Bitter/ August 2011
This is why people drink, isn’t it? I feel sick. I feel tired. I feel vile.
I had a dream this morning and you were there; we were kissing, and I could hardly breathe because even that was too much strain–being in someone’s arms was more than I could bare. I woke up and felt disgusted and knew that I was done. No more Herr Rodniks, no more Pretties, not even any more Ls. I’m tired, and sick. I need a break. I want a break. I can’t do this to myself any more.
I could say that I’m beginning to doubt that I’ll find it, ever–the holy grail–and that may even be true. But the point is I’m sick of looking for it. I’m sick of hoping for it, waiting for it, following every little false trail thinking it will at least teach me something I need to know.
Nothing is going to make this better, easier, less painful. There is nothing I can do that is going to make this process go faster, there is nothing I can do that will make it more bareable. All I can do is committ to it, and not make any mistakes that will prolong it. I’m done with detours. I am so fucking done with detours.
You weren’t L, this morning in my dream; you weren’t the Pretty; you weren’t even some figment of my imagination. This morning, in my dream, you were Herr Rodnik, and you were in my house, of all places. When we had met, that one night this past December, you had never set foot past my driveway, and I wouldn’t let you kiss me till we’d walked twenty minutes to a secluded spot, even though I didn’t have a weapon, didn’t even have pepper spray with me, and I didn’t even have your last name. Of course your first name may well have been made up, but if it was it suited you. It suited what that was to me: a fuck by the river, except instead of the town mistaking you for a dangerous stranger who might have hurt me while I knew you were my secret long-term relationship, no one knew you existed and I knew you for the stranger you were. It was this past December, do you remember? I snuck out to meet you at one in the morning and walked back with you three hours later, kissed you goodbye at your car and tasted myself on your lips. You had carried me for a few steps of the way, on a dare, because you were almost a foot and a half taller than me, and joked that my purse was heavier than I was. A Nalgene full of water will do that. In the meantime, I haven’t gained weight.
What’s worst of all, perhaps, is that I thought I’d found Long Term with L. Now it seems that was never going to be. I don’t know who he is anymore, and I don’t know if I care. Well, of course I care; the question is, do I think it’s worth the bother? Out of anyone I’ve been with, he’s the only who wasn’t a Lost Boy: he knew what his passion was, he knew how to provide for himself while being happy, and he knew what he had to expect in terms of financial security–without being scared off into some more-profittable soul-draining job. He knew who he was, he knew what he wanted, he knew how to express himself in a way that others could understand, and he knew how to listen for what people were really trying to say, or trying not to say.
And yet… something wasn’t there. He was so self-contained. Very aware of it, but… awareness is only the first step. Something else has to follow. Now he’s looking for someone who enjoys kissing, snuggling, hugging. He’s looking for something Open. He’s hoping to try Poly. It’s not that I think he has no right to; he’s not “mine” anymore. It’s that… Who is this person, and where did he come from? Was I listening that badly? Was I really so deaf? And why, why, why is it that when I find someone who seems to appreciate me for what I think matters, does he tell me my crafting is awesome and Thanks for introducing me to my New Subculture? Even J saw me for what I had to offer. I feel sick, I feel sick and tired, I want to get out of my skin and shred something because how can I have been such a great and terrible fool, again?
Having my friend across the ocean offer me a room to move into doesn’t help. The thought of dropping everything, of starting from scratch all over again… I don’t know that I can do that anymore. I don’t know that I want to.
Originally posted 2012-03-27 22:53:44. Republished by Blog Post Promoter
