It's been too damn long since I have written in here. Twenty-something days. I have thought about writing on here every one of them. But time is time is time. It keeps slipping away from us. Faster when we cling to it.
There is so much I want to say. Small moments I want to dwell on. Big questions I want to ponder. But I don't know what will come out when I start this next paragraph. Let's find out together, shall we?
My secret poem sender came back for another visit last week.
I just wrote and deleted a long recap of who this person is and how I know her. I am going to try again but keep it real short:
For four years, I received poems in the mail. They were sweet and caring and made me feel seen without expecting anything from me in return. I loved it.
Last spring a woman asked if she could visit me. We talked about having sex together. It had been a while for me as my last few encounters ended quite badly. I dare say I was on the receiving end of some pretty intense emotional abuse. Or at least those encounters were enough to trigger all the memories of emotional abuse in the past.
But I wanted to try again. I was very nervous about it. The intensity of emotions and sensations, the responsibility of after-care, the desire to not cause suffering or pain. Sex is supposed to be enjoyable, right?
And it is, boy-howdy it sure is.
But after its over, there often seems to be suffering.
This seems true even with good communication and looking out for each other. I say "good" communication, but maybe that is not what I mean.
What I mean is there have been times in my life where people I have wanted have said, these are the parameters in which we can do this thing, and I have lied to myself and them and said, "yes, this is cool with me." But that was just a lie I said so that I could be with this person I wanted.
Which is to say that I have pretended to be into non-monogamy to please a partner. And there have been times I have pretended to be into monogamy to please a partner. And so many little tiny examples where someone has placed a boundary that doesn't fit me and I have squeezed and contorted myself to fit that box just because of my longing for this person. And of course we both (sometimes more than both) suffer from that.
And it is often subconscious. A spontaneous reaction from my traumatized brain. A futile attempt to escape the feelings of abandonment and unworthiness that always lurk in the shadows. I don't know I am lying. I just don't want this person to leave. If that person leaves than it confirms every horrible thing I have believed about myself.
In the last few years, I have grown more into myself and have become more generally the real deal authentic me.
As a result, it seems more people are attracted to me than before. And with much greater intensity.
This says nothing about me, really. It says something about genuine authenticity. I think it draws people in.
But it could also be an issue of me realizing that everything my brain has told me about how unattractive and awkward I am isn't true. And that maybe I have always been desired in this way but was just too blinded by depression to see it.
And maybe what I call intensity is just normal, run-of-the-mill infatuation or plain ole' lust. But because I was burned so badly from touching the hot stove in the past, I become afraid just by seeing the stove turned on. I don't know.
But there are women now who pursue me. Like this woman who wanted to visit last spring. The woman who it turned out was sending me the poems in the mail. And though I try to be quite clear about where I am right now and what my boundaries are, I fear that they are only agreeing to these terms to get a foot in the door. That they are subconsciously lying to themselves the way I so often have lied to myself.
That perhaps I will change or be persuaded or didn't exactly mean what exactly it was I said.
I don't know if I am making any sense.
I am tempted to just delete this whole thing and start over.
In short, I thought I was going to have a weekend fling with this woman who I thought just wanted a weekend fling. That wasn't mere guesswork on my part. We discussed it.
But when she was here, surprise surprise, she has been the one writing me all this time.
And she was madly in love with me (her words).
And again we had a discussion about that to which I thought we both agreed.
It's truly not her. She is a really funny, kind, attractive woman. She's outgoing and optimistic, things that are very much not me. And I like having that around.
But I get scared by all of it. Overwhelmed by the sensory data. Afraid that I will lose myself. Afraid I will hurt or be hurt or both.
I don't want to be this way, but this is the way I am right now.
And so when she asked if she could come back in July, I told her all of this.
And she said okay and came out anyway.
She was here for a week.
Though she made it clear that she wanted to, we did not have sex, and she was respectful and gentle and kind about it.
She said some things about how attractive I was. What a good, swoon-worthy man. She said some things about trying to capture my heart, but in a half-joking way. I always looked embarrassed and silent.
On the whole, I think it went well. She said she found us not having sex to be healing. Where in the past with other people she worried that's all that people wanted her for, she knew that this time around it was her company and mind that was desired and delighted in.
And I did delight in her company.
And I considered having sex with her. Especially towards the end of the trip. I felt I owed her in a way. But I couldn't bring myself to do it. My intuition screamed it wasn't safe and I am trying to listen to my intuition more.
Even though my brain was screaming that there was something wrong with me and maybe I am suffering from lack of testosterone and should want sex and maybe I should just let go and give in, get married, be happy.
But my intuition won out this time. And I was relieved. But also so worried about her heart and what might be going on in her brain about our week together.
I know I am not responsible for that.
But I hate being the cause of pain.
In my younger days I had my fill of my desires without being aware at all of the damage it caused. Because I didn't think I mattered, I didn't think I had much of an impact on anyone.
I found out I was wrong. But all I knew of the impact I had was negative.
Heartbreak and trauma were all I caused, I thought.
And this is why the last few years I have pulled back and away. If I deny my desires and needs, I will suffer, but at least I will not harm anyone in my wake.
But I forget that I can be an instrument of healing as well. That this woman might be feeling more confident and secure in who she is. That maybe my presence can provide a little solace and comfort.
That maybe it is okay to step back into the world again. To again get close to a hot stove. Maybe even cook something on it (wink, wink).
I don't know.
I don't know what I am doing at all.
10:10 a.m. - 2021-07-12
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