Well, it's currently official, pending interference by natural disasters.
Roman is coming out to stay with me for a few days in three weeks.
The one man in my life right now that I'd actually sleep with.
The one man in my life right now that I can actually talk to.
I'm torn between a *squeak* of happiness and a "what exactly is the universe planning that is going to prevent this from happening?" thought.
Because that happens to me a lot.
In other, less exciting news, tomorrow looks to be packed. Scattered errands and socialization in the morning and early afternoon, date in the late afternoon/early evening with the porn director, clubbing at night. Invited to a birthday dinner as well, but that's likely not going to happen.
Not really... wanting to go out on that date tomorrow.
It's one of those fruitless endeavors. It really is fairly useless. He's not anyone I would have a relationship with, nor can/will I sleep with him. Too risky. So it's just another social point of contact in yet another series of social leapfrogging because I don't let my social circles overlap.
Which is probably because of experiences I had in childhood/early teenage years of losing entire social groups due to drama, and always being the little bitch of the group (because I did not grow a set until after getting kicked out of college).
It's simply not socially safe to have a small number of social groups.
Things happen, people change, drama happens, groups age and then... cocooning. Watching some partner off into safe, happy, sexless relationships. Content. Not adventuring. Locked into their lives. Locked into their friends, their friends' friends, and those who float in, having little to no say over the whole group.
I never fully belong.
But, sometimes, that's a good thing.
So, another friend. Maybe someone I mildly mess around with. Another person to work into my too-busy schedule.
Useless.
I kinda don't even want to get to know him, as he's just going to wind up another guy that I hung out with once or maybe twice, then tapered off talking to because my plate is already too full. And then I feel bad, and pressured.
Heh, I'm kinda setting myself up for a miserable date, aren't I?
No time for a relationship, losing desire for casual sex.
Frightening to think that maybe, after what I experienced with GV8, that I may no longer be able to have casual sex. God knows that the only reason I'm able to consider sleeping with Roman is because I care for him so much. As much as you can when all you have is the voice on the other end of a telephone, knowing that things will go absolutely no where.
So am I there now? Stuck in that place where nothing is going to "work" except for emotions, that I'll start emotionally entangling myself with any man I end up sleeping with regularly?
Or is that just weakness, vulnerability, left over by GV8 stripping me so raw?
That, eventually, I'll get back to normal, to casual sex for the sake of casual sex?
Maybe. I suppose time will tell.
Kinda of odd, being so emotionally vulnerable on a sexual level. That's so new, something I can hardly remember. When I started banging the nights away, I was doing so out of self-destruction, more focused on myself than the person I was sleeping with, using them to hurt my basic value system instilled in me by my parents. So the man didn't really matter, and I was aiming, purposefully, so low quality, that one-night stands were expected. It wasn't until I was 17-18 that I started having regular partners.
Aside from the first person I slept with, I never had that real chance or inclination to bond with my partners. And even that first person, while I thought myself in love with him, the sex did nothing to bring us closer together, though I enjoyed it. It wasn't needed, no bonds were strengthened.
Then GV8 flips things around on me. Shows me what emotional sex can be like.
Never thought I'd learn that.
Never thought I'd be one of those people that say making love is better than fucking.
Another check-mark in the column of "craziness".
Showing posts with label damage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label damage. Show all posts
Friday, May 21, 2010
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
But somehow I manage...
C and one of her partners came over last night.
They hung out in my kitchen making taquitos while I showered. We're no strangers to each other's bodies, given the amount of time I spent couchsurfing with her, wandering around my apartment naked while the water grew hot was nothing out of the ordinary.
She's been seeing this new guy, not the one that was with us last night. I don't like him much. He's very controlling, but in the way that makes you think he's doing you a favor, or that he "really respects your decisions". His hands are cold and damp, his haircut too feminine, his posture lacking.
The four of us are going to a Cinco de Mayo event next week. C, her two guys, and myself. He didn't want to go with us. He wanted to have her to himself, didn't want to share. Doesn't want to get to know the other people she spends so much of her life with.
My right arm has been aching lately, as it often does when I overuse it. Too much time playing keyboard jockey, too many nights falling asleep with my hands clenched into light fists, jaw locked shut, grinding my teeth.
I find myself daydreaming about a male arm sliding around my waist, pulling me into him for more contact while we sleep.
I find myself at a club in conversation with a one-night stand from two years ago, discussing how his girlfriend finds me desirable, and how that interest is, oddly enough, returned. Imagining a threesome- he's tall, well-dressed red-head, she's a leggy blonde, and I've my dark hair and swishy curves.
It'd look good. The three of us would look gorgeous together.
I spend my days talking with Roman, text, IMs, phone calls. Constant companionship of the platonic variety. I'm comfortable with him, comfortable talking with him, arguing with him, teasing him.
Found myself shooting emails back and forth with a man who I've been interested in for several years. When it trickled down from several paragraph exchanges to one or two sentences, I shrugged and moved along.
His loss.
I actually thought that. Without a trace of snark, but a sincere observation. I don't have interest in playing "chase the overworked businessman". He can hunt me down if he so desires.
Got a comment on an earlier entry. One sentence. Saying something like, "Damaged... so very damaged."
Had that mild rage rise up.
Probably not that rage one would expect.
But the rage that comes from being confronted with another set of beliefs that rolls egocentric in nature.
To express to someone that they are damaged is to say that you are healthy enough to comment on their state of being. Not only that, but that how they feel, how they experience life, their value system, is entirely incorrect. That you know, you know exactly how to be healthy and happy.
That one truth to living. You've got it.
Unfortunately, since it's a single sentence comment, that Ultimate Truth of happiness and health isn't being shared. There's nothing supportive or constructive.
No, it's just a drive-by comment. Unneeded. Expressing to the poster their superiority, the recipient, their inferiority. Nothing further to be communicated.
The buck stops here. Whatever that means, exactly.
It means that the opinions being expressed in the post were indiciative of damage. Meaning those opinions were unhealthy. Meaning that unhealthiness is wrong. Meaning those opinions were wrong.
But the commenter, the commenter is oh-so right. Because they know. They know that their opinions are right. Which means their opinions are healthy. Which means they are healthy.
When speaking with Roman on a similar, but totally unrelated topic, I can only that this to mean that the commenter, or anyone expressing such egocentricity, knows what the universe wants. Knows the Ultimate Right, the Ultimate Goal, the Ultimate Path to happiness.
At the time, I described it as the girl in question being on the other side of a double-ended dildo shared with the universe.
I swear that it made sense ...I think.
I have no tolerance for such mindsets, as hypocritcal as that may sound. I will argue with people whose worldviews I agree with if I feel like they believe they know the Right Way to Be, in whatever forum that may occur. Religion, social, sexual, political... I won't discuss their beliefs with them, but I will rip them a new one (as Roman discovered yesterday) if they're platforming for the Ultimate Right.
It's one of my biggest peeves, one of the things that will be guaranteed to either set me off of make me leave a room. I have walked out of family dinners with the sentence: "Let me know when this discussion is over."
Back to the initial starting point for this topic.
Am I damaged?
In my opinion, yes, I am damaged.
And that's the only opinion that matters on this subject.
They hung out in my kitchen making taquitos while I showered. We're no strangers to each other's bodies, given the amount of time I spent couchsurfing with her, wandering around my apartment naked while the water grew hot was nothing out of the ordinary.
She's been seeing this new guy, not the one that was with us last night. I don't like him much. He's very controlling, but in the way that makes you think he's doing you a favor, or that he "really respects your decisions". His hands are cold and damp, his haircut too feminine, his posture lacking.
The four of us are going to a Cinco de Mayo event next week. C, her two guys, and myself. He didn't want to go with us. He wanted to have her to himself, didn't want to share. Doesn't want to get to know the other people she spends so much of her life with.
My right arm has been aching lately, as it often does when I overuse it. Too much time playing keyboard jockey, too many nights falling asleep with my hands clenched into light fists, jaw locked shut, grinding my teeth.
I find myself daydreaming about a male arm sliding around my waist, pulling me into him for more contact while we sleep.
I find myself at a club in conversation with a one-night stand from two years ago, discussing how his girlfriend finds me desirable, and how that interest is, oddly enough, returned. Imagining a threesome- he's tall, well-dressed red-head, she's a leggy blonde, and I've my dark hair and swishy curves.
It'd look good. The three of us would look gorgeous together.
I spend my days talking with Roman, text, IMs, phone calls. Constant companionship of the platonic variety. I'm comfortable with him, comfortable talking with him, arguing with him, teasing him.
Found myself shooting emails back and forth with a man who I've been interested in for several years. When it trickled down from several paragraph exchanges to one or two sentences, I shrugged and moved along.
His loss.
I actually thought that. Without a trace of snark, but a sincere observation. I don't have interest in playing "chase the overworked businessman". He can hunt me down if he so desires.
Got a comment on an earlier entry. One sentence. Saying something like, "Damaged... so very damaged."
Had that mild rage rise up.
Probably not that rage one would expect.
But the rage that comes from being confronted with another set of beliefs that rolls egocentric in nature.
To express to someone that they are damaged is to say that you are healthy enough to comment on their state of being. Not only that, but that how they feel, how they experience life, their value system, is entirely incorrect. That you know, you know exactly how to be healthy and happy.
That one truth to living. You've got it.
Unfortunately, since it's a single sentence comment, that Ultimate Truth of happiness and health isn't being shared. There's nothing supportive or constructive.
No, it's just a drive-by comment. Unneeded. Expressing to the poster their superiority, the recipient, their inferiority. Nothing further to be communicated.
The buck stops here. Whatever that means, exactly.
It means that the opinions being expressed in the post were indiciative of damage. Meaning those opinions were unhealthy. Meaning that unhealthiness is wrong. Meaning those opinions were wrong.
But the commenter, the commenter is oh-so right. Because they know. They know that their opinions are right. Which means their opinions are healthy. Which means they are healthy.
When speaking with Roman on a similar, but totally unrelated topic, I can only that this to mean that the commenter, or anyone expressing such egocentricity, knows what the universe wants. Knows the Ultimate Right, the Ultimate Goal, the Ultimate Path to happiness.
At the time, I described it as the girl in question being on the other side of a double-ended dildo shared with the universe.
I swear that it made sense ...I think.
I have no tolerance for such mindsets, as hypocritcal as that may sound. I will argue with people whose worldviews I agree with if I feel like they believe they know the Right Way to Be, in whatever forum that may occur. Religion, social, sexual, political... I won't discuss their beliefs with them, but I will rip them a new one (as Roman discovered yesterday) if they're platforming for the Ultimate Right.
It's one of my biggest peeves, one of the things that will be guaranteed to either set me off of make me leave a room. I have walked out of family dinners with the sentence: "Let me know when this discussion is over."
Back to the initial starting point for this topic.
Am I damaged?
In my opinion, yes, I am damaged.
And that's the only opinion that matters on this subject.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Quickest girl in the frying pan...
It seems as though I'm developing an attachment to someone, or at least the beginnings of a potential attachment to someone.
Someone that isn't GV8.
It's a mixed bag.
My sadness at GV8 leaving me, even if it winds up being temporary, has morphed into a mild lack of respect for him, which I believe I've mentioned recently. When he's reminded of me strongly, through events or actions, he forgets his rules... maybe forget isn't the right word. He discards his rules for the pleasure of my company.
Just tosses them straight out.
And something that I valued in him, the first thing that made me stop and realize that maybe he was one of those few men I truly consider mine (in the sense that this type of man belongs to me, fits with me) was his self-control.
A friend of mine mentioned, when I told her how much I admired his self-control, that it was easy to have self-control when you had no rules for yourself.
I'm finding that more and more true.
I miss him, I truly do. It becomes easier each day, a little bit at a time, to not think of him. But when he does stray into my brain, that gutpunch feeling causes pain and mental doubling up around the source, trying to wad the memories of him in foam, box them up and store them in the furthest corner of my attic.
So I don't think of him.
And I try not to be angry. I try not to think that I opened myself to him fully, was willing to bare pieces of myself that I've held tightly so long, to mesh with him without reserve or doubts... and he said no.
Or, at least, not yet.
How can I return to that? How can I go back to him with open arms? Trust is burnt, respect is damaged, I'm shying away from him again, going back to my wild mustang hindbrain: teeth-bared-eyes-rolling-ain't-never-gonna-to-put-a-bridle-on-me-boy.
How can I expect him to even want me back, with his wild nights ahead of him, the club opening up in two weeks, living the life of a playboy, girls falling on him like they do.
How could he ever look back at me and think that he'd be willing to compromise, he'd be willing to give some of it up, so he could love me?
He's told me so often that he isn't relationship material, but he keeps trying with me anyhow.
I pass his tests. I'm the whole package, he says. The whole package, as far as I can tell from our talks, entails a combination of intelligence, drive, family values, confidence, ability to handle money, constant honesty, and insane sexual ability. I think I'm a bit wishy-washy on the drive and the confidence, but he was mostly okay with it.
Even if he did come back, even if he was able to gentle me, heal the damage between us, do I want a life with a man who won't offer monogamy? Who already donated one STD to my life? Who won't give me children? Who constantly changes his mind and his plans, who is never dedicated to one path if another one arises?
I don't know.
I say that often.
At least I admit it, I suppose.
And then this dark horse shows up, and I end up intrigued.
Makes me wonder if I'm just as bad as all the MRA guys say when it comes to women. Toss someone who smells like alpha at me and I'm spreading my legs. That's the belief, right?
No, I'm not having sex. I haven't touched anyone since The Bassist. My body feels like begging for touch, for an hour in bed with someone with hard, smooth skin and a strong jaw.
I feel disloyal.
Imagine.
I feel disloyal who a man who never offered me physical loyalty. To a man that said he'd call me when he figured things out... with no set date. It could be next year when my phone rings. To a man I may never actually talk to again.
I feel inconstant, easily attracted, easily distracted.
In my defense, I wasn't looking for it.
In my defense, maybe it's a good thing to remind myself that there are the occasional rare males out there that I can actually connect with, so I'm not so desperately hinged on GV8, thinking that he's the beginning and end of my world and letting that dictate my behavior.
It makes me wonder if I'll be able to respect a man again, or how long it will take for that respect to develop. GV8 pushed the bar so high, so far out of reach when it comes to certain behaviors and desired traits, and then... then he fell.
I remember, one of the last times we were together, he was sitting at his desk, looking at me. I don't know what we were talking about, but he commented that he wondered how long it would be before I was disillusioned with him, until I looked back at him like I do so many other guys who didn't live up to my expectations- not of a partner, but of a person, the same expectations that I hold to myself, constantly striving for, even if I don't meet them.
I have high demands of the people around me. The closer they are to me, the closer I allow them to me, the higher the demands rise. Those expectations aren't financial, or social, they aren't about wardrobe or who drops the most names. They center around honesty, integrity, self-awareness, ability to communicate, lack of external judgement, self-control, ethics, honor, perception, compassion, emotional stability and intelligence.
It's a lot, I know.
I strive towards those traits. I respect those traits.
So I look at myself and wonder why this is happening. If I'm being weak by allowing it to happen, if I'm guarding myself from the pain that GV8 will inflict when he lets me know he can't compromise his life style for me, if I'm giving myself a platform of objective reality, if I'm cheating on my lack of intimacy rule I've set for myself, if I'm using him as a crutch to feel not so alone as I deal with all these changes in my life, if I'm a disloyal and inconstant whore, if I'm just as bad as all the MRA guys would say, if it's all about that alpha-related tingle, if GV8 will just add it to his mental list of reasons he should not be with me, if this is really as weak as it sounds.
Lots of ifs.
One instinct.
My brain runs wild and I balk. Rare connection, ability, blessed ability to talk, to discuss ideas, to find someone who will be honest with me with their feedback, no rose-colored glasses, no white knighting. Knowing I'm just as wrecked as them.
What am I going to have to give up with these actions?
Which domino will start the chain of events that will unravel this thread?
How much can be held against me, and how much can I hold against myself?
What am I doing? Creating self-loathing or saving myself?
Probably the former.
So weak. Still so weak.
Someone that isn't GV8.
It's a mixed bag.
My sadness at GV8 leaving me, even if it winds up being temporary, has morphed into a mild lack of respect for him, which I believe I've mentioned recently. When he's reminded of me strongly, through events or actions, he forgets his rules... maybe forget isn't the right word. He discards his rules for the pleasure of my company.
Just tosses them straight out.
And something that I valued in him, the first thing that made me stop and realize that maybe he was one of those few men I truly consider mine (in the sense that this type of man belongs to me, fits with me) was his self-control.
A friend of mine mentioned, when I told her how much I admired his self-control, that it was easy to have self-control when you had no rules for yourself.
I'm finding that more and more true.
I miss him, I truly do. It becomes easier each day, a little bit at a time, to not think of him. But when he does stray into my brain, that gutpunch feeling causes pain and mental doubling up around the source, trying to wad the memories of him in foam, box them up and store them in the furthest corner of my attic.
So I don't think of him.
And I try not to be angry. I try not to think that I opened myself to him fully, was willing to bare pieces of myself that I've held tightly so long, to mesh with him without reserve or doubts... and he said no.
Or, at least, not yet.
How can I return to that? How can I go back to him with open arms? Trust is burnt, respect is damaged, I'm shying away from him again, going back to my wild mustang hindbrain: teeth-bared-eyes-rolling-ain't-never-gonna-to-put-a-bridle-on-me-boy.
How can I expect him to even want me back, with his wild nights ahead of him, the club opening up in two weeks, living the life of a playboy, girls falling on him like they do.
How could he ever look back at me and think that he'd be willing to compromise, he'd be willing to give some of it up, so he could love me?
He's told me so often that he isn't relationship material, but he keeps trying with me anyhow.
I pass his tests. I'm the whole package, he says. The whole package, as far as I can tell from our talks, entails a combination of intelligence, drive, family values, confidence, ability to handle money, constant honesty, and insane sexual ability. I think I'm a bit wishy-washy on the drive and the confidence, but he was mostly okay with it.
Even if he did come back, even if he was able to gentle me, heal the damage between us, do I want a life with a man who won't offer monogamy? Who already donated one STD to my life? Who won't give me children? Who constantly changes his mind and his plans, who is never dedicated to one path if another one arises?
I don't know.
I say that often.
At least I admit it, I suppose.
And then this dark horse shows up, and I end up intrigued.
Makes me wonder if I'm just as bad as all the MRA guys say when it comes to women. Toss someone who smells like alpha at me and I'm spreading my legs. That's the belief, right?
No, I'm not having sex. I haven't touched anyone since The Bassist. My body feels like begging for touch, for an hour in bed with someone with hard, smooth skin and a strong jaw.
I feel disloyal.
Imagine.
I feel disloyal who a man who never offered me physical loyalty. To a man that said he'd call me when he figured things out... with no set date. It could be next year when my phone rings. To a man I may never actually talk to again.
I feel inconstant, easily attracted, easily distracted.
In my defense, I wasn't looking for it.
In my defense, maybe it's a good thing to remind myself that there are the occasional rare males out there that I can actually connect with, so I'm not so desperately hinged on GV8, thinking that he's the beginning and end of my world and letting that dictate my behavior.
It makes me wonder if I'll be able to respect a man again, or how long it will take for that respect to develop. GV8 pushed the bar so high, so far out of reach when it comes to certain behaviors and desired traits, and then... then he fell.
I remember, one of the last times we were together, he was sitting at his desk, looking at me. I don't know what we were talking about, but he commented that he wondered how long it would be before I was disillusioned with him, until I looked back at him like I do so many other guys who didn't live up to my expectations- not of a partner, but of a person, the same expectations that I hold to myself, constantly striving for, even if I don't meet them.
I have high demands of the people around me. The closer they are to me, the closer I allow them to me, the higher the demands rise. Those expectations aren't financial, or social, they aren't about wardrobe or who drops the most names. They center around honesty, integrity, self-awareness, ability to communicate, lack of external judgement, self-control, ethics, honor, perception, compassion, emotional stability and intelligence.
It's a lot, I know.
I strive towards those traits. I respect those traits.
So I look at myself and wonder why this is happening. If I'm being weak by allowing it to happen, if I'm guarding myself from the pain that GV8 will inflict when he lets me know he can't compromise his life style for me, if I'm giving myself a platform of objective reality, if I'm cheating on my lack of intimacy rule I've set for myself, if I'm using him as a crutch to feel not so alone as I deal with all these changes in my life, if I'm a disloyal and inconstant whore, if I'm just as bad as all the MRA guys would say, if it's all about that alpha-related tingle, if GV8 will just add it to his mental list of reasons he should not be with me, if this is really as weak as it sounds.
Lots of ifs.
One instinct.
My brain runs wild and I balk. Rare connection, ability, blessed ability to talk, to discuss ideas, to find someone who will be honest with me with their feedback, no rose-colored glasses, no white knighting. Knowing I'm just as wrecked as them.
What am I going to have to give up with these actions?
Which domino will start the chain of events that will unravel this thread?
How much can be held against me, and how much can I hold against myself?
What am I doing? Creating self-loathing or saving myself?
Probably the former.
So weak. Still so weak.
Thursday, December 3, 2009
I've got a few things to touch on, but it's quite likely that I'll get to only one or two of them and promptly derail myself and never reach the others.
One of C's two boys decided to attempt to have his revenge on me for my near constant social shit-flinging last night. Which meant arriving at C's house, walking into her bedroom (door open, of course) to say hello to the sight of him going down on her.
I made the minimal amount of required noises of disgust and offense in order to soothe his mildly wounded ego, but it was rather apparent that I was completely apathetic about the experience. I could've walked in on C bouncing on him like a pogo-stick wearing a pink and blue giraffe costume with lactating udders and been completely unfazed, save for the laughter that would ensue.
Next time, I told him, just jerk off onto my pillow and make sure that you're calling my name when you orgasm as I walk in and I will be quite disturbed.
Though only for the sake of my poor pillow, and how long it will take to get the scent of semen out of it.
It... makes me wonder.
The traveling from point A to point B. When we start off, and sex is a thing reserved for adults, reserved for love, commitment, for sluts and whores. It's dirty without a ring, it's dirty if you love it, it's dirty if you add more than the basic positions. Walking into a sex shop causes nervous giggles, blushing, stammering, attempts to act cool. Buying condoms, dashing them across the counter, not meeting the eyes of the sales clerk.
And now.
I hear about people getting burnt out, getting sick of it. Sick of sex. The same tired games. I meet girls my own age who have only been with a couple of men and still giggle when sex is discussed. Getting sex advice from Cosmo. Who think watching porn with their partner is a kinky act, and those girls, god, those girls who think that if their husband is masturbating, it's akin to cheating on them and they feel betrayed.
I remember watching two men pound the hell out of a tiny asian girl, maybe fifteen feet away from me while her friend snapped pictures (what, for facebook?), and feeling only interest. No shame, no embarassment. Several years ago, I would've blushed, tried to act like I wasn't watching, averted my eyes.
Now... I've checked most of my to-do list off. I treat sex like I'm playing Bingo or having a scavenger hunt. Trying new things, experimenting, finding new ways to play. My experience tends to intimidate most of the men I interact with who have any knowledge of my background.
It's odd, how things work out.
Talking with GV8 about the parties he used to throw, how he'd wake up in the morning to people having sex around him, how nice it was, how he'd just join into whatever was going on.
It sounds lovely.
It makes me lopsided. No, not physically.
Sometimes I feel so strong, so outside of everything, capable of tackling the world.
And then, the rest of the time, as you all have seen, I feel like this scared little girl, dipping her toes into the waters of adulthood, trying to face the damages.
I was reading a blog where a few guys were talking about hunting for a mythical, undamaged female, who wasn't jaded and cold by her childhood and dating history.
I realized, reading that, while I am damaged, that my saving grace has been that I am always willing to give it another shot. That each person I've encountered I've allowed, as much as I can, to be a new experience. So, yes, sometimes when I was younger, I'd date or sleep with a guy that was not good for me, that hurt me or used me, but then I'd find another that would help heal it, help me grow.
It bothers me a little, on the flipside, because I do continue to treat every man that enters my life on a sexual/social level as someone new. With all the chances in the world. They aren't like "the rest" until they prove themselves to be so.
Which makes me feel naive, and does get me hurt. But each person is different, is a new experience. You lump everyone in together... it ceases to be enjoyable. You're looking for the same patterns, reading into behaviors ideas that usually don't exist, and impressing your ideas of others onto a person you've just met.
It doesn't work out well.
Hey! Two things! And I haven't derailed! Someone, throw some confetti!
Now, to what is the meat and potatoes of my brain today.
A few days ago, Ms. Birdykins did this post on her patterns of behaviors when relationships ended. Great post.
I've my own pattern of coping when a long-termer ends.
1. Withdraw
2. Write
3. Have a few (about half the time unhealthy and desperate) one night stands to get rebound sex and emotional associations with rebounds out of the way
4. Write
5. Start socializing more, develop several new circles of friends
6. Find a steady lover, typically by means of craigslist (I don't sleep within my social circles)
7. Write
8. Stabilize
9. Write
10. Meet someone new
That is the primary pattern I engage in, and have done so since Raven and I split when I was 18 (the pattern was not created directly because of him or our relationship fallout, but by accident and maintained when I realized it wasn't a bad way for me to deal with it). It's a ten step program. A typical cycle is two weeks of withdrawal, a month or two of casual dating and one-night stands which overlaps with my growing social behavior, and then, when I find my steady partner, that lasts anywhere from a few months to off and on for a few years. Typically, when I meet someone new, I know almost immediately that they are going to be my next serious relationship and become part of a couple with them within two or three weeks.
It really isn't a bad way of dealing with it. Most would say it isn't ideal, but it is my basic pattern and it has worked decently well thus far, though I have definitely tweaked it and adjusted it when each break has occured, depending on my headspace and needs.
There is that damage there, that very tentative healing period where you aren't going back to your original state, but you are seeking for a way to deal with what has happened and why, and then make something out of it.
It's difficult.
And it's easier to get stuck in emotion and internally collapse into it rather than watch and see what it is you are trying to do and why.
Because to question that... it's to question years of coping, years of making yourself who you are now, the methods in which you did so.
And I'm not sure which is better. To preserve that sort of half-life, scrambling to keep your feet under you, or to suddenly question everything about your adult self and how you deal with the sex of your chosing.
Because that could do more damage than good, at least for a little while.
It's really hard to question yourself on that level. Basically, if not invalidating who you currently are, then proving that who you are now is a combination of mistakes and misjudgements you made in the past fueled by poor choices and actions.
I suppose that's what makes religious conversions a bit easier. You've done horrible, stupid things, but this particularly deity forgives you and your sins because you didn't know any better. Acceptance for who you are and all the yous that you have been in the past.
Not a bad deal.
When I look at myself and my history of men, I see this tangled girl, sometimes child, sometimes adult, naive in some ways, jaded in others. Always looking for that acceptance, connection, and understanding. Never giving up, never "learning" the things that you think she should, but learning nonetheless. I've never reached that truly jaded, cynical point. I think I should have by now. I've got most of the check boxes marked off that make a Lifetime Channel movie about redemption and love for the fallen-angel type. The whore with a heart of gold.
Gods, when I saw that phrasing "the whore with a heart of gold" for the first time a few weeks ago, I just looked at myself and went, "Oh god, I'm a country western song waiting to happen".
I'm a walking cliche. How sad. How typical.
Even better: how cliche the phrase "walking cliche" has become.
I find it interesting, the things we do to ourselves to survive, and how those patterns come about.
It really is about survival, you know. We're young, we don't know how (or why) to shield ourselves from that first real relationship, so we throw everything into it without holding back. When it ends, if it ends, we're stuck with these pieces of reality in our hands, trying to put them back into some semblence of order, knowing that they've warped under the heat and pressure of that now failed relationship, and they're not going to fit together in quite the same way.
And some parts might even be missing.
But is that really that bad? Warping can create beautiful pieces of art, and through breaks, people can bond.
I'm not... really ashamed of my damage. The things I do to cope, to survive... they don't bother me. Sometimes, yes, it makes me uncomfortable to explain those things to a person I do not think will understand. I hate seeing judgement, I hate that moment where it no longer matters who you are as a person because you are being seen for one sliver of what makes you, what has made you.
I'm told, decently often, by people who barely know me at all, that I'm wrecked or broken beyond repair. That I'm beyond screwed up, that I'll never have a healthy relationship, that I desperately need therapy... something along those lines.
I've seen wrecked. This isn't it.
Therapy would be nice, but isn't the end all. I have to say that I've done a decent enough job, taking myself from the behavior patterns I used to engage in and changing them into healthier activities.
Damaged, yes I am. It isn't a point of pride, but a product of life. Life well lived, I would say. People are like cars: leave them in the garage and they remain pristine. Take them out, take them off-roading, through winding mountain passes, storms, nice smooth pavement... they're going to wear. Nicks, scratches, dents, keys running along their flanks, broken windows, headlights go out, transmission, battery needs to be replaced.
But it was a good journey.
Now C and I have our one-year anniversary celebration tonight. One year of good friendship and crazy stories.
Some might say "do as you feel led". I leave you with "do as you feel led, but examine the hand that is tugging on your leash".
One of C's two boys decided to attempt to have his revenge on me for my near constant social shit-flinging last night. Which meant arriving at C's house, walking into her bedroom (door open, of course) to say hello to the sight of him going down on her.
I made the minimal amount of required noises of disgust and offense in order to soothe his mildly wounded ego, but it was rather apparent that I was completely apathetic about the experience. I could've walked in on C bouncing on him like a pogo-stick wearing a pink and blue giraffe costume with lactating udders and been completely unfazed, save for the laughter that would ensue.
Next time, I told him, just jerk off onto my pillow and make sure that you're calling my name when you orgasm as I walk in and I will be quite disturbed.
Though only for the sake of my poor pillow, and how long it will take to get the scent of semen out of it.
It... makes me wonder.
The traveling from point A to point B. When we start off, and sex is a thing reserved for adults, reserved for love, commitment, for sluts and whores. It's dirty without a ring, it's dirty if you love it, it's dirty if you add more than the basic positions. Walking into a sex shop causes nervous giggles, blushing, stammering, attempts to act cool. Buying condoms, dashing them across the counter, not meeting the eyes of the sales clerk.
And now.
I hear about people getting burnt out, getting sick of it. Sick of sex. The same tired games. I meet girls my own age who have only been with a couple of men and still giggle when sex is discussed. Getting sex advice from Cosmo. Who think watching porn with their partner is a kinky act, and those girls, god, those girls who think that if their husband is masturbating, it's akin to cheating on them and they feel betrayed.
I remember watching two men pound the hell out of a tiny asian girl, maybe fifteen feet away from me while her friend snapped pictures (what, for facebook?), and feeling only interest. No shame, no embarassment. Several years ago, I would've blushed, tried to act like I wasn't watching, averted my eyes.
Now... I've checked most of my to-do list off. I treat sex like I'm playing Bingo or having a scavenger hunt. Trying new things, experimenting, finding new ways to play. My experience tends to intimidate most of the men I interact with who have any knowledge of my background.
It's odd, how things work out.
Talking with GV8 about the parties he used to throw, how he'd wake up in the morning to people having sex around him, how nice it was, how he'd just join into whatever was going on.
It sounds lovely.
It makes me lopsided. No, not physically.
Sometimes I feel so strong, so outside of everything, capable of tackling the world.
And then, the rest of the time, as you all have seen, I feel like this scared little girl, dipping her toes into the waters of adulthood, trying to face the damages.
I was reading a blog where a few guys were talking about hunting for a mythical, undamaged female, who wasn't jaded and cold by her childhood and dating history.
I realized, reading that, while I am damaged, that my saving grace has been that I am always willing to give it another shot. That each person I've encountered I've allowed, as much as I can, to be a new experience. So, yes, sometimes when I was younger, I'd date or sleep with a guy that was not good for me, that hurt me or used me, but then I'd find another that would help heal it, help me grow.
It bothers me a little, on the flipside, because I do continue to treat every man that enters my life on a sexual/social level as someone new. With all the chances in the world. They aren't like "the rest" until they prove themselves to be so.
Which makes me feel naive, and does get me hurt. But each person is different, is a new experience. You lump everyone in together... it ceases to be enjoyable. You're looking for the same patterns, reading into behaviors ideas that usually don't exist, and impressing your ideas of others onto a person you've just met.
It doesn't work out well.
Hey! Two things! And I haven't derailed! Someone, throw some confetti!
Now, to what is the meat and potatoes of my brain today.
A few days ago, Ms. Birdykins did this post on her patterns of behaviors when relationships ended. Great post.
I've my own pattern of coping when a long-termer ends.
1. Withdraw
2. Write
3. Have a few (about half the time unhealthy and desperate) one night stands to get rebound sex and emotional associations with rebounds out of the way
4. Write
5. Start socializing more, develop several new circles of friends
6. Find a steady lover, typically by means of craigslist (I don't sleep within my social circles)
7. Write
8. Stabilize
9. Write
10. Meet someone new
That is the primary pattern I engage in, and have done so since Raven and I split when I was 18 (the pattern was not created directly because of him or our relationship fallout, but by accident and maintained when I realized it wasn't a bad way for me to deal with it). It's a ten step program. A typical cycle is two weeks of withdrawal, a month or two of casual dating and one-night stands which overlaps with my growing social behavior, and then, when I find my steady partner, that lasts anywhere from a few months to off and on for a few years. Typically, when I meet someone new, I know almost immediately that they are going to be my next serious relationship and become part of a couple with them within two or three weeks.
It really isn't a bad way of dealing with it. Most would say it isn't ideal, but it is my basic pattern and it has worked decently well thus far, though I have definitely tweaked it and adjusted it when each break has occured, depending on my headspace and needs.
There is that damage there, that very tentative healing period where you aren't going back to your original state, but you are seeking for a way to deal with what has happened and why, and then make something out of it.
It's difficult.
And it's easier to get stuck in emotion and internally collapse into it rather than watch and see what it is you are trying to do and why.
Because to question that... it's to question years of coping, years of making yourself who you are now, the methods in which you did so.
And I'm not sure which is better. To preserve that sort of half-life, scrambling to keep your feet under you, or to suddenly question everything about your adult self and how you deal with the sex of your chosing.
Because that could do more damage than good, at least for a little while.
It's really hard to question yourself on that level. Basically, if not invalidating who you currently are, then proving that who you are now is a combination of mistakes and misjudgements you made in the past fueled by poor choices and actions.
I suppose that's what makes religious conversions a bit easier. You've done horrible, stupid things, but this particularly deity forgives you and your sins because you didn't know any better. Acceptance for who you are and all the yous that you have been in the past.
Not a bad deal.
When I look at myself and my history of men, I see this tangled girl, sometimes child, sometimes adult, naive in some ways, jaded in others. Always looking for that acceptance, connection, and understanding. Never giving up, never "learning" the things that you think she should, but learning nonetheless. I've never reached that truly jaded, cynical point. I think I should have by now. I've got most of the check boxes marked off that make a Lifetime Channel movie about redemption and love for the fallen-angel type. The whore with a heart of gold.
Gods, when I saw that phrasing "the whore with a heart of gold" for the first time a few weeks ago, I just looked at myself and went, "Oh god, I'm a country western song waiting to happen".
I'm a walking cliche. How sad. How typical.
Even better: how cliche the phrase "walking cliche" has become.
I find it interesting, the things we do to ourselves to survive, and how those patterns come about.
It really is about survival, you know. We're young, we don't know how (or why) to shield ourselves from that first real relationship, so we throw everything into it without holding back. When it ends, if it ends, we're stuck with these pieces of reality in our hands, trying to put them back into some semblence of order, knowing that they've warped under the heat and pressure of that now failed relationship, and they're not going to fit together in quite the same way.
And some parts might even be missing.
But is that really that bad? Warping can create beautiful pieces of art, and through breaks, people can bond.
I'm not... really ashamed of my damage. The things I do to cope, to survive... they don't bother me. Sometimes, yes, it makes me uncomfortable to explain those things to a person I do not think will understand. I hate seeing judgement, I hate that moment where it no longer matters who you are as a person because you are being seen for one sliver of what makes you, what has made you.
I'm told, decently often, by people who barely know me at all, that I'm wrecked or broken beyond repair. That I'm beyond screwed up, that I'll never have a healthy relationship, that I desperately need therapy... something along those lines.
I've seen wrecked. This isn't it.
Therapy would be nice, but isn't the end all. I have to say that I've done a decent enough job, taking myself from the behavior patterns I used to engage in and changing them into healthier activities.
Damaged, yes I am. It isn't a point of pride, but a product of life. Life well lived, I would say. People are like cars: leave them in the garage and they remain pristine. Take them out, take them off-roading, through winding mountain passes, storms, nice smooth pavement... they're going to wear. Nicks, scratches, dents, keys running along their flanks, broken windows, headlights go out, transmission, battery needs to be replaced.
But it was a good journey.
Now C and I have our one-year anniversary celebration tonight. One year of good friendship and crazy stories.
Some might say "do as you feel led". I leave you with "do as you feel led, but examine the hand that is tugging on your leash".
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