Had a dream about you last night—I dreamed that you were dead.
Speaking of karmic debts... This is something I’ve been trying to write for a while now, but I’ve been unable to find the words. So I’m just going to shove my finger down my throat and see what comes up.
The morning X asked me whether or not I was interested in pursuing relationships with guys (as opposed to girls) was a nightmare for me. I remember feeling very disoriented, and unsure of how to answer in a way that would remain most true to myself, as well as to her and to the state of our relationship. And of course I was surprised, on the spot, and unable to really think through my response clearly.
So I did my best, but felt off-kilter and disturbed for hours afterwards.
I answered the way I did (“Nope...”) for a number of reasons:
1) On at least one critical level, it was true: I had never actually considered pursuing any kind of a relationship with anyone of my own sex. Sure, hooking up was one thing, but the only times I had experienced any real depth of feeling or relationship potential had been with members of the opposite sex. That’s since shifted, and while I’ve felt some guilt about that, I’m also trying to cut myself a reasonable amount of slack in terms of that guilt, given the radical difference in my current perspective here on the other side of things I hadn’t experienced then.
2) I had never been open with her before regarding my past dalliances with guys (and they were entirely in the past at that point—say what you want about me, but I am an extremely loyal and faithful person, and when there is an expectation of exclusivity in a relationship, I have never betrayed that), and I didn’t feel that it was the right time, in the days when our relationship was finally unraveling at the seams, to bring that new ridge into the already complicated ruffles.
3) I was uncomfortable with the way that she asked, and her motives for asking. In other words, I loathed (and still loathe) the idea that any kind of a positive response to that question would then be used to neatly and easily explain away the demise of our relationship, despite all of the other cracks that had become rifts that had become gorges between our two rapidly receding cliffs. At that point, I was so sick of so many things, so exhausted by so many others, and ultimately so ready for it to end for such a variety of painful reasons, that I couldn’t stand the thought of questions of sex and sexuality overshadowing so many things that I considered (still do) to be of such grave importance.
And speaking of sex, that’s one area in which we never had any problem. That’s right folks, again you can say what you want about me (just by putting this out there I’m giving anyone who wants to the right to have an opinion), but I’ve never had any problem getting (and keeping) it up. I have a satisfying sexual history with members of both sexes, thank you very much, as difficult as it can be for some people to conceive of that. And although X and I had essentially stopped having sex long before we finally pounded the nails into the coffin containing the tattered shreds of our relationship, we would have had no problem fucking right up to the end if the act of fucking hadn’t become so rife with issues of power and relationship politics.
God, looking back, I guess that’s just it. Though there were so many things I didn’t see at the time (hindsight being, you know, what it is), one thing I see now is that, for me, once I’ve become accustomed to “making love” with someone (ew, I hate that expression, but bear with me), it’s impossible (for me) to go back to just fucking that same someone. And I guess that’s the moment I missed somewhere along the way, which had I/we seen it for what it was at the time, it would have saved us both a fair amount of time and probably heartache: the moment when I ceased wanting to “make love.” Which I guess coincided with the moment I fell out of love entirely.
The morning X asked me whether or not I was interested in pursuing relationships with guys (as opposed to girls) was a nightmare for me. I remember feeling very disoriented, and unsure of how to answer in a way that would remain most true to myself, as well as to her and to the state of our relationship. And of course I was surprised, on the spot, and unable to really think through my response clearly.
So I did my best, but felt off-kilter and disturbed for hours afterwards.
I answered the way I did (“Nope...”) for a number of reasons:
1) On at least one critical level, it was true: I had never actually considered pursuing any kind of a relationship with anyone of my own sex. Sure, hooking up was one thing, but the only times I had experienced any real depth of feeling or relationship potential had been with members of the opposite sex. That’s since shifted, and while I’ve felt some guilt about that, I’m also trying to cut myself a reasonable amount of slack in terms of that guilt, given the radical difference in my current perspective here on the other side of things I hadn’t experienced then.
2) I had never been open with her before regarding my past dalliances with guys (and they were entirely in the past at that point—say what you want about me, but I am an extremely loyal and faithful person, and when there is an expectation of exclusivity in a relationship, I have never betrayed that), and I didn’t feel that it was the right time, in the days when our relationship was finally unraveling at the seams, to bring that new ridge into the already complicated ruffles.
3) I was uncomfortable with the way that she asked, and her motives for asking. In other words, I loathed (and still loathe) the idea that any kind of a positive response to that question would then be used to neatly and easily explain away the demise of our relationship, despite all of the other cracks that had become rifts that had become gorges between our two rapidly receding cliffs. At that point, I was so sick of so many things, so exhausted by so many others, and ultimately so ready for it to end for such a variety of painful reasons, that I couldn’t stand the thought of questions of sex and sexuality overshadowing so many things that I considered (still do) to be of such grave importance.
And speaking of sex, that’s one area in which we never had any problem. That’s right folks, again you can say what you want about me (just by putting this out there I’m giving anyone who wants to the right to have an opinion), but I’ve never had any problem getting (and keeping) it up. I have a satisfying sexual history with members of both sexes, thank you very much, as difficult as it can be for some people to conceive of that. And although X and I had essentially stopped having sex long before we finally pounded the nails into the coffin containing the tattered shreds of our relationship, we would have had no problem fucking right up to the end if the act of fucking hadn’t become so rife with issues of power and relationship politics.
God, looking back, I guess that’s just it. Though there were so many things I didn’t see at the time (hindsight being, you know, what it is), one thing I see now is that, for me, once I’ve become accustomed to “making love” with someone (ew, I hate that expression, but bear with me), it’s impossible (for me) to go back to just fucking that same someone. And I guess that’s the moment I missed somewhere along the way, which had I/we seen it for what it was at the time, it would have saved us both a fair amount of time and probably heartache: the moment when I ceased wanting to “make love.” Which I guess coincided with the moment I fell out of love entirely.
posted by P/O at 9/16/2005 12:13:00 PM
2 Comments:
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hi sweetness,
i think i would also be uncomfortable with her motives for asking, as if that would be the one thing that would explain the drift, the deadness that was already there. yeah,relationship politics suck.
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