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Archive for the ‘Endings’ Category

That time has come

This isn’t the goodbye I wanted. Two and a half years ago I began this blog because a friend found my dating stories hilarious. They were hilarious.  Learning how to date from the other side, when I understood women and how relationships with women work. Since I started the blog I stopped defining myself as gay, even as queer, which was something I did for about a year. The majority of my adult sexual life was lived as a lesbian. Something shifted one day, and then I wasn’t gay anymore. I can’t full explain it, I don’t want to try. I’m done explaining.

The purpose of this blog was to show one woman’s authentic experiences during a period in her life. There were moments when this blog provided comfort for me, as well as others, but then there were the times when I was forced to defend myself and my relationship actions and made to feel criminal for caring about a man who is troubled. How dare I find someone worth loving who has issues. Hey everyone, guess what, we ALL have issues. Some of us are just better at faking them in public. Yes, I am spending time with him again, as of a month of so ago and I don’t feel the need to defend it. This blog no longer provides me comfort or joy. It no longer provides me a positive place of supportive community. Perhaps I am realizing that it never really did.

I had hoped to end this blog with me walking off into the sunset …holding hands with Type Geek or some one else. It isn’t happening that way. I’m walking away because I feel I have nothing left to say to this audience. Sure, Type Geek is there still, but not in the romantic sense, he exists as an odd anchor of sorts. So, with that said… It’s time to walk away.

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In the matter of three days…I met someone who actually took my mind off Type Geek. Someone who I was starting to majorly crush on. Someone who I lounged with well over multiple cocktails in cozy corner booths and kissed boldly in the midst of a first date. He photographed me on walks, rubbed my shoulders at the movie theatre, played with my fingers under the table. He told me of things he wanted to do with me, little adventures. Then, in a moment of feeling like he was an understanding stand up guy, as I was finding myself getting wrapped up in these ideas of these future adventures, I put some things on the table. Some things about my past. My family, my business, my sexuality. The next day, he said it was pretty heavy stuff and that he needed a day or two to process it.  But then, that was it. Only thing is, he never came back to ask for clarification, to ask questions, to tell me that he understands that things that happened around me and too me, are not the same as me and that it’s okay. Instead, the message I received loudly, through echoing silence, was that he doesn’t think I’m worth giving the benefit of the doubt to, or a moment to call me or text me and tell me that. My feelings are hurt far more than I thought and I am terribly disappointed because I was really really crushing on the Aussie.

I really want my turn. When is it going to be my turn?

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I’ve been writing this blog for almost 2 years. It started as a funny commentary on the ridiculousness of dating, with a side story being that I was a long term lesbian who woke up one day liking cock, and having no interest in women any longer. So, the serious would sometimes wiggle its way into the snark, into the one liners, and bring a bit of reality into the escapism that my site was for many people. Only, eventually I fell in love. That was unexpected.

The timing, the individual, the situation, my falling in love was fraught with everything messy and complicated. It was all innately human and filled with roadblocks, human drama, insecurity, egos, errors in judgement, scars, death, sex and tears. In the middle of summer we ended it. But I still talked to him. I still told him I loved him, because I did and because we didn’t stop dating because he didn’t care, but because he’s too afraid that he’ll destroy someone if they get to close. Shatter their illusion of him with the reality. Only thing is, I know the reality, and even with the nasty ugly details, he is still the most beautiful man I know. He is still my choice. So, I stand tall and still and I don’t falter, I don’t run.

Two nights ago, nearly two months since we “stopped dating”, we found ourselves in each others arms again. The drink, that becomes two, that becomes dinner and two more drinks, that becomes two hours of intense conversation at his kitchen table and then, becomes us wrapped around each other in his bed. I’m okay with that. I’m okay with him being terrified. I’m at peace with him and his fear.

In six weeks, roughly, a new chapter begins in all of this. In this story of my crazy casual dating with many turned love affair with one, an emotionally fragile man whom I nicknamed Type Geek. Recently, he was offered a HUGE promotion, in the Bay Area. He is taking it, as he should. He told me Wednesday night. He might never get a chance like this again. I never questioned whether he should, but I admitted that I feared he would evaporate, as if he never existed. An irrational fear, I know. He exists here, he will continue to exist. Will I? I haven’t let him let me go yet, have I? I can be creative. He may date others when he moves, but he won’t find  me and what I offer in any of them, and I won’t let him forget that I am here, in Boston.

Boston. So, what is my long term goal here? I’m going to continue to love him and tell him that and send him love notes in the mail, meanwhile, I am going to save every dollar, work insane schedules, pick up freelance jobs if possible, and I am going to network, on the hope that he will let me come to him in Spring. Why spring? It is after his office is set up, after he is a bit more settled, after I show that I don’t forget about him, just because he is thousands of miles away. It’s long enough for him to miss me. To remember me. To want me.

Sure, there is a HUGE what if here, what if he doesn’t? He’s the pessimist here, I am not. I am the oddly optimistic one who believes that love isn’t a film with Meg Ryan, that there is a bit of Fellini and Woody Allen in there. A little heavy metal, a little Miles Davis and maybe even a little Electric Six. I’m not a typical romantic. I am a realist, but in this unclear situation, I choose the brighter future. I choose the future that has he and I, in our 80’s, drinking rum drinks and laughing about “kids these days” while I still admire his perfect little tush, still bite-able after 40 years.

Because the purpose of this blog isn’t to document my daily quest to save for a move out west, I’m going to change direction a bit. I’ll show up in it here and there, but I will be moving into a wider area of focus from now on. This will, in theory, bring back some levity and hilarity. I’m open to topics, things to explore, reviews on products, etc. However, the day to day drear needs to be swept out to sea if I am keeping my eye on the bridge, so to speak and while occasional updates into Type Geek are fine and good, this was never a blog about one man.

Meanwhile, for almost two years, I have kept this blog from being monetized, cause I hate ad heavy sites. They no longer smell genuine, you never know what is done for ad sense dollars and what is done for the reader. The time has come though, with my future looking pricey, that I try to find some funding for this site. Because of this, and my quest, I have created a “chipin” that everyone can donate to. A dollar, ten dollars, heck..more (please), will all help. These dollars will go directly into a separate wish/travel fund for San Fransisco. Spread the word on the chipin and the blog. Thank you for reading all this time.

 

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This is the worst it has been. Today. I feel dissected, as if vital pieces were ripped out and my body is trying to compensate without them. I know he will say yes, it makes the most sense. This man, who it took me 36 years to find, through alternate lives, through 12 years of being gay, vegetarian, hindu, goth, and a casual observer to love, even though I had thought I knew what it was, this man that I finally found and discovered that real honest raw love is indescribable but amazing.  That the pain in your chest is your heart growing and expanding in such a way that your body can’t keep up, that the aches you feel are like shadows, stretch marks on the walls of your heart from it growing so large, so quickly.

I miss him and he isn’t gone yet.

I went to the ICA today and one of the artists, Doris Salcedo, had a quote near her bio that said ,” When a person disappears, everything becomes impregnated with that persons presence. Every single object as well as every space is a reminder of that person’s absence, as if absence were stronger than presence.”

I feel suffocated by the threat of his absence.

 

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I’ve been ok, I have been surviving. Sad, yes. Finding the whole thing senseless, yes. Missing this man who I still believe in my gut I am to grow old with and trying to give him space. Then, like he snuck into my room over night, I realized that I had left our glasses on the nightstand. I missed them for days, just sitting there like little memorials, that is how busy I have tried to stay.

I sighed and picked them up. Finding myself a bit overwhelmed with emotion, I sat down on the edge of my bed and stared off, missing his smell, missing his face, the feel of his body hair, arms, chest, head, how tactiley different each is under my fingers. I cried at the realization that I will probably never touch him again. Then, in my hand, I looked at the glass and saw his lip print. Before washing it, I took one photo and placed it to my lips in a sad moment of trying to connect. He’s not there though, it’s just a glass. My pillow didn’t smell like him after he left and my skin, my shoulder, only retained his scent for an hour after we last made love, and god how I hate that phrase, but I realized that it had changed that night. That what started out as fucking took a decidedly different turn shortly after it began. For those last few hours we were together, sharing space, he actually took down the walls.

Jesus Christ, I miss him.

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  • Because if it’s really good, you realize what you aren’t going to have anymore.
  • Because if it’s really bad, you feel shame for trying to relive a connection.
  • Because sore nipples, over exerted thigh, ab, arm and ass muscles are really sexy reminders of sex with the person you love …when you are together, but horribly sad reminders of them for days after you said goodbye.

I’m sore. My legs are stiff, my nipples sore, lips tender from so much kissing, as they all can get from a good rousing fuck with Type Geek, only it’s not sexy this time. It’s sad and numbing.  I miss his stupid head.

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He expected mayhem, anger and accusations. He assumed the worst, and it proved in the end that he really doesn’t know me. I told him that the last 14 months have been an example of his ordering the entree and only eating the garnish. He never took a bite of the main dish, only looked at it, pushed it around with his fork and decided that it would cause him indigestion if he ate it. You see, it never was about me, any of it.

Trying to love someone who doesn’t love themselves, who doesn’t trust themselves, and who is an eternal pessimist at their core, well, it’s pretty tricky and apparently, doesn’t usually succeed. It is  impossible to show them how worthy they are, they need to find it and feel it in themselves.  He told me a story of himself as a child, to illustrate how long he has been this way; I explained that at some point though, we do have the power to make positive changes to our thinking patterns. That I was a very angry teenager and into my 20’s. It took a lot of work, and sometimes falling back into old patterns, but eventually I was able to look at things and see the positive in life, see how anger was affecting me and limiting me and shutting me off.

He told me that everything ends, and usually badly. That he hasn’t seen examples of it working, of there not being heartbreak, of him not being the cause.  Boy with a fragile sense of self enters the dating world and is eaten alive. Now, at 39, he is so deeply imbedded into a pattern of belief that everything he touches, everyone he touches, will break. How do you convince someone otherwise? How do you hold someones hand and show them that they deserve to not be alone. They deserve to let someone in and be loved. How do you do that, when they don’t believe in their core self that they are worthy of any love and that anyone who does love them, surely they must be fooled.

We had 5 hours of intense, heart-felt conversation. He teared up, I teared up. I told him somethings that he missed while he was pushing me away, things I had told him but he hadn’t heard above his own inner chatter. He apologized deeply, as he realized that he really dropped the ball more than a few times. What it came down to is that his disordered thinking, his disordered sense of self, his belief that he isn’t worthy of anyone’s love and respect because everyone is being fooled and eventually everyone will realize who he really is and then it will all explode, all of THIS is what is standing between he and I. Looking into his eyes and telling him how wonderful he is and forcing him to look back at me as I told him what I saw in him, the level of disbelief in his own eyes, the degree to which he can’t see how amazing and loveable he is, that is what is heartbreaking.

I asked him, what does he have left, if tomorrow the career were to end. Nothing he said. He has nothing outside of work. Friendships have been kept at a distance, mostly built through his colleagues. He has his cat. I told him that it truly doesn’t need to be that way. That letting people in doesn’t have to result in destruction, yet he has only ever walked away feeling destroyed each time he has let someone in.  But he has the best of intentions, when he begins. He just can’t do it.

My flatmate came home and we moved our conversation to the bedroom. Later in the evening I looked up at him and asked me if he would be with me one last time. I felt so connected to him at that moment, I just wanted to hold on to it. He wouldn’t look at me, instead mumbling that he didn’t think it was a good idea. I asked him to look at me and repeated my question, asking if he wanted to be with me one last time. He said yes. We had an intensely passionate last few hours, we held each other tightly afterwards and slept for an hour, curled into each other, hands touching. In my hallway, we hugged. Longer and tighter and with more emotion than I have ever felt from him. He thanked me for everything. I told him that while I knew he wouldn’t, he knew where to find me, if ever…

Last night was the most senseless loss I have ever experienced. All because one little boy grew up thinking he was inherently not worth loving. If any of you have kids, please, love them. Let them know that they deserve it and that they are wonderful and unique and amazing. Otherwise, at 39, they may not be able to let people in, even those who are patient and love them beyond words and actions.

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