Don't drive me blind...

The weekend was spent at June Lake with some girlfriends, being mellow, enjoying the mountains, the snow, the complete and total lack of cell phone reception or internet, being blocked off from anything that could distract me from things that needed to be done.

And it was beautiful, it was perfect. Light snowing, that brisk wind that penetrates clothing, even though I was running around in a t-shirt half the time. The condo was lovely, a three bedroom design, perfect view of the lake, lots of space, decorated for summer vacations full of fishing.

I read and wrote, more reading while on the road, writing while curled up on the couch. Churned out a good 7,000 words over the weekend, which was nice. Haven't been forced to sit and focus on a story in a long time.

And my reading was Peck's Road Less Traveled, which was recommended to me a bit ago, then brought up again by the navy man living with my parents. Decided it was a sign of sorts, so I tore through it.

It opened me a bit. Helped me see things that I had not seen before, or at least old things from a new view. This is always welcome, if not always comfortable.

He said, of the many things that echoed with me, that to grow is to give something up. That one of the reasons why people do not grow is because of that loss, the fear of that loss.

And I was reminded of the time when I was just about to turn 18, when I was talking with an old friend about... gods, I don't remember exactly. I was trying to change, though I don't remember why. I was trying to feel things again, instead of being stuck in a constant detached apathy, but I was afraid that I'd never be able to regain that outer shell again if I opened myself up.

My friend, he told me that I would always be able to draw upon that detachment that I was so good at. It would always be there.

He was wrong.

But it was his confidence in telling me that I would not have to give up that shield that allowed me to step forth on the path I chose.

Because I was not willing to be vunerable, I was not willing to true change, not at the heart of me.

These last few years, maybe even longer, I've used sex as a shield when it comes to dealing with men. Not the act of sex, but my knowledge of sex, my over-experience of sex. It's a way to bring down the alpha dog because men so often define themselves by their experience, and it's so very easy for me to slide in and set them on their asses. I take joy in it, gliding in, unnoticed, and then opening fire, in my own way.

I thought, not that I was teaching, but that I was opening them a bit, that there was a purpose in the action.

But it's just fucking dick-waving. It's me being insecure in myself, just like those men who posture at each other, who talk big but can't back it up in the least, but they'll keep building the conflict.

Except I can back it up.

Where it is similar is the motive behind both actions: insecurity. Proving of the self.

And it is true that I sometimes do it simply because I enjoy causing social dissonance. I love that look of confusion, when someone's world view is suddenly not able to apply, and they have to scrabble around to try to make sense of things, you watch the gears shifting, clicking together, and it's a moment of mental vunerability, a quick absence of boundaries.

But there are times when I do it because something not related to sex or sexuality is making me uncomfortable. So I lean on my strength instead of confronting that which bothers me, developing it so I can be secure in it.

The muscle is weak until you exercise it.

And I'm allowing parts of myself to atrophy with disuse.

Which means I have to stop. I will never get better, never be more, if I'm not willing to step outside that comfort zone, give up that well-earned crutch, that sculpted shield.

So there's a project, one of many. But it's recognized. I know what I have to do now, and I'm aware of what things I do when I engage in that behavior with that motivation.

... ... ...

I went out with GV8 last night, hit Amoeba and Cafe Was. I really like that restaurant, though for the atmosphere, not the food. The food is okay, just not great.

But before that, he showed me the construction site.

The loft is coming along well. So much has been done in the last two weeks. It's going to be finished very soon and it looks better than I had imagined already. He walked me through the various rooms, showed me the spa, asked me about decorating and the like while I took pictures of the progress.

A stereo was playing, one of the works must've left it on.

Then Mazzy Star's Fade Into You came on and I asked him to dance with me.

And we did. We slow danced in the partially finished BDSM room, illuminated by a set of construction lights, footprints in sawdust, his hands roaming over my back, his face in the curve of my neck, then my hair, inhaling.

I could have sunk into him, merged.

Over dinner, we talked. Mostly about me, how I feel like I'm not living up to his expectations, how much it bothers me that he can't see how much I've changed in the last few years, how I'm weighing my words with him now because I'm afraid anything I say will get tossed around in his head without discussion until he makes a decision that greatly impacts me like he has in the past. We talked about love, falling in love, collapse and reformation of individual boundaries and identity. We talked about how he does not know what he wants, which is what is causing us such stress now. We talked about how insecure and anxious he makes me feel, keeping me on edge, that I'm losing trust in him because of his constantly changing mind. How I need a commitment to level out, that he's never, ever given me that, so he's never seen me truly level.

I came home happy, but exhausted.

Because he said that, this coming weekend, he'd take me out on a true date.

I'm not sure what that means. We've done "true" dates, in my mind. I don't ask for much, I don't need much, high-priced meals, shows... it's all the same, save for the novelty of the memory that keeps it standing out, and you can have novelty with a ten dollar meal.

But I'm excited. I'm looking forward to what he will do.

... ... ...

I went to dinner earlier this evening with my aging model friend I've brought up a time or two before.

We talked about GV8, and about me. How GV8 called me needy the other night, and how much that bothered me.

She said that I wasn't needy. And... I remembered... I'm not. When I'm single, I'm content. More than content, I'm happy, I'm confident, I'm attacking life with a machete.

Toss me into an unsteady or undefined relationship, I immediately become edgy, anxious.

And GV8 has put me into a highly emotional, insecure situation. So I'm being anxious, fighting my need to cling to him for stability he cannot offer me.

She also said that, in our discussion, and this is more me needing to remember this than communicate it, as my eyes are starting to close while I'm typing which will make coherency a risky idea, that I've watched my parents' relationship. My father's random outbursts of rage, my mother's constant appeasement, making sure that the rages are minimal, that they don't happen at all.

And that's what I do in my relationships.

I appease. I am constantly submitting myself to the needs of the man I'm with because I'm trying to stop any sort of outbursts or ending of the relationship.

It's fear-based. It's what I've seen, what I've learned without realizing. This is why I am so confident when I'm single, so happy and free, and why I'm so edgy and lose so much of myself when I'm in relationships. I give, not out of love, but out of fear, out of a need to appease, to placate.

This needs to stop.

I'm glad my friends are comfortable enough to talk to me about such things. I'm glad I know so many amazing people who are willing to put up, even encourage, my constant navel-gazing. They're a blessing.

They help me grow.