I deserve someone who wants to be in the same room with me.
What a crazy thing to have to declare, but here we are.
After the Mystery Man officially entitled me a “Keeper of
His Heart” and a member of his family, I’ll admit I was a little
hopeful/vulnerable about wanting some Valentine’s Day attention, but what I got
was him disappearing mid-conversation before we’d made our date. Earlier in the
week I’d gone right out on a limb and asked them all if I could have some time
with him during Valentine’s weekend, and though they all said yes, of course,
had to ask three times before I even STARTED to get a time. Soon as I was
supposedly officially a part of them, I saw myself slip through the cracks of
their schedule, just like with the Steampunks. I have to make myself stop
loving overbooked guys.
Lacking information or a goodbye before he disappeared for
the weekend, I did maybe more Twitter-reading than I should have and found out
they were having a party that night, which I hadn’t been told about and
definitely hadn’t been invited to. I physically ACHED to be at that party,
dancing and hugging and really seeing them. That yearning opened up the
cognitive dissonance that made me take the blinders off and start to realize
that their version of me being in their “Family” did not necessarily include me
ever being in their presence.
So I was hurting but that hurt was ameliorated by a
wonderful surprise—Mr. Shiny Eyes! After I called him Friday evening to touch
base after our conference adventures, he decided on a whim to drive over (from,
it must be said, the same VERY close city where the Mysteries live) and jump
into bed with me for Valentines. I was so touched and turned on by the gesture
and I loved the visit, especially our morning. We cuddled in bed talking so
long before jumping on each other again, it was so intimate, such a time-luxury
compared to the (also fantastic) festival sex we’ve enjoyed before.
There was no way, after a gesture and a morning like that,
to pretend that I was okay with someone who claims to love me but doesn’t want
to see me. After Mr. Shiny Eyes headed home, though I assumed the Mystery Man
was busy with some kind of Valentine’s fun, I tried to ask him about the implications
of me not having been invited to the party. I thought the problem might get
bigger in my head if I waited until our not-really-set-yet date.
I tried to write it as a letter, but probably should have
asked (through the cloud of interrupting-shame) for a real conversation—a real
10 –minute talk could have solved the problem, if the problem could in fact be
solved at all.
Instead of reassurance, though, or an invite to some future
party, (I mean, COME ON, even the most elusive of casual guys invited me to
parties at his house!) I was told that the “online contingency” aren’t usually
invited and that I would’ve run the risk of making people uncomfortable. This
was followed by a litany of things that were higher priorities to them—that old
bottom-of-the-pile feeling. I told him I was hurt by that, that I didn’t like
being on the outside looking in, that I needed to know I could do normal things
like be near the people who purported to love me.
The “online contingency,” fucking OOF.
I didn’t hear from him again and imagined that he had gone
back to whatever lovey-dovey permutation of entanglements I was being left out
of that day. It was only by chance that and secondhand I found out he’d melted
down about what I’d said, and that made it even harder and guiltier to try and
communicate.
I did try (on open Twitter, since I felt like I wasn’t being
heard on the private channels) but all I got back was an “Are you leaving me?”
and no further communication from him. I tried talking to the Lady whose time I’d
unwittingly derailed, but it really was moot, since he’d rather break up than
face the prospect of having me over.
I really do love him, and it was never just him. I loved the
Ladies first and I always wanted to just arrange the whole family in a pile and
dive in. More importantly than the sexy stuff, though, I wanted to be their
friend, to feel their warmth around me in ordinary, everyday ways. The concept
of “online friendship” makes absolutely no sense to me. My love and friendship
are physical, even for people I’ve never met, and loving without face-to-face
contact is unsafe and ungrounded.
I shouldn’t be in the position of feeling like crazy stalker
girl for wanting to included by people who’ve used the word “family” or for
wanting to be physically near someone I love. I shouldn’t have to convince
anybody that my presence is awesome and should be welcome and encouraged. And
(typing this for maybe the millionth time, maybe I’ll learn it) I shouldn’t
have to feel like a burden or an interruption every single time I need
something. I deserve to be a clear priority, even if my role is smaller than
others’.
The ironic thing about this situation is that if somebody
else were treating me this way, this family of readers would be the first to
get up in arms about it, telling me to get out and that I’m amazing and strong
and wonderful and deserve so much better. Without them to tell me that, I’m
trying to tell myself.
This “online relationship” business is just complete
nonsense, especially from someone who lives two hours away.
Last night, while my nerves were still jangled and my heart
was definitely breaking, Mr. Sweetface made it over for our long-awaited play
date. I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to pay him the proper attention,
but it’s amazing what bodies can take care of all on their own. The smell of
him, his big pretty eyes, his beautiful naked self across my knee all subby and
soft—how lucky am I? When it was his turn to spank me, I cried a little at the
end and he gathered me up and told me I was beautiful, told me I’d be okay. The
generosity of that easy gesture, the sound of his heartbeat, his strong arms as
he wrapped me in the blanket, that’s what I need. That’s what I am.
A few months ago when I was panicking to the Lady of the
House about the Steampunks, she said, not unkindly, that I seem to find myself
in one crazy story after another, that it might be beneficial to look at the
pattern and figure out what attracts me to unavailable people. Since then, I’ve
tried to be mindful of only making choices that wouldn’t lead me back to
loneliness and panic, so I’m sheepish and sad to have chosen a constellation
that, however loveable, has infinitely more barriers up than the Steampunks
did. I love them so much and sometimes they’re all I want in this world, but I
ignored a million red flags and broke my own very good rules to love them. I
don’t know what makes me do this, except that I needed the words “love” and
“family” so badly that I would’ve given anything. That’s where I am right now and
I’ll keep trying to be careful with it.