I've been writing all day long. Since breakfast. Which was early. Because I woke up way too fucking early. I don't think I ever actually slept, so after my yogurt and blueberries I came back to bed really hoping to nap. Instead I swiped open my phone. And have been typing, one finger, ever since.
The problem with this is that I'm not writing essays, journals, even outlines. I'm drafting emails. After I've written and edited for an hour I reread a tenth time, decide it's too long and no good, then open up a new blank page. They're all to one person. Who probably doesn't read them. Who likely just has them filtered to a spam folder. But for a couple weeks now I've been writing those emails. Slipping right onto that send button all too often. What do I need. What am I trying to pull from him? The silence should tell me enough, right? Leave the poor bastard alone.
One reality of decoding a traumatic past is that it makes you see just how badly you fucked up prior relationships. In fact it makes it all too clear. Suddenly understanding how your first formed connection with a male operated, and continued to function, sheds light on how you treat others. Or even worse - how you misinterpret them. In finally dealing with what I was denied a chance to deal with for an entire lifetime, I've suddenly become overwhelmed with guilt. Imagine. The motherfucker who made me feel guilty for being a victim somehow manages to instill guilt in me for being so fucked up by this that I don't understand what it feels like when a person genuinely loves me. But I can't help it. That's where I'm at. So I draft emails. Send some. And they're all about the same fucking thing.
It's clear now, ok. I'm sorry. My wires were crossed. I did love you but I didn't know how. You scared me with how much love I saw in your face. What I never talked about was how I was being terrorized the whole time and just put all that crap on you. Like when my brothers used to beat the shit out of me so I'd try to hurt my little sister but she would cry and I didn't want to make her cry so I resorted to psychological torture. It's all the same thing. I'm sick of people fucking with me. I just assumed you were fucking with me too.
But what am I writing these emails for? He doesn't need this shit in his life. He has a girlfriend, they're happy, they're doing just fine. What's he going to do, congratulate me for that gold star I got in therapy? My relentless need to apologize for what I've done goes deeper. It's selfish. It's desperate. It's a losing tactic by far. But I want the motherfucker back.
Wait wait. I don't know how I want him back. I just know that I want him in my life. He was my best friend. Before the fucking. And after it. I'm on some sort of misguided mission to reconnect with the best connection I've ever had. He knows it was too. So what the fuck man. Just reply and set a meeting place.
Something that I have a really hard time understanding is that people are perfectly comfortable getting just about enough needs met by one person then calling it a deal. Dating, relationships, and the idea of marriage all feel so suffocating to me because it inevitably limits the capacity for how far you can grow. This may only be a fear of mine, and not everyone's reality, but it seems as if in coupling up we enmesh with our partners and no new ideas enter the circle. It's frustrating. It's probably why before I met him I'd always have a best friend and many fucks. Fucks taking all forms in or outside the bedroom. It felt like I had room to explore others intellectually and bring my findings back to the primary relationship, a man I would never sleep with, therefore never having the opportunity to meld.
Is this just my fear of intimacy? Or is it exactly what I'm seeing in his current relationship and I know what the fuck I'm talking about. Is it why he ignores me now, he doesn't think the same, he has different ideas?? Or did she see us texting and shut it down. Oh. That's right. That's the other problem with relationships. Possessiveness. And I'm all too familiar with feeling like someone's property.
So what exactly am I emailing this man for? Do we even want the same things? Does he even want to think actual thoughts? Why can't I just leave him alone and let him be happy. He'll find his way back if he actually misses the thoughts. But he won't if I keep telling him "Dude I've got all the thoughts!!" No one wants to be told that they could be having a great time somewhere else when they're already having a good time where they are. Who gives a fuck. Buzz buzz. He'll find me when he gets sick of folk music.
Really I think I've just been listening to too much Ray Charles lately. You know every time I put on those records I think of him. It was our purest musical connection. I felt him through that shit. Felt real close. But that's me and Ray. Since I was a kid. And that's the kind of relationship I'll keep forever.