With exercise being my main antidepressant, I panicked a
little when the city pools closed, but I went back to the gym at the community
center by my house. For some reason I can’t stop myself from smiling when I get
on the elliptical. Sometimes I am a little bit of a chick lit novel, I think.
Zumba classes started up again and the instructor has the hottest ass I’ve ever
seen, so I have that to look forward to.
On Monday, the Lady of the House and I had a nude beach day
and it was fantastic. We talked our hearts out and I trusted her enough to tell
her things I hadn’t told anybody, not even Sweetie. With Sweetie having gotten
so sick of the sound of my voice, it’s wonderful that I have at least a couple
of people in my life who don’t think I talk too much. (LOTH does think I might
think too much, and I’m inclined to agree.) In between swimming and adding cute
couples to my mental vision board, we worked on lists of what we want in our
next partners. We’re awesome wingpeople for each other since almost everything
we like is opposite—besides “Must love the ocean,” of course. I’ll post my list
soon even though I’ve already written (and ignored!) many such lists.
One thing I’m proud of from this week is that the other
night when I was crying it out over Steampunk guy, I didn’t lean on Sweetie for
help. When I was lying in bed crying and trying to write, she came in and put
her hand on my back but I sent her back out. I texted Angel Face a few times
but mostly I handled it on my own. I cried and wrote and then cried and wrote
some more the next day, until eventually they started to feel like productive
tears, tears of acceptance, the kind that give my heart a little more breathing
room. It’s important that I know how to fall apart and put myself back together
without having to depend on Sweetie to tell me it’s okay, to tell me I’m okay.
It’s been a hard week, but I still feel like I’m doing what
I can to move myself forward. One of my main goals is to have more community
ties by the time my heart is healed, so I looked up a bunch of munches and
RSVPed. This week was the local Master/slave meeting and it was exactly the
right thing to go to. Everybody was so sweet and caring, and we/they talked
about deep, complicated feelings for two hours—that is like emo-girl Christmas!
There wasn’t any one person I felt an affinity towards, but the group felt like
such a good place to start—one of them, anyway.
I’d still been feeling very reticent about making friends
around the scene because of shame about the (way back when) Fireguy stuff and
the (still kind of hurty) Scary Party stuff, but the more I talk to people, the
more I understand that I’m not alone. The picture I had of myself as an outcast
or pariah was a. pretty self centered and b. incorrect. There are definitely
some mean girls who don’t like me, but for the most part no one ever says “Oh,
that was you?” and runs away or yells at me. It’s just a part of who I am, and
someday, I won’t be ashamed of it. While I do regret the fight with Fireguy, I
can’t say that I regret the Scary Party thing—I can’t see any other way that
could have gone. Plus, I kind of like tops to know that I have the potential to
fuck their whole shit up (at least for a night or two) if they ignore limits.
That being said, while I was talking to one of the Scary
Party regulars about The Man, a wave of compassion washed over me. He’s just
like me, just like everyone—kind of a brokeny person who needs love and fucks
it up sometimes. Not that I’d snuggle up to him anytime soon (I’m sure he’d be
TERRIFIED at the prospect) but I don’t really feel like I need to be mad at him
anymore, and I certainly don’t need to be afraid. With things in perspective,
he was a love like any of the others, and he always will be.
So even though the days are long and sluggish, I do feel
like I’m continuing to break down walls for myself.
Monday night when I came home all pink and happy from the
beach, I was joking around with Sweetie about my “must love the ocean”
requirement, and she said:
“You know, I grew up in West Texas. Most of the information
I had about the ocean came from Jaws.”
“Come to think of it, most of the information you had about
hetero sex came from working at the Rape Crisis Center.”
“Til I met you, yeah.”
Sweetie didn’t make up my fears and barriers, but she was
very good at enabling and encouraging them. My fears brought us closer
together, made me feel like I had to keep depending on her. I can see that her
influence, while ostensibly supportive, helped me to cultivate my
fight-or-flight habits instead of learning to react in more productive ways.
She loved me through so many panicky tantrums, and I’m grateful, but also that
wasn’t a healthy thing.
I want to be away from that influence, so living together is
an oppressive thing. Sometimes it’s tempting to just give in, give up on the
idea of my own place. This apartment is heartbreaking and suffocating, it sucks
out so much energy just to be here. When we first decided we were splitting, I
could see my new life so clearly, but now it feels much less clear. I don’t
know when’s the next time I’ll fall asleep with somebody, the next kiss, or
even the next spank. Sometimes that’s really hard to take.
Last week, my phone was finally repaired. (No miraculous
retrieval of cute texts, I’m afraid.) I’d been using an old kind-of-broken
phone and I figured out how to sync the phones so that I could transfer all the
contacts and pictures. I figured it out by just poking around, not by asking
Sweetie! These are the kinds of things that bring me joy lately, the little
victories that make me feel like I might just make it on my own.