanilla) versus Haagen Dazs’ Mayan Chocolate. There is simply no comparison – in feel, in texture, in smell, in appearance. Don’t get me wrong – some women don’t smell or taste all that great. But to me, the smell of sex on myself and my female partner has got to be the sexiest, most distracting scent on the planet.

How in God’s name did I get here? And how can I leave? It’s not painful at all, actually – if anything it helps me pine less when I don’t idealize how we were together. Nor do I want to demonize the relationship, but it is my goal to see it fairly so that eventually I can know what parts of it I’d like to emulate, and what really wasn’t a good fit. We weren’t a good fit in a lot of ways, yet the ways we were were intoxicating – like a best friend in sleepover camp who you’re allowed to be incredibly affectionate with (girls are lucky this way) and you then realize you’re actually ATTRACTED to her, in love with her, which takes this fabulous best-friendship to a completely different level, you actually get to have sex and watch movies naked under a blanket and wake up in the morning with the person you talk to about nose-picking and dreams for the future. But the fights were horrid, man. I’ve never been involved with someone anger-phobic before, and every time my mouth wasn’t turned in a smile she would absolutely flip out, say she “needed time,” and flee in one way or another. But it was always my fault – my expectations were too high, my needs too great, my insecurities too insurmountable. It’s true I didn’t feel safe with her, and the less safe I felt, the more unsteady and unpredictable my behavior became. We were as bad for each other as two people could be when it came to the rockier parts of our relationship: she set off my stuff, I set off hers, and suddenly we were in it only for ourselves, protecting our own precious territory instead of walking onto the other’s battlefield with swords sheathed. We weren’t ever mean, but we both felt enormously unsafe, I think.

It May not be Brilliant, but it’s Me December 10, 2007

Okay, I think I’ve been avoiding this for at least the last two hours.  I’ve done two loads of laundry, roasted a cornish hen and root vegetables, done all the dishes…a friend is coming over in an hour or so and I still have to take a shower, so I need to sit my ass down and write.

 When my cat sits down, he looks like a male emperor penguin carrying an egg: his stomach bulges out onto his feet so only his toes are visible.  He’s not exactly fat, but he’s ample.  I wish I were more at ease with the notion of ample.  Right after the breakup I started having anxiety attacks and lost a bunch of weight precipitously – I was the thinnest I’ve ever been by about 12 lbs.  Now some of that weight is coming back, especially as it gets colder and I do less and less, and I’m trying very hard to just accept it and love my body wherever it is size-wise.  It’s a piece of cake to love my body when I’m skinny, and truly I’m still very slender, but if I’m truly committed to not dieting (which I am, short of becoming diabetic or needing to diet for some other medical reason), my size cannot be what determines my self-acceptance.  I think I’ll be fine and it sucks that no matter what, I live in a world in which we’re noticed based on our size.  I am friendly with this wait-person at a local restaurant, and she was telling me and my friend how she’d lost “like 50 lbs” (she’s very thin now, and beautiful), but that her boyfriend knew her and thought she was beautiful before she’d lost the weight.  I thought that was so terrific.  I’m much more attractive now than I was 18 years ago, and I always wanted to be pretty – it was what my mom wanted more than anything and valued more than anything, but I didn’t get a lot of attention as a teenager and then in college as I gained more weight, the attention was even more sporadic.  So now, I’m thin and feminine and extremely young looking for 37, and while it’s a cross I’m very, very glad to bear, I do find that being attractive only increases my vanity and insecurity – I’m no longer sure of whether people want to be around me because they think I’m attractive, or because they like who I am underneath.  I’m liking who I am underneath more and more and am less and less self-conscious about my looks, which is wonderful, but I definitely struggle with my “currency” being in my looks.

Moving upstate has helped this a lot.  I’m a NYC native – born on the UWS, went away to college then moved right back to NY until the year before last, when I quit the city and bought a farmhouse about an hour and a half north.  I have a pool, a garden, 2 acres, a barn, a cat and a dog, and the most open sky I’ve seen in the northeast – so full of stars on a clear night it’s intoxicating.  I get to dress more casually, my evenings are quieter, I take better care of myself overall here, especially come summertime when peaches and cucumbers and tomatoes and corn are in season.  I’m going to try to grow cantaloupes this summer, too.  It’s wonderful for my soul to be up here, and it’s also nice not to be at my mother’s beck and call – living out here (a place in which she has absolutely no interest unless it’s for country novelties like apple picking) keeps me much more separate from her than I’d otherwise be if I were still living in the city.

Do most women experience an identity crisis in their 30s?  I’m not married/partnered, I have no children, so there’s really nothing to distract me from myself, which I think is a good thing, but it’s a little heavy sometimes.  It feels much better to not mind being single, to be getting used to my own company, but it also slides a full-length mirror right in front of my eyes – I have to keep taking a good hard look at myself, and I can’t blame anyone else for my actions or moods.

Time’s up.  See you tomorrow.