It's been four days since my (literal) fuck-up. That's 96 hours I've spent thinking (and packing for my upcoming move, and smoking a bunch of weed.) And...truth be told, I've been feeling pretty good. But tonight, at work, I was talking to some people who have been following my blog. And basically I was vocally handed some cold, hard, slap-in-the-face facts that started to make me feel pretty shitty instead. The gist of what everyone had to say was, "You said you were going to do these 100 Days. And you broke it. That's it. It's over. What do you mean, you're still going?" I felt myself internally blubbering and stammering. But...but I made some legit breakthroughs! But...this thing wasn't about wang, not REALLY. Right? Right?? I could go on, make excuses, justify my actions ("but... I have feeeeelings for that guy") but nah, the facts are the facts, whether I like them or not. I may have lasted a whole 13 days, whoopee, but I still broke it. I know, at the same time, many of you have said, "it's all about getting back on the horse when you get knocked off," and variations on that theme. But at the end of the day, I didn't make it, and that kiiiinda makes those previous days not count. When I opened my eyes Monday afternoon, blinking the haze of the infamous Sunday from my eyes, I figured, might as well keep truckin' along. And maybe because I woke up still shitfaced, I felt okay continuing on like it was just good ol' day 14, not The Day After "100 Days" Technically Died. Day 13 was the day of the screw up, and I was still counting off the days since then, so today would be day 17. But... after listening to what several people have pointed out tonight, and initially after Sunday's allowance of peen penetration happened, I don't feel quite right going on. I'm not acting like nothing happened, but in a way, I kind of am. And with something that means this much to me, it's making me uncomfortable and feels wrong.
In any other aspect of my life, when something has been important to me, has real value, I don't take it lightly. It becomes a permanent, daily fixture in my life. I will invest endless energy into it. But I definitely do NOT half-ass it, or simply nod off mistakes. With my past academic studies, my singing, my athletic training, playing piano, and of course, my writing, errors need to be caught and fixed immediately. I don't move forward or progress to a new level if I'm still making boo-boos on my current one. Mastering languages meant mastery of the details; if you want to memorize vocabulary and perfect grammar, you start over again from the beginning, even if you miss a single article. Singing requires countless hours of practice and immense patience. I could spend an entire hour singing and re-singing a single cadenza in order to achieve the desired effect. Poor form, even in a single rep, during a workout, won't count and I either start over, or don't count that rep. And so on. I began to think how much this 100 Day thing is similar to all those things that mean the world to me. This project is definitely something that is super meaningful to me, and I feel like I absolutely messed up last Sunday night. But I hate the idea of completely cancelling out the prior 12 days leading up that, because those were 12 days of great work and strides. I came a long way in that short time. So then maybe, I thought, just day 13 won't count. I'll repeat it instead. I'll double up, and count day 14 as 13 again. But that still didn't feel quite right. The deal was to swear off dick for 100 days. If I succumbed, it would force a cancellation of any days already under my belt, no matter how far along I had come (growth-wise, or days-wise.) So the only conclusion I can say makes the most sense and feels the best, is to start over.
During these past few days I've gone on a hiatus of sorts, taking a break from thinking about my self, and men. Instead I've been mulling over this "do I start anew?" thing. And I think it's the correct choice. Aside from it putting me at ease and feeling like the right move, I've also realized that I still have assertiveness issues I'm battling. As much as my writing does NOT portray this, I've been a horribly unassertive person my entire life. When it comes to conflict, getting yelled at, being in trouble, scolded, reprimanded, grounded, criticized, I let myself get backed into corners and fall silent. When it came to calling a spade a spade, saying shit like it was, I was never able to. I briefly saw a counselor in college, and she almost immediately picked up on this phenomenon. She became my mouthpiece in my sessions, saying what she knew I was thinking and feeling, for me, until I was brave enough to stand on my mental feet and say it myself. But I still have trouble with it; I didn't realize it until after this slip-up, and the four days of thinking that followed it. It's probably why, even when I knew the last thing I really wanted or should've done on Sunday, Day 13, Day of The Deed-Doing, was to pay any mind to Night Before Guy, I did anyway. He kept trying to get me to, and I know that was coming, if not entirely, from a male ego "I can break her" thing. And yes, I'm sure part of why I had trouble resisting was because I have feelings for the dude. But...I still couldn't stand my ground. He'd come over and hug me, and instead of walking away, I'd melt and hug him back. BOOOOOOO. So, another thing to work on: get my assertiveness game on point. Am I ready? Here, in my room, at 5:28 a.m., FUCK YEAH I'm ready. I already screwed up once; I lived and am still painfully aware of how shitty I felt afterwards. I don't want to go back to that place, not when there's so much work left to be done. And not when I know how amazing that work was making me feel. I want to glow again.
So. Today will be Day One of the new 100 Days. You can call it whatever you like- Peen Free For Me, 100 Days in Dickless Detention, 100 Days Without Wang: Take Two, Get The Cock Up Outta Here, Shelving of The Shafts, No Hard-on's Til March, The No Bone Zone. Good god, those are terrible. Although that last one could be a good vaginal bumper sticker. Anyway. You get the point. It's Day One bitches. I'm ready. (For real this time. I promise, Mom!)
Friday, December 27, 2013
Wednesday, December 25, 2013
DAY 15: Happy Holidays
So, right now, the most recent guy I seriously dated is back home with his family for the holidays. Oh, and his brand-new girlfriend went with him. He and I ended things about four months ago. Considering how often he had always vocalized to me that he neither does commitment, nor does he EVER bring girls home to meet his parents, I don't know how I feel. You know, because he's only known this chick since September. A few months back, this kinda thing would've slain me as if we had broken up all over again. But today, the floor stayed solid beneath my feet. The wind didn't get knocked out of me. It doesn't make me feel lost, or like I'm looking up at them rising above me out of a hole while I'm still stuck on the bottom. I'm sure part of it is that I've become invested in my own journey. My path was not with him, and I've accepted that. I don't want him anymore, and I know she's a better fit for him. Knowing I wasn't as good a match for him isn't make me tear myself to pieces. But...it did get me thinking. Not "why didn't he take MEEE home to meet his parents? What was wrong with me?" And so on. Where I normally would've had a personal party to destroy myself, mentally rack up all my flaws and doubts to answer it, I'm not doing that now. So this 100 Day thing has had it's immediate effects, that's for sure. It's amazing how becoming brutally honest with yourself about yourself strengthens you, as painful as it may be. No, what I started wondering was how maybe the thing that's bothered me about guys may be the same thing that bothers them about me. Allow me to explain...
I used to think all the time how it's impossible to find one guy who combines the ability to fulfill both my sexual needs, and my emotional needs. It's always been one or the other- guys who have been assholes / commitment phobes, but get it done in the boudoir. Or, guys who are sweet and whatever, but...that's it. Yesterday got me thinking... wait... am I like that, to them? Am I the girl version of the asshole/commitment phobe guy? The one who fulfills only the sexual needs? Given how I've acted over the years, I can totally see it. I would love and leave, avoid letting guys in, use them til I was bored of it. I know now why I did that, but I never really thought about how it made them perceive me. If it made them see me as a sexual girl only, one they'd never take home to their parents, I would stupidly not understand it and be hurt. But I didn't realize that they couldn't see inside my brain. I may have been fully aware of everything that I am, beyond the sexual side, but I forgot they never saw that because I kept it all hidden away. I have never switched the perspective before, never looked at myself through any of these guys' eyes. I can be sure that's because it would be way too painful for me- I was a complete dick to almost all of them, and it's hard to own up to mistreating others like that and look at it dead-on. But also because I was afraid to look at myself in how I was presenting myself. That kind of bird's eye view could be embarrassing, or force me to see my behavior and maybe not like it, not like myself even more than I already didn't. I never liked thinking about my prior behaviors; I liked living in the moment and doing whatever it was I wanted to do, whatever it was that tickled my fancy at the time. If I did look back on it, it was to make fun of it, or find the humor in it, and tell / write the funny stories to amuse others, and myself. I realize it was a defense mechanism, and a way to avoid cold, hard truths about me and my actions. I don't regret things or people I did, and I still want to be a free spirit and find the funny side to things. But I always claimed to be able to compartmentalize, to separate sex from emotions, that what people thought of me didn't matter, that I was hilarious and wild. I'm not saying all of that was a farce, a lie, but I do think it was additionally masking a sad, scared and lonely person underneath it. I'd like to still do what I want, be all those things, but only if I can also be a healed and true version of that girl I hid away for so long. If I can't be both, well, it's clear what will have to be sacrificed. But I don't think it will come to that.
Part of this journey is to fully own and accept everything I am, at any given moment, past or present. It's probably why I was able to move past my day 13 slip-up without completely falling apart. I wasn't afraid to look it full in the face and understand it. In fact, I wanted to understand it. It's easy to go through life living on the surface- I did it for years and HELLS YES it was fun and awesome and I have endless great stories from it. But now I'm feeling I'm still doing me, except my legs are extending through the water and the experience is touching the ocean floor, living through these things on a much deeper level. I'm not just dancing across the crest, I'm fully stretching out to feel the bottom as I go along. This could be the beginning of the fulfillment I always craved from life. It's pretty awesome to know I can provide it for myself, from myself. That it's not tied into some man, or dependent on someone else. I'm starting to ask myself questions that are about me, but also about the world around me and about existence and life on a grander scale. I feel my energy buzzing and glowing in a way that I never have- I feel myself coming into myself and expanding outwards from there, if that makes sense. I feel for the first time I have something positive to give to the world. And it gives me hope that I'll soon be ready to receive all that life has to offer me, in a way I never thought I could or let myself do before. I kinda like how this is happening on a day when so much love has been radiating out of people spending time with their families and loved ones, celebrating and enjoying. I feel myself connected with that all, rather than separated and alone. So happy holidays everyone, even to that silly ex-boyfriend with his new girlfriend, down in Georgia. Eat, drink, party your asses off, and love your life! It's pretty damn beautiful out there.
I used to think all the time how it's impossible to find one guy who combines the ability to fulfill both my sexual needs, and my emotional needs. It's always been one or the other- guys who have been assholes / commitment phobes, but get it done in the boudoir. Or, guys who are sweet and whatever, but...that's it. Yesterday got me thinking... wait... am I like that, to them? Am I the girl version of the asshole/commitment phobe guy? The one who fulfills only the sexual needs? Given how I've acted over the years, I can totally see it. I would love and leave, avoid letting guys in, use them til I was bored of it. I know now why I did that, but I never really thought about how it made them perceive me. If it made them see me as a sexual girl only, one they'd never take home to their parents, I would stupidly not understand it and be hurt. But I didn't realize that they couldn't see inside my brain. I may have been fully aware of everything that I am, beyond the sexual side, but I forgot they never saw that because I kept it all hidden away. I have never switched the perspective before, never looked at myself through any of these guys' eyes. I can be sure that's because it would be way too painful for me- I was a complete dick to almost all of them, and it's hard to own up to mistreating others like that and look at it dead-on. But also because I was afraid to look at myself in how I was presenting myself. That kind of bird's eye view could be embarrassing, or force me to see my behavior and maybe not like it, not like myself even more than I already didn't. I never liked thinking about my prior behaviors; I liked living in the moment and doing whatever it was I wanted to do, whatever it was that tickled my fancy at the time. If I did look back on it, it was to make fun of it, or find the humor in it, and tell / write the funny stories to amuse others, and myself. I realize it was a defense mechanism, and a way to avoid cold, hard truths about me and my actions. I don't regret things or people I did, and I still want to be a free spirit and find the funny side to things. But I always claimed to be able to compartmentalize, to separate sex from emotions, that what people thought of me didn't matter, that I was hilarious and wild. I'm not saying all of that was a farce, a lie, but I do think it was additionally masking a sad, scared and lonely person underneath it. I'd like to still do what I want, be all those things, but only if I can also be a healed and true version of that girl I hid away for so long. If I can't be both, well, it's clear what will have to be sacrificed. But I don't think it will come to that.
Part of this journey is to fully own and accept everything I am, at any given moment, past or present. It's probably why I was able to move past my day 13 slip-up without completely falling apart. I wasn't afraid to look it full in the face and understand it. In fact, I wanted to understand it. It's easy to go through life living on the surface- I did it for years and HELLS YES it was fun and awesome and I have endless great stories from it. But now I'm feeling I'm still doing me, except my legs are extending through the water and the experience is touching the ocean floor, living through these things on a much deeper level. I'm not just dancing across the crest, I'm fully stretching out to feel the bottom as I go along. This could be the beginning of the fulfillment I always craved from life. It's pretty awesome to know I can provide it for myself, from myself. That it's not tied into some man, or dependent on someone else. I'm starting to ask myself questions that are about me, but also about the world around me and about existence and life on a grander scale. I feel my energy buzzing and glowing in a way that I never have- I feel myself coming into myself and expanding outwards from there, if that makes sense. I feel for the first time I have something positive to give to the world. And it gives me hope that I'll soon be ready to receive all that life has to offer me, in a way I never thought I could or let myself do before. I kinda like how this is happening on a day when so much love has been radiating out of people spending time with their families and loved ones, celebrating and enjoying. I feel myself connected with that all, rather than separated and alone. So happy holidays everyone, even to that silly ex-boyfriend with his new girlfriend, down in Georgia. Eat, drink, party your asses off, and love your life! It's pretty damn beautiful out there.
Monday, December 23, 2013
DAY 13: Zack Morris Time-Out
All I want to do right now is throw shit, chuck this computer across the room, pull my hair out, yell.
In my inebriated state the best I could muster was the poor man's version of that: when I got home earlier, I threw my keys in frustration and they fell behind my couch. Then I stress-ate a seaweed salad.
Because tonight, let's face it: I failed. For 10-15 seconds, give or take, I failed.
I knew what was happening, I knew what I was doing, and I failed. I can't blame the alcohol, the holiday cheer, the staff christmas party I was at. I can only blame myself, I suppose. I'm at a loss. I'm disappointed in myself, and I feel like I not only let myself down, but everyone that's been reading and supporting me. I've fully validated all of my doubters, haters, nay-sayers, everyone who was placing bets against me from the get-go. FUCK. I have this weird nauseated sensation every time I think back to what I allowed to happen inside my vagina mere hours ago. I feel like I want to piss it out (yeah yeah I know, different hole, DUH.)
So, now what?
I just want to stop time and crumble into the silence of the clock's halted hands. I can't believe it. 13 days? Really? Is that really my (literal) fucking limit? I was initially afraid to even admit it or write about this slip-up, to be honest. But I couldn't lie. I couldn't act like it "didn't count", simply because I stopped it two thrusts in. I instantly hated on myself after it happened; I was so mad, for being so stupid and weak.
It's weird though. I'm trying to identify this feeling, and I can't. I've never actually stopped sex before, unless the condom was making me sore or something. I've never stopped out of my own volition, even when I wasn't into it, or even if I wasn't into the dude. This is the first time I've ever stopped sex with someone who I not only like very much, but gets the job done; doner than done.
I wholeheartedly wish I didn't do it. I know you men out there are reading this going, "Heh heh heh, I knew she couldn't resist the power of the peen, no woman can, heh heh heh, my dick could conquer nations!" Of course you would think that. Of course the weakness I'm talking about here has everything to do with dick and balls, and nothing to do with the work I've done so far. Of course you would see me as, "Ohhh she is such a poor lost little lamb who needs to get rammed, otherwise she is useless." Of course you would think your cock could sway me to any direction you point it in. This weakness, this regret, that I'm talking about, actually has very little to do with the actual act of sex that went down. It has to do with the two weeks of work I've put in that I now feel I've effectively flushed down the toilet (which, coincidentally, was the location of said sex encounter.)
I regretted it right away, and stopped it 15-seconds into it, but... it happened. I couldn't, and can't, undo it. I had time, sort of, to prevent it before it went down (in.) The sex, however short it may have lasted, didn't happen because I was horny or drunk. It didn't happen because I was starving for dick, doing it out of a humping habit, nor because I just felt like facing and grabbing a sink ledge, with my butt in the air, for the hell of it. It happened because I dragged Night Before Guy into the bathroom with me, and looked at him. I don't know why I pulled him in there. I had no pre-meditated intentions of doing anything physical with him. Part of me wanted to yell at him for all his shameless flirting with everyone else, in front of my face. For grinding on and making out with some random chick the previous night at work, in front of my face. For telling me how great a couple he and a mutual friend/coworker would make, minutes after telling me he doesn't want to be with me because he doesn't want to be with anyone.
Despite my feeling pissed, I never should've brought him into an enclosed, locked space with me, let alone paid him the slightest bit of attention at all tonight. But I wanted to tell him how I had been feeling, and I wanted him to look at me, and see me.
What followed was the fastest turn-around since any Knick lead-to-loss, ever. Within ten seconds we were all over each other, and next thing I know his dick is out, I'm touching it, briefly relishing the texture and heft of it before he spins me around. Then I'm holding onto the sink and he's filling me up in the best, eyes-rolling-back-into-my-head, way possible. I instantly loved it, but I simultaneously hated it. I felt myself recoil and wanting to immediately reject his body from my body. But I mean...DAMN. It felt so disgustingly...amazing. I didn't want to stop, but I couldn't let it go on. Not that it mattered; the damage had been done. I had failed. I didn't make it to 100.
I didn't even make it to 20.
I felt my disappointment rising to the back of my throat, and I took a physical and mental step away from him. Without a word or warning, I dismounted. I pulled his cock out of my body and pushed his energy away from my own. I rolled my tights and shorts back up, shaking my head and fighting the tears of anger. Next thing I know, I'm crying, and he's at a loss for words.
I don't really remember what he was saying to me, but it was along the lines of "Please don't cry," "Oh my god, you hate me," and "Are you mad because of the 100 day thing?" I mean, I was, but...I was so, so, so, so, SO horribly disappointed in myself. All that work! Those 13 days of work! Not just the writing, but the soul-searching, the empowerment I had been feeling. I had been riding so high all night because of my accomplishments. For the first time my mood had nothing to do with whether or not people were telling me I looked hot, nothing to do with attention from men, nothing to do with anything superficial. It was all because I had been getting a flood of compliments from people about my writing. People found me to be interesting, and hilarious. The things I was hearing that night had my head dizzy with happiness, and my soul soaring with euphoria.
You see, it wasn't just knowing that people enjoy my writing which was making me feel so great. For two weeks I'd been presenting my fears, I had been brutally honest and open, I had let out my vulnerabilities and thoughts to the world- and all those parts of me had been accepted. In 13 days I had gone from not doing ANY of that EVER, to accepting and loving all of it MYSELF. Not only was I accepting my truths, my flaws, my fears, but countless other people were doing the same. It's an incredible feeling, especially having lived YEARS of my life presenting only a certain side of myself, thinking no one else could ever like or want to know the rest. Tonight had me floating in the wave of support and the glowing reviews from my peers. It was a fulfillment and reward no guy nor penis could ever give me; it was one I had given myself through work and dedication to my writing and my self-improvement. And what did I do? I fucked up.
Granted, it wasn't some random dude, it wasn't some drunken horny grope-fest. It was with a guy I very recently had been sort of seeing / hanging out with, and for over a year, had been attracted to. I didn't do this for the "wrong" reasons, I didn't do this because I'm just some sex-driven wildcat.
Mind you, I'm not trying to justify this; I'm trying to understand it.
Why I did it, why I still bothered with him when he made it clear all he wants from me is sex. These past two weeks I've recognized a lot of my issues that were previously hidden, so now what? Why did I relapse, fall back into this place?
The bottom line is...I like him. My instincts don't get a clear read on the two of us, together, and where it could go, but I do know there's a connection, and definitely a chemistry. I can't ignore awesome chemistry like the one we share. It doesn't come along all that often. But it sucks that it keeps making me forget his issues, the bad things he's said to me. A strong chemistry like ours was blinding me to the truth, and all the shittiness, that was the moat surrounding it. Sort of like how my sexual side was blinding me to my own issues, for so long.
But damn, son. Why does it always have to be so fucking complicated? Why can't it ever just work? If two people vibe and clearly dig each other, why not just go with it? Why all the "oh hell no I don't want anything serious with you because I'm just so not in that place right now"? When did it get so hard to just be with someone that you like, because you like them? I don't think I'm weak, I think I want to be in love, in whatever capacity that happens. And for some reason, I look at this guy and I see something. I am still grasping onto the thought that finally, someone I like, likes me back.
I left tonight in a daze, upset as hell. I got into a cab and was calling a friend to fill her in, when he called me. He was on his own cab ride home, and spewed out the stream of "I miss you", "I love you" etc. I told him he needed to listen, because I like him, and I don't know what to do. I don't know what to make of those things he says to me because they seem to mean nothing. Unfortunately, he pointed out that I don't see what I think I see. I don't like him, I like the idea of him. He is not wrong. But... how can you deny chemistry? And then, how can I continue to give him the unspoken go-ahead, knowing it won't go anywhere, and that it is purely just sex? How can I have that chemistry-fueled, sex-driven thing on one side, then his "I love you"'s on the other? Can it be both, whenever he feels like showing one side or another, with no regard to how I'm feeling at that moment he chooses to express one thing or the other? I don't know if I can be happy with that. I explained to him several times that I'll just wind up getting hurt, and I'd rather just back out. But I keep going back, like a crazy person.
I think deep down I'm hoping he'll change, that he'll be ready and fully wanting me. I feel so close to finally having that with someone that I want, and it's hard to let go of the idea, or to accept it's just not the case. And it's even harder when you can physically feel the electricity with someone, even from across the room. But I have to remind myself the goal here is not a man. Maybe someday this self-growth phase will lead me to someone who will help me become an even better version of myself. But I'm not even thinking about that, that's not what's driving this. It's the need to become fully aware of and honest with myself, to accept and love every part of who I am. I got side tracked by a crush, by someone who made me feel like he could make me feel loved. But it wound up serving only as a reminder that I need to do that, not some guy. Tonight was just further proof that this break is necessary. So please, bear with me here. This celibacy thing a new to me. I still feel like crap about tonight, like my heart fell into my stomach, and my stomach fell out of my butt. I can't change what I did, but I can reboot, and try again. It's all about getting back up on that horse. I'd make a sex joke about that, but it's 7:30 a.m. and I haven't slept yet, and I am STILL wasted. So good night, and til next time.
In my inebriated state the best I could muster was the poor man's version of that: when I got home earlier, I threw my keys in frustration and they fell behind my couch. Then I stress-ate a seaweed salad.
Because tonight, let's face it: I failed. For 10-15 seconds, give or take, I failed.
I knew what was happening, I knew what I was doing, and I failed. I can't blame the alcohol, the holiday cheer, the staff christmas party I was at. I can only blame myself, I suppose. I'm at a loss. I'm disappointed in myself, and I feel like I not only let myself down, but everyone that's been reading and supporting me. I've fully validated all of my doubters, haters, nay-sayers, everyone who was placing bets against me from the get-go. FUCK. I have this weird nauseated sensation every time I think back to what I allowed to happen inside my vagina mere hours ago. I feel like I want to piss it out (yeah yeah I know, different hole, DUH.)
So, now what?
I just want to stop time and crumble into the silence of the clock's halted hands. I can't believe it. 13 days? Really? Is that really my (literal) fucking limit? I was initially afraid to even admit it or write about this slip-up, to be honest. But I couldn't lie. I couldn't act like it "didn't count", simply because I stopped it two thrusts in. I instantly hated on myself after it happened; I was so mad, for being so stupid and weak.
It's weird though. I'm trying to identify this feeling, and I can't. I've never actually stopped sex before, unless the condom was making me sore or something. I've never stopped out of my own volition, even when I wasn't into it, or even if I wasn't into the dude. This is the first time I've ever stopped sex with someone who I not only like very much, but gets the job done; doner than done.
I wholeheartedly wish I didn't do it. I know you men out there are reading this going, "Heh heh heh, I knew she couldn't resist the power of the peen, no woman can, heh heh heh, my dick could conquer nations!" Of course you would think that. Of course the weakness I'm talking about here has everything to do with dick and balls, and nothing to do with the work I've done so far. Of course you would see me as, "Ohhh she is such a poor lost little lamb who needs to get rammed, otherwise she is useless." Of course you would think your cock could sway me to any direction you point it in. This weakness, this regret, that I'm talking about, actually has very little to do with the actual act of sex that went down. It has to do with the two weeks of work I've put in that I now feel I've effectively flushed down the toilet (which, coincidentally, was the location of said sex encounter.)
I regretted it right away, and stopped it 15-seconds into it, but... it happened. I couldn't, and can't, undo it. I had time, sort of, to prevent it before it went down (in.) The sex, however short it may have lasted, didn't happen because I was horny or drunk. It didn't happen because I was starving for dick, doing it out of a humping habit, nor because I just felt like facing and grabbing a sink ledge, with my butt in the air, for the hell of it. It happened because I dragged Night Before Guy into the bathroom with me, and looked at him. I don't know why I pulled him in there. I had no pre-meditated intentions of doing anything physical with him. Part of me wanted to yell at him for all his shameless flirting with everyone else, in front of my face. For grinding on and making out with some random chick the previous night at work, in front of my face. For telling me how great a couple he and a mutual friend/coworker would make, minutes after telling me he doesn't want to be with me because he doesn't want to be with anyone.
Despite my feeling pissed, I never should've brought him into an enclosed, locked space with me, let alone paid him the slightest bit of attention at all tonight. But I wanted to tell him how I had been feeling, and I wanted him to look at me, and see me.
What followed was the fastest turn-around since any Knick lead-to-loss, ever. Within ten seconds we were all over each other, and next thing I know his dick is out, I'm touching it, briefly relishing the texture and heft of it before he spins me around. Then I'm holding onto the sink and he's filling me up in the best, eyes-rolling-back-into-my-head, way possible. I instantly loved it, but I simultaneously hated it. I felt myself recoil and wanting to immediately reject his body from my body. But I mean...DAMN. It felt so disgustingly...amazing. I didn't want to stop, but I couldn't let it go on. Not that it mattered; the damage had been done. I had failed. I didn't make it to 100.
I didn't even make it to 20.
I felt my disappointment rising to the back of my throat, and I took a physical and mental step away from him. Without a word or warning, I dismounted. I pulled his cock out of my body and pushed his energy away from my own. I rolled my tights and shorts back up, shaking my head and fighting the tears of anger. Next thing I know, I'm crying, and he's at a loss for words.
I don't really remember what he was saying to me, but it was along the lines of "Please don't cry," "Oh my god, you hate me," and "Are you mad because of the 100 day thing?" I mean, I was, but...I was so, so, so, so, SO horribly disappointed in myself. All that work! Those 13 days of work! Not just the writing, but the soul-searching, the empowerment I had been feeling. I had been riding so high all night because of my accomplishments. For the first time my mood had nothing to do with whether or not people were telling me I looked hot, nothing to do with attention from men, nothing to do with anything superficial. It was all because I had been getting a flood of compliments from people about my writing. People found me to be interesting, and hilarious. The things I was hearing that night had my head dizzy with happiness, and my soul soaring with euphoria.
You see, it wasn't just knowing that people enjoy my writing which was making me feel so great. For two weeks I'd been presenting my fears, I had been brutally honest and open, I had let out my vulnerabilities and thoughts to the world- and all those parts of me had been accepted. In 13 days I had gone from not doing ANY of that EVER, to accepting and loving all of it MYSELF. Not only was I accepting my truths, my flaws, my fears, but countless other people were doing the same. It's an incredible feeling, especially having lived YEARS of my life presenting only a certain side of myself, thinking no one else could ever like or want to know the rest. Tonight had me floating in the wave of support and the glowing reviews from my peers. It was a fulfillment and reward no guy nor penis could ever give me; it was one I had given myself through work and dedication to my writing and my self-improvement. And what did I do? I fucked up.
Granted, it wasn't some random dude, it wasn't some drunken horny grope-fest. It was with a guy I very recently had been sort of seeing / hanging out with, and for over a year, had been attracted to. I didn't do this for the "wrong" reasons, I didn't do this because I'm just some sex-driven wildcat.
Mind you, I'm not trying to justify this; I'm trying to understand it.
Why I did it, why I still bothered with him when he made it clear all he wants from me is sex. These past two weeks I've recognized a lot of my issues that were previously hidden, so now what? Why did I relapse, fall back into this place?
The bottom line is...I like him. My instincts don't get a clear read on the two of us, together, and where it could go, but I do know there's a connection, and definitely a chemistry. I can't ignore awesome chemistry like the one we share. It doesn't come along all that often. But it sucks that it keeps making me forget his issues, the bad things he's said to me. A strong chemistry like ours was blinding me to the truth, and all the shittiness, that was the moat surrounding it. Sort of like how my sexual side was blinding me to my own issues, for so long.
But damn, son. Why does it always have to be so fucking complicated? Why can't it ever just work? If two people vibe and clearly dig each other, why not just go with it? Why all the "oh hell no I don't want anything serious with you because I'm just so not in that place right now"? When did it get so hard to just be with someone that you like, because you like them? I don't think I'm weak, I think I want to be in love, in whatever capacity that happens. And for some reason, I look at this guy and I see something. I am still grasping onto the thought that finally, someone I like, likes me back.
I left tonight in a daze, upset as hell. I got into a cab and was calling a friend to fill her in, when he called me. He was on his own cab ride home, and spewed out the stream of "I miss you", "I love you" etc. I told him he needed to listen, because I like him, and I don't know what to do. I don't know what to make of those things he says to me because they seem to mean nothing. Unfortunately, he pointed out that I don't see what I think I see. I don't like him, I like the idea of him. He is not wrong. But... how can you deny chemistry? And then, how can I continue to give him the unspoken go-ahead, knowing it won't go anywhere, and that it is purely just sex? How can I have that chemistry-fueled, sex-driven thing on one side, then his "I love you"'s on the other? Can it be both, whenever he feels like showing one side or another, with no regard to how I'm feeling at that moment he chooses to express one thing or the other? I don't know if I can be happy with that. I explained to him several times that I'll just wind up getting hurt, and I'd rather just back out. But I keep going back, like a crazy person.
I think deep down I'm hoping he'll change, that he'll be ready and fully wanting me. I feel so close to finally having that with someone that I want, and it's hard to let go of the idea, or to accept it's just not the case. And it's even harder when you can physically feel the electricity with someone, even from across the room. But I have to remind myself the goal here is not a man. Maybe someday this self-growth phase will lead me to someone who will help me become an even better version of myself. But I'm not even thinking about that, that's not what's driving this. It's the need to become fully aware of and honest with myself, to accept and love every part of who I am. I got side tracked by a crush, by someone who made me feel like he could make me feel loved. But it wound up serving only as a reminder that I need to do that, not some guy. Tonight was just further proof that this break is necessary. So please, bear with me here. This celibacy thing a new to me. I still feel like crap about tonight, like my heart fell into my stomach, and my stomach fell out of my butt. I can't change what I did, but I can reboot, and try again. It's all about getting back up on that horse. I'd make a sex joke about that, but it's 7:30 a.m. and I haven't slept yet, and I am STILL wasted. So good night, and til next time.
Sunday, December 22, 2013
DAY 12: The Pros, but Mostly Cons, of the Booty Call Arts, Part I: The Self
Booty-calling is a subject I can discuss for literally HOURS. The merits, mostly. Sex is awesome, one of my favorite things in the world. I will defend it to anyone who questions it. I will be the first person to rejoice knowing that my friends, and even mere acquaintances, are getting laid. I have always advocated people going through a "wild phase", should they desire to do so. I've never embraced the idea of monogamy, and booty-calling seemed to meet the few requirements I did have when it came to my wants and needs. But as I have been continuing on this 100 Day journey, my views on no-strings banging have grown into realizing it's a slippery slope (beyond a spit-covered shaft.) There's a personal cost and price to pay that is sometimes hard to recognize when you're too busy getting your twat stuffed. For years and years I've been so happily humping away, I didn't see any reason to stop, or examine my behavior. I mean, sure, there were judgments and haters, and even shrinks telling me, "You've slept with HOW many men?!" I still didn't care, I just kept doing me. Which was fine, for awhile. Then in 2011, my involvement as a subject of a documentary forced me to look at myself and reflect on my loose actions. I had been so stolidly thinking that I was fine and dandy, compartmentalizing and detaching. I was so sure that I was doing just fine, going out and getting mine, and that it was enough. In truth, it probably did a lot more damage then good. I don't regret it, because the casual sex with guys I was friendly with was what I wanted at that time. No, the damage came from how I treated myself, how I allowed men to treat me, and the thunderstorm of destruction that comes from those two meeting head-on.
THE SELF
During the first few months of the documentary, the subjects evaluated their personal habits and behaviors in the realm of dating and relationships. I tried my best to dig deep. And there was some good self-discovery work done, but ultimately my brain and motives were still too men-centric for any real strides. I wasn't thinking from a purely "I'm doing this reflection because I need to improve myself, for me". It was more "I'm stopping a few of my bad habits because they prevent me from being in a real, healthy relationship." So it wasn't about plain ol' self growth. It was more like I was doing an exchange of one man-scenario for another. That wasn't the core issue, but I couldn't know that, because damn, I had serious dude-tunnel vision. And besides, was switching from super-fast bone-jumping, to a more normal pace of "let's get a boyfriend!" (ughhhhhh) necessarily better? My main "bad" habit of going to bed, too quickly, was probably worse. It would ruin chances of something real developing, because, well, you all know the reasons. But I didn't care nor did I want to change. I was, or so I thought anyway, happy. And I thought that was because casual sex is THE BEST THING EVER. It was fun, easy, allowed me to see as many people as I wanted, left me free of obligations, and let me hang out with guys and get taken out to dinners and brunches and drinks, but none of the messy stuff. And if it didn't work out, who cares?! Well, that's what I USED to think. Then as the documentary project continued, I realized I was so stubbornly defending my lifestyle because I was in truth, terrified of real intimacy and of getting hurt.
Sex provided a buffer, a way to avoid pain. I could still feel physical intimacy, and have fun and get to know someone on a very basic level. But I was also effectively keeping them at arms length. I was like a flat, sexed-up billboard: viewable and attainable, but from a distance only. And that facade was all I would let anyone experience. I liked my flashy front that I was presenting to the world. It was comfortable, because I was showing only what I wanted to show, and only the specific side of me I thought men wanted to see. It was giving me a way to get a substitute for what I really needed, which was self-acceptance. Through showing only my sexual side, I was playing up a part of me I liked, that I felt I was strong in and great at. And that horny side of me was also fun, cool, happy, easy-going- so naturally, guys would like it, too. All the other parts of me: my flaws, my fears, my interests, my thoughts, were bottled up inside the tiny person hiding behind the billboard's shadow. That backless mask spanned so wide, it completely kept out anyone from seeing around the facade, to where that crouching, vulnerable girl was waiting. And that did, in a way, prevent any form of real rejection, should random booty call #AF42367J end. When booty calls fail, its usually because it fizzles out. It can be awesome while it lasts, but it's got a life-span of 3-5 months of continual hanging out, tops. It may last years, if it's sporadic. The point is, it doesn't fail because some guy saw my true self and was like, "YOU'RE DISGUSTING, I'M OUT OF HERE," which was, and is, my fear. That was a level of hurt I was in no way ready to meet, so I found a (temporary) loophole to get around it. So while being a part of that doc project had it's benefits, it was only the first tiny step to realizing the whole picture. Now that I've started this 100 Day round of self-exploration, I've fully disengaged myself from men and am realizing that that fear goes deeper than rejection from a man. It was me projecting my own self-hatred onto guys.
Booty calling turned out to be damaging here because I was blinding myself, to myself. I focused on, and presented, one very particular side of who I am, to the world. All the other parts of who I am suffered, and got dusty from neglect. The billboard of my sexual side provided a wide span of protection, but it was the only part of myself I was "practicing", so to speak. Over time, that billboard kept getting wider and wider because it's all I would ever reveal. And that made it harder and harder for anyone, including myself, to see or even remember there was a whole other person hiding behind it and waiting to be loved. I used sex as a means to cover up, and avoid, my own issues with who I was, and who I am. I don't think my sex lifestyle was ever unnatural, nor did it ever come from an inorganic place; I am most definitely a sexual being and loved all of it. But I do think part of the fuel that pushed that drive came from the need to keep my personal issues buried deep. I mean, really. What would you rather do: some serious, soul-searching shit that leaves you crying and forced to own up to your flaws and self-disgust, OR, bang a parade of gorgeous, fun, well-endowed (for the most part) men? But you see, when you clench your eyes shut to your issues, you don't even see that "would you rather" game at all. You see only your desire, and the men. You don't open your eyes to your problems because it's too painful. You'd ultimately prefer to continue to distract yourself. Which does even more damage in the long run, because those issues are only going to feel worse to extract once you finally face them (and if you ever do.)
Unfortunately, the self isn't the only thing that feels the harmful effects of a booty-call lifestyle. It's not just you out there; men are directly tied into it, and provide a slew of other problems, no matter how great they fuck you.
To be continued...
THE SELF
During the first few months of the documentary, the subjects evaluated their personal habits and behaviors in the realm of dating and relationships. I tried my best to dig deep. And there was some good self-discovery work done, but ultimately my brain and motives were still too men-centric for any real strides. I wasn't thinking from a purely "I'm doing this reflection because I need to improve myself, for me". It was more "I'm stopping a few of my bad habits because they prevent me from being in a real, healthy relationship." So it wasn't about plain ol' self growth. It was more like I was doing an exchange of one man-scenario for another. That wasn't the core issue, but I couldn't know that, because damn, I had serious dude-tunnel vision. And besides, was switching from super-fast bone-jumping, to a more normal pace of "let's get a boyfriend!" (ughhhhhh) necessarily better? My main "bad" habit of going to bed, too quickly, was probably worse. It would ruin chances of something real developing, because, well, you all know the reasons. But I didn't care nor did I want to change. I was, or so I thought anyway, happy. And I thought that was because casual sex is THE BEST THING EVER. It was fun, easy, allowed me to see as many people as I wanted, left me free of obligations, and let me hang out with guys and get taken out to dinners and brunches and drinks, but none of the messy stuff. And if it didn't work out, who cares?! Well, that's what I USED to think. Then as the documentary project continued, I realized I was so stubbornly defending my lifestyle because I was in truth, terrified of real intimacy and of getting hurt.
Sex provided a buffer, a way to avoid pain. I could still feel physical intimacy, and have fun and get to know someone on a very basic level. But I was also effectively keeping them at arms length. I was like a flat, sexed-up billboard: viewable and attainable, but from a distance only. And that facade was all I would let anyone experience. I liked my flashy front that I was presenting to the world. It was comfortable, because I was showing only what I wanted to show, and only the specific side of me I thought men wanted to see. It was giving me a way to get a substitute for what I really needed, which was self-acceptance. Through showing only my sexual side, I was playing up a part of me I liked, that I felt I was strong in and great at. And that horny side of me was also fun, cool, happy, easy-going- so naturally, guys would like it, too. All the other parts of me: my flaws, my fears, my interests, my thoughts, were bottled up inside the tiny person hiding behind the billboard's shadow. That backless mask spanned so wide, it completely kept out anyone from seeing around the facade, to where that crouching, vulnerable girl was waiting. And that did, in a way, prevent any form of real rejection, should random booty call #AF42367J end. When booty calls fail, its usually because it fizzles out. It can be awesome while it lasts, but it's got a life-span of 3-5 months of continual hanging out, tops. It may last years, if it's sporadic. The point is, it doesn't fail because some guy saw my true self and was like, "YOU'RE DISGUSTING, I'M OUT OF HERE," which was, and is, my fear. That was a level of hurt I was in no way ready to meet, so I found a (temporary) loophole to get around it. So while being a part of that doc project had it's benefits, it was only the first tiny step to realizing the whole picture. Now that I've started this 100 Day round of self-exploration, I've fully disengaged myself from men and am realizing that that fear goes deeper than rejection from a man. It was me projecting my own self-hatred onto guys.
Booty calling turned out to be damaging here because I was blinding myself, to myself. I focused on, and presented, one very particular side of who I am, to the world. All the other parts of who I am suffered, and got dusty from neglect. The billboard of my sexual side provided a wide span of protection, but it was the only part of myself I was "practicing", so to speak. Over time, that billboard kept getting wider and wider because it's all I would ever reveal. And that made it harder and harder for anyone, including myself, to see or even remember there was a whole other person hiding behind it and waiting to be loved. I used sex as a means to cover up, and avoid, my own issues with who I was, and who I am. I don't think my sex lifestyle was ever unnatural, nor did it ever come from an inorganic place; I am most definitely a sexual being and loved all of it. But I do think part of the fuel that pushed that drive came from the need to keep my personal issues buried deep. I mean, really. What would you rather do: some serious, soul-searching shit that leaves you crying and forced to own up to your flaws and self-disgust, OR, bang a parade of gorgeous, fun, well-endowed (for the most part) men? But you see, when you clench your eyes shut to your issues, you don't even see that "would you rather" game at all. You see only your desire, and the men. You don't open your eyes to your problems because it's too painful. You'd ultimately prefer to continue to distract yourself. Which does even more damage in the long run, because those issues are only going to feel worse to extract once you finally face them (and if you ever do.)
Unfortunately, the self isn't the only thing that feels the harmful effects of a booty-call lifestyle. It's not just you out there; men are directly tied into it, and provide a slew of other problems, no matter how great they fuck you.
To be continued...
Wednesday, December 18, 2013
DAY EIGHT: Holy Spiritual Dream, Batman!
Well hot damn. YOU GUYS. Today turned out to be a pretty incredible day, from the moment I opened my eyes this morning. And it's all due to the dream I had last night.
The bulk of it is fairly hazy, but I do know there was a bunch of natural disaster type stuff happening. Think crazy winds, sheets of rain, flooding, general chaos. There were a lot of people around, and those closest to me in location were my family members. I saw a bit into the distance that there was this tiny little girl, standing all by herself, alone and struggling. She was wearing a baby-pink winter parka with the hood up, with her back to me, hands grasping on the fence in front of her as if she wanted out. I went over to her, took her hand, picked her up, held her and hugged her. I told her she's not alone, she's beautiful, she's loved, and that everything is going to be okay. I kept hugging her and comforting her. I said that even when it feels like no one else is there for her or loves her, I will be, and I do. And as I did all these things, I actually physically could feel the weight of her negative emotions and anxieties shift and release. Not because her face changed (it was still hidden, since I was hugging her), not because did she did anything to physically show that she felt better. I felt it inside of myself, as if they were my own feelings dissolving. I felt those years of me being convinced I was ugly, and alone, leave my body as I kept hugging that little girl. And as I pulled back, I finally saw her face, and the little girl was me.
Kind of makes sense that I woke up today a new person. I have no idea if the piece I wrote last night triggered a dream like this, but it's like I've been waiting years for it, and it finally arrived.
I've spent all day feeling warm and smiley all over. I feel like I've finally undone and helped heal years and years of pent-up sadness and loneliness. I'm now totally sure the lifetime I've spent being so un-accepting of my childhood-self played a major part in my endless series of failed relationships. I'm sure it's the very root of why even the thought of monogamy gives me anxiety like you wouldn't believe. And why, when my relationships evolve past the surface stage, I have a tendency to fall apart and crumble into my own insecurities.
I couldn't accept myself. So I was constantly, and subconsciously, plagued over the idea of letting anyone else in. In my mind mind, all that could lead to was them rejecting me as much as I had rejected myself.
Now I know why relationships terrified me so much, why I kept guys at arm's length, why I would never let any guy in further than my own vagina. I used to think it was because it was easier, less messy, and prevented me from getting hurt. That may all be true, but it was only the tip of the iceberg.
By giving myself space, and time away from men, I've been able to focus and delve deeper and really figure things out. This dream that I had last night...I am still tearing up a little, all these hours later. All these break-throughs in the past week has led me here, and its a life-changing moment. I literally felt myself hug myself, embrace the child-me, and transfer all the love I never had, or if I even could if I did. In this dream, I physically and emotionally felt me, and me, connect. It was overwhelming, and I woke up a different woman. I've been walking around all day today an evolved version of my former self. It's like my vision has cleared. I don't fear men now. I'm not scared anymore. I'm now standing in front of that little girl, protecting her and loving her and shielding her from bullshit and danger. I used to keep a different kind of wall up- the kind that didn't let anyone in. I used to parade around, wearing my sexual, humorous mask. Those things may be part of me, yes, but I didn't think anyone could ever like or love anything beyond it, so it was all I would ever show to the world.
Now I have a guard up in the sense that I've fully acknowledged and accepted everything that I was, and everything that I am. That in itself creates a wall that no man can penetrate. Now if someone were to truly see me, not like me, I honestly will not care. I've got myself, and I am loving it.
The bulk of it is fairly hazy, but I do know there was a bunch of natural disaster type stuff happening. Think crazy winds, sheets of rain, flooding, general chaos. There were a lot of people around, and those closest to me in location were my family members. I saw a bit into the distance that there was this tiny little girl, standing all by herself, alone and struggling. She was wearing a baby-pink winter parka with the hood up, with her back to me, hands grasping on the fence in front of her as if she wanted out. I went over to her, took her hand, picked her up, held her and hugged her. I told her she's not alone, she's beautiful, she's loved, and that everything is going to be okay. I kept hugging her and comforting her. I said that even when it feels like no one else is there for her or loves her, I will be, and I do. And as I did all these things, I actually physically could feel the weight of her negative emotions and anxieties shift and release. Not because her face changed (it was still hidden, since I was hugging her), not because did she did anything to physically show that she felt better. I felt it inside of myself, as if they were my own feelings dissolving. I felt those years of me being convinced I was ugly, and alone, leave my body as I kept hugging that little girl. And as I pulled back, I finally saw her face, and the little girl was me.
Kind of makes sense that I woke up today a new person. I have no idea if the piece I wrote last night triggered a dream like this, but it's like I've been waiting years for it, and it finally arrived.
I've spent all day feeling warm and smiley all over. I feel like I've finally undone and helped heal years and years of pent-up sadness and loneliness. I'm now totally sure the lifetime I've spent being so un-accepting of my childhood-self played a major part in my endless series of failed relationships. I'm sure it's the very root of why even the thought of monogamy gives me anxiety like you wouldn't believe. And why, when my relationships evolve past the surface stage, I have a tendency to fall apart and crumble into my own insecurities.
I couldn't accept myself. So I was constantly, and subconsciously, plagued over the idea of letting anyone else in. In my mind mind, all that could lead to was them rejecting me as much as I had rejected myself.
Now I know why relationships terrified me so much, why I kept guys at arm's length, why I would never let any guy in further than my own vagina. I used to think it was because it was easier, less messy, and prevented me from getting hurt. That may all be true, but it was only the tip of the iceberg.
By giving myself space, and time away from men, I've been able to focus and delve deeper and really figure things out. This dream that I had last night...I am still tearing up a little, all these hours later. All these break-throughs in the past week has led me here, and its a life-changing moment. I literally felt myself hug myself, embrace the child-me, and transfer all the love I never had, or if I even could if I did. In this dream, I physically and emotionally felt me, and me, connect. It was overwhelming, and I woke up a different woman. I've been walking around all day today an evolved version of my former self. It's like my vision has cleared. I don't fear men now. I'm not scared anymore. I'm now standing in front of that little girl, protecting her and loving her and shielding her from bullshit and danger. I used to keep a different kind of wall up- the kind that didn't let anyone in. I used to parade around, wearing my sexual, humorous mask. Those things may be part of me, yes, but I didn't think anyone could ever like or love anything beyond it, so it was all I would ever show to the world.
Now I have a guard up in the sense that I've fully acknowledged and accepted everything that I was, and everything that I am. That in itself creates a wall that no man can penetrate. Now if someone were to truly see me, not like me, I honestly will not care. I've got myself, and I am loving it.
Tuesday, December 17, 2013
DAY SEVEN: Damn You, Beyoncé!
This project is funny sometimes. There are moments when I am overwhelmed because there's so much to say, and yet certain instances when I feel like I've got nothin'. Tonight I was in my room, sitting at my computer. I had finally given in to the media insanity and was watching a slew of the videos from the new "Beyoncé" album. (By the way, I'm amused at how autocorrect puts in the accent on her name, but doesn't put it on "a la".) Anyway, I was watching the "XO" video and 20 seconds in, I found myself sobbing. Are you kidding? From a pop music video? What the hell is this? Is this my Manon "Notre Petite Table" moment? Who am I?? Sigh. Hopefully I'm not the only one out there who's had a Beyoncé music video drive them to weeping hysterics. I suppose I could chalk up this particular choking up to my hormones. I already blame my period for my moods, regardless of the day of the month. It could be pre-pre-period, just pre, during, after, or so far after it's pre-pre-period again, and I will claim it to be the reason I am crying, eating my weight in bar food, or angry at everyone for everything. But damn. This Beyonce had me losing my emotional shit. So what else could be making me such a mess? Well, the chords in the beat were heart string-tugging, and the visuals had a nostalgic quality thanks to the Coney Island location, so maybe that was what got to me. But as I had been listening to the words with the music and the scenes, it all simultaneously struck a chord within me because I found myself wanting...that. That visual compilation of happiness, that glow from living life, and feeling loved. Seeing her face, her expressions, knowing that she has love and is loved and experiences love on an incredible level, everyday. And not just her, but the world. The video illustrated love in a way that cut through to the core, somehow. It was happy but at the same time it was breaking me down. I wasn't jealous, I didn't want to be her. But I was left feeling empty and hollow from craving that sort of connection. I was so confused, not just because I had cried (really though), but because I don't know why I want "that." If I were to be really honest with myself, why do I even think that I want love? It's not like I've ever had an incredibly positive experience with it. And when I finally have gotten it, it has this tendency of breaking my heart. So...what the hell?! Why do we seek it? Why do we chase it? Why do we feel empty without it? Why does it become something that is as part of our existence as breathing? Whether we like to admit it, love, in some way or another, is something that consumes our brain at least once a day, every day of our lives. Love within our families, love we share with friends, yes. But I think what has more prominence in our lives is struggle that is relationship-love. Whether we're single and seeking it, or in a relationship and thriving from/working on it, or heartbroken and healing from it: it's always there.
I never took time to think why it's there, nor why I've always yearned to have it in my life. I was not raised with the belief or the pressure that I need to get married and have kids. My parents always stressed the idea to do what will make me happy, whatever that may be. I was always encouraged to be me, and be the best version of myself; to take my talents and my strengths and cultivate them, help them thrive. My house may never have been overflowing with physical affection, or "I love you", but in terms of support and encouragement, that was on endless supply. So as a child I never envisioned myself married, let alone with a boyfriend. In fact, I saw my future self living in a beautiful Manhattan penthouse, single but extremely successful. I imagined I'd be surrounded by friends and family, but there was never a man, nor any semblance of a relationship or marriage, in that picture. I never associated a man with being happy or fulfilled. So I don't know why, for my whole life, I kept craving and loving the idea of being with men. Maybe it was because for so long, they didn't seem to want me and all I wanted was to finally know what it was like to experience them. To have them kiss me, to walk into a room and see their face light up. Stupid shit like that. But deep down, I never saw it really happening. Even those few times I had a boyfriend, I was never fully living in the moment or truly "there". I would be stuck in my own head, unable to let myself fall into something. I attributed that inability to wholly connect with a person to a lack of chemistry, being too young, or personal insecurities. But now I often wonder, maybe I'm just not destined to have love- in that way. Maybe I use humor as a guard and an excuse to hide the pain of knowing that I will never have love with a man in the form I've so inexplicably desired. Maybe my little kid self was way ahead of her time. Maybe all these failed relationships, my sexual appetite, my endless stream of hookups, was all subconscious sabotage of my efforts to have something real with someone, because deep down I know it's not in the cards for me.
But maybe it's just been leading me to a different place than I thought I needed and wanted to be at. I look back on the few times I did have a wonderful connection with a man, the less-than-a-handful of times I was able to let my guard down and be in the moment, be myself. And those were good times. But that happiness was always extremely short-lived. It was never nearly as powerful, or etched as indelibly into me as, say, a breakthrough in my vocal pursuits, or an excellent performance of my written work. I try to remember that, that my happiest moments have been from the ones where I've become a better version of myself and achieved success through my work and my talents. But it's funny. When I'm happy with a guy, I'm not entirely happy. If I'm not simultaneously going after personal goals and working on my own thang, I'll still feel like something is missing. And it's the same with my personal ambitions. I can be doing well, masterin' shit, etc, but if I'm not at least having awesome sex, I'll still feel like something is missing. So can I be fully happy, without having both? I think I could be, if it was just me doing my ambition thing and not having a guy. But I don't think I could ever be happy with just a guy, and no personal success.
I'm not sure what this all boils down to. What I've been doing is just that- working on my goals, and having guys on the side. So in theory, that should be the answer, right? I was doing me, and I was being done. But for some reason, it didn't work. The guy part of it wore me out- emotionally, not physically (haha...) Perhaps I got too caught up and worried about how the guys felt about me, let my insecurities get too involved. I was never sure if the guy I was with really liked me. I got so worried about if I would ever find something meaningful, and whether or not I really wanted something meaningful. Basically, I got swept up in my own head-game bullshit. Maybe that was enough of a distraction to negate anything positive my work could have given me. So I suppose cutting guys out really is the right thing to do, for now. I don't want to feel sad when I think about men, I don't want to feel like part of life is missing in my own life, and I certainly don't want to keep crying to Beyoncé videos. So while this may not be the answer, focusing on my work and this soul-searching thing is feeling more and more like at the very least, it will lead me to it. It's like a daily therapy session, with Dr. Elena (ooh that's kinda sexy, amirite?!), every damn day. And it's hard as hell. I don't think I have ever been this honest with myself before, not even with online quizzes. Especially not with online quizzes. It's painful to be this honest, but oddly enough it feels kind of amazing at the same time. I'd normally make a dick joke here, but I'll end it on a high note instead. Soooo, til next time. You stay classy, New York. Or actually, don't; y'all have to make up for me being so well-behaved.
I never took time to think why it's there, nor why I've always yearned to have it in my life. I was not raised with the belief or the pressure that I need to get married and have kids. My parents always stressed the idea to do what will make me happy, whatever that may be. I was always encouraged to be me, and be the best version of myself; to take my talents and my strengths and cultivate them, help them thrive. My house may never have been overflowing with physical affection, or "I love you", but in terms of support and encouragement, that was on endless supply. So as a child I never envisioned myself married, let alone with a boyfriend. In fact, I saw my future self living in a beautiful Manhattan penthouse, single but extremely successful. I imagined I'd be surrounded by friends and family, but there was never a man, nor any semblance of a relationship or marriage, in that picture. I never associated a man with being happy or fulfilled. So I don't know why, for my whole life, I kept craving and loving the idea of being with men. Maybe it was because for so long, they didn't seem to want me and all I wanted was to finally know what it was like to experience them. To have them kiss me, to walk into a room and see their face light up. Stupid shit like that. But deep down, I never saw it really happening. Even those few times I had a boyfriend, I was never fully living in the moment or truly "there". I would be stuck in my own head, unable to let myself fall into something. I attributed that inability to wholly connect with a person to a lack of chemistry, being too young, or personal insecurities. But now I often wonder, maybe I'm just not destined to have love- in that way. Maybe I use humor as a guard and an excuse to hide the pain of knowing that I will never have love with a man in the form I've so inexplicably desired. Maybe my little kid self was way ahead of her time. Maybe all these failed relationships, my sexual appetite, my endless stream of hookups, was all subconscious sabotage of my efforts to have something real with someone, because deep down I know it's not in the cards for me.
But maybe it's just been leading me to a different place than I thought I needed and wanted to be at. I look back on the few times I did have a wonderful connection with a man, the less-than-a-handful of times I was able to let my guard down and be in the moment, be myself. And those were good times. But that happiness was always extremely short-lived. It was never nearly as powerful, or etched as indelibly into me as, say, a breakthrough in my vocal pursuits, or an excellent performance of my written work. I try to remember that, that my happiest moments have been from the ones where I've become a better version of myself and achieved success through my work and my talents. But it's funny. When I'm happy with a guy, I'm not entirely happy. If I'm not simultaneously going after personal goals and working on my own thang, I'll still feel like something is missing. And it's the same with my personal ambitions. I can be doing well, masterin' shit, etc, but if I'm not at least having awesome sex, I'll still feel like something is missing. So can I be fully happy, without having both? I think I could be, if it was just me doing my ambition thing and not having a guy. But I don't think I could ever be happy with just a guy, and no personal success.
I'm not sure what this all boils down to. What I've been doing is just that- working on my goals, and having guys on the side. So in theory, that should be the answer, right? I was doing me, and I was being done. But for some reason, it didn't work. The guy part of it wore me out- emotionally, not physically (haha...) Perhaps I got too caught up and worried about how the guys felt about me, let my insecurities get too involved. I was never sure if the guy I was with really liked me. I got so worried about if I would ever find something meaningful, and whether or not I really wanted something meaningful. Basically, I got swept up in my own head-game bullshit. Maybe that was enough of a distraction to negate anything positive my work could have given me. So I suppose cutting guys out really is the right thing to do, for now. I don't want to feel sad when I think about men, I don't want to feel like part of life is missing in my own life, and I certainly don't want to keep crying to Beyoncé videos. So while this may not be the answer, focusing on my work and this soul-searching thing is feeling more and more like at the very least, it will lead me to it. It's like a daily therapy session, with Dr. Elena (ooh that's kinda sexy, amirite?!), every damn day. And it's hard as hell. I don't think I have ever been this honest with myself before, not even with online quizzes. Especially not with online quizzes. It's painful to be this honest, but oddly enough it feels kind of amazing at the same time. I'd normally make a dick joke here, but I'll end it on a high note instead. Soooo, til next time. You stay classy, New York. Or actually, don't; y'all have to make up for me being so well-behaved.
Monday, December 16, 2013
DAY SIX: Sex Dreams, Part I
Well, it happened. I fell asleep tonight around 8pm, and went on to have a fantastically realistic and vivid sex dream. The physical part was being initiated from behind by a fairly overweight, pretty ogre-ish looking man: think the physique of Young Frankenstein's monster, but not green or undead. Suffice to say, I was not down with his intentions. But my attempts to say no were half-hearted at best, especially after he first slid it in. And within 10 seconds, I was totally into it and so was he (literally.) After a bit, which (sigh) included a Round Two, I woke up, having been completely satisfied by whoever this unlikely dream-fucker was. And while I hadn't burst into song a la Madeleine Kahn, I was left with a few thoughts. One, that this is sure to be the first of many, many sex dreams I'll be having, if I'm only on day 6. I suppose this is a plus of sorts, because sex dreams are cool, apparently even with guys who look like an over-the-hill, paunch-bellied R&B singer. And if nothing else, it gives me even more reason to go to sleep early now. Two, I probably shouldn't have watched Orange Is The New Black while packing tonight, because clearly the erotic themes and images of the show crept into my brain. Three, I'm amazed that not only did I have a realistic sex dream about a man, but that a man brought me to orgasm. This is not me shitting on men here; some of you do know how to get the job done, orgasmically speaking. No, this dream was so remarkable because generally, my sex dreams are about women (what with the OTNB viewing, you'd think if I ever had a sexually-charged dream about ladies, it'd be this time.) True, I have had sex dreams about men before, but it's pretty rare, and even rarer that they get me off. The sex dreams where I come have happened only with women. It's always been so funny to me because immediately upon waking up, I'll lay there, think back on the dream...and not be turned on at all. I'll think, huh, okay, that was fine and all. But if that were to go down right here and now, in the real and conscious world, I wouldn't be aroused. The idea of having my face in a vagina or scissor-kissing for dear life doesn't light up my lady parts. I did have an experience with a woman before, and while the novelty of it was exciting and awesome as hell, it didn't ignite me with the same fi-yah as being with men does.
I assume the idea of women is intriguing because they are so beautiful. Visually, women are stimulating whether you're gay, straight, or whatever. So while I don't describe myself as bi or bi-curious or slap any kind of title on it, I do know the few times it's happened or been offered in real life, I went with it. I used to attribute that behavior to me being such a sexually-driven person that sex of any kind, with any gender, would make me game. And maybe part of that is true. But now I wonder if I'm drawn to the idea of women because I view them from a purer place, emotionally speaking. Unlike men. I've used guys for so long because I like them, it was easy, and because I could, that now it's almost impossible to associate them with a positive energy. As much fun as I've had with all the peen I've had, there was a wall, a guard up, the whole time. I got away with that lifestyle for years because I was so happy with it, and was sure it was what I wanted. But now thinking of men just leaves me feeling tired and sad. Men have become a little tainted to me, what with me fueling a messed-up, unhealthy relationship with them for so long. It doesn't surprise me that my sex dreams would be about chicks. Thinking of women doesn't evoke pain, fear of rejection, or years of misplaced feelings. I have practically no experience with women, so it's impossible to equate them with anything negative.
I was never bothered by my sapphic-saturated sex dreams. Never thought I was gay, and I wasn't embarrassed by them. I would sometimes wonder why, why women, if in real life men are what gets me goin'? Why would my dreams be the exact opposite? Men barely ever showed up in my sex dreams, and no one would make me dream-orgasm as intensely or consistently as women (okay, until tonight. That fat, faceless man has me STILL wanting more. 94 days to go, yay...) I used to just chalk up this whole dream-thing to my crazy hormones, and leave it at that. But part of this whole experience is figuring out myself, and my sexuality is part of me. I'm not going to keep letting my sex drive take the fall for things, so I figured finding an answer to a particular thing that's been going on for so long can't hurt. For now, my theories are fuzzy and hazy at best, but at least I have another three months to figure it all out.
I assume the idea of women is intriguing because they are so beautiful. Visually, women are stimulating whether you're gay, straight, or whatever. So while I don't describe myself as bi or bi-curious or slap any kind of title on it, I do know the few times it's happened or been offered in real life, I went with it. I used to attribute that behavior to me being such a sexually-driven person that sex of any kind, with any gender, would make me game. And maybe part of that is true. But now I wonder if I'm drawn to the idea of women because I view them from a purer place, emotionally speaking. Unlike men. I've used guys for so long because I like them, it was easy, and because I could, that now it's almost impossible to associate them with a positive energy. As much fun as I've had with all the peen I've had, there was a wall, a guard up, the whole time. I got away with that lifestyle for years because I was so happy with it, and was sure it was what I wanted. But now thinking of men just leaves me feeling tired and sad. Men have become a little tainted to me, what with me fueling a messed-up, unhealthy relationship with them for so long. It doesn't surprise me that my sex dreams would be about chicks. Thinking of women doesn't evoke pain, fear of rejection, or years of misplaced feelings. I have practically no experience with women, so it's impossible to equate them with anything negative.
I was never bothered by my sapphic-saturated sex dreams. Never thought I was gay, and I wasn't embarrassed by them. I would sometimes wonder why, why women, if in real life men are what gets me goin'? Why would my dreams be the exact opposite? Men barely ever showed up in my sex dreams, and no one would make me dream-orgasm as intensely or consistently as women (okay, until tonight. That fat, faceless man has me STILL wanting more. 94 days to go, yay...) I used to just chalk up this whole dream-thing to my crazy hormones, and leave it at that. But part of this whole experience is figuring out myself, and my sexuality is part of me. I'm not going to keep letting my sex drive take the fall for things, so I figured finding an answer to a particular thing that's been going on for so long can't hurt. For now, my theories are fuzzy and hazy at best, but at least I have another three months to figure it all out.
Sunday, December 15, 2013
DAY FIVE: Lazy Sunday...?
It's strange that the most sexual part of my days has become when my arm has lost circulation because I've been lying in it, and then happens to touch my boob. It's almost like a different person is feeling me up, albeit a weirdly limp or boneless one. I can assure you that this kind of self-titty-grab is not sexy at all. It sure as hell made me laugh when it happened this morning because I seriously, briefly, considered getting into it. And then I laughed again when I realized: yep, this is as good as it's gonna get for the next 95 days. But you know what? I'm surprisingly okay with it. No, I don't mean this is going be a new masturbation thing to explore. I'm not going to start intentionally sleeping on my hands so I can wake up to a friendly cop-up, courtesy of me and my bad circulation. (I don't think that's what people mean by being "sexually liberated.") I'm talking about being okay, sans sexual activity. Numb-hand jokes aside, this is the freest I have felt in ever. Even at work this weekend, when I was receiving a higher than normal amount of attention from several guys (why?), I noticed that I felt great. I noticed my mood because it had absolutely nothing to do with any of these decent guys chatting me up. For the first time since I was 11 years old, my emotional state was not held in the balance of the attention they were paying me. It was because I'm feeling legitimately happy on my own. As the days pass, its like more and more of a weight that was unknowingly bogging me down is being lifted. I'm laughing easier, I'm more relaxed, I'm humming and floating along throughout my days.
Now. I don't know if any of you guys do this, but you know when you've been putting off cleaning your floors, and until you get down there and scrub, you kinda...tip-toe around the dirty surface? As if to keep your soles from absorbing the grime? For the past 10 years, give or take a year, I've been doing a similar dance, but around my own soul. There were dirty, untended parts of my being that I refused to accept, and/or blinded myself to. I tried to suppress these aspects of my inner self, to keep them in the dark. I avoided confronting them. I didn't like them, and I certainly didn't like how they made me dislike myself. And akin to finally cleaning a long-neglected kitchen floor, I was a little terrified. Scared of the work, and the possible stench (okay, that maybe be a stretch for this metaphor.) I was scared of being forced to face my massive build-up of spiritual crap needing to be dealt with. Growing up, I was always very lonely. Maybe because I was middle child, maybe because I never opened up or showed my true self to even my closest friends. Over time, I morphed this loneliness into, "Oh, no, I'm just fiercely independent." Some people are scared of silence; I was scared of being with me. I became distracted by sex, boys, and with finally feeling pretty. But even then, I don't think I ever felt happy or loved. For a while, I'd silently deny parts of who I am. It was easy to push things down, but when it's you rejecting yourself, it's super painful to dig it up. Even momentarily remembering those cold periods of being alone would bring me to tears. I definitely don't like crying, nor accepting that I was ever that lonely, because, well, it made me feel like a big ol' fucking loser. So, time passed and I just kept ignoring it and piling on other things on top of my fears, my loneliness, and my own self. I was still petrified of looking upon these hidden, stashed-away corners of me, to find something I didn't like, and to have to come to terms with the undeniable truth: it's who I am, all of it. And holy shit. That is my exact, to a T, fear when it comes to men. That they'll look at me, the real me, for everything that I am, and hate it, and reject it. I had no idea of this connection. I'd been walking on eggshells with my own psyche for so long that I had forgotten I do it at all. Of course I was transferring my fear into thinking men would do the same. I've been doing it to myself for years; it's only fair that I would subconsciously think anyone else would do it, too. GUYS, MY BRAIN JUST EXPLODED. Seriously, I just had this epiphany as I was typing. BOOM! Take that, Carrie Bradshaw!
I'm going to have to make this a two-parter; it's Sunday and I ate too much, and that realization just wiped me out as much as scoring an awesome 9-letter word in Boggle. But yes. This journey is helping me realize my soul's mess of a kitchen floor is in desperate need of attention. Not just acknowledgment, but acceptance. I've got to figuratively hug myself- the good, the bad, and all the things I've tried to hole away and never come to terms with. But you know what, I finally feel ready to do that. Even as short as a month ago, I would've have been way too frightened to be this honest with myself, let alone to get down and deal with the clean-up that's long overdue. It's time to bust out the dish-washing gloves and get to work. Only now, I'll be meeting this challenge head-on, and with a smile.
Now. I don't know if any of you guys do this, but you know when you've been putting off cleaning your floors, and until you get down there and scrub, you kinda...tip-toe around the dirty surface? As if to keep your soles from absorbing the grime? For the past 10 years, give or take a year, I've been doing a similar dance, but around my own soul. There were dirty, untended parts of my being that I refused to accept, and/or blinded myself to. I tried to suppress these aspects of my inner self, to keep them in the dark. I avoided confronting them. I didn't like them, and I certainly didn't like how they made me dislike myself. And akin to finally cleaning a long-neglected kitchen floor, I was a little terrified. Scared of the work, and the possible stench (okay, that maybe be a stretch for this metaphor.) I was scared of being forced to face my massive build-up of spiritual crap needing to be dealt with. Growing up, I was always very lonely. Maybe because I was middle child, maybe because I never opened up or showed my true self to even my closest friends. Over time, I morphed this loneliness into, "Oh, no, I'm just fiercely independent." Some people are scared of silence; I was scared of being with me. I became distracted by sex, boys, and with finally feeling pretty. But even then, I don't think I ever felt happy or loved. For a while, I'd silently deny parts of who I am. It was easy to push things down, but when it's you rejecting yourself, it's super painful to dig it up. Even momentarily remembering those cold periods of being alone would bring me to tears. I definitely don't like crying, nor accepting that I was ever that lonely, because, well, it made me feel like a big ol' fucking loser. So, time passed and I just kept ignoring it and piling on other things on top of my fears, my loneliness, and my own self. I was still petrified of looking upon these hidden, stashed-away corners of me, to find something I didn't like, and to have to come to terms with the undeniable truth: it's who I am, all of it. And holy shit. That is my exact, to a T, fear when it comes to men. That they'll look at me, the real me, for everything that I am, and hate it, and reject it. I had no idea of this connection. I'd been walking on eggshells with my own psyche for so long that I had forgotten I do it at all. Of course I was transferring my fear into thinking men would do the same. I've been doing it to myself for years; it's only fair that I would subconsciously think anyone else would do it, too. GUYS, MY BRAIN JUST EXPLODED. Seriously, I just had this epiphany as I was typing. BOOM! Take that, Carrie Bradshaw!
I'm going to have to make this a two-parter; it's Sunday and I ate too much, and that realization just wiped me out as much as scoring an awesome 9-letter word in Boggle. But yes. This journey is helping me realize my soul's mess of a kitchen floor is in desperate need of attention. Not just acknowledgment, but acceptance. I've got to figuratively hug myself- the good, the bad, and all the things I've tried to hole away and never come to terms with. But you know what, I finally feel ready to do that. Even as short as a month ago, I would've have been way too frightened to be this honest with myself, let alone to get down and deal with the clean-up that's long overdue. It's time to bust out the dish-washing gloves and get to work. Only now, I'll be meeting this challenge head-on, and with a smile.
DAY FOUR: All right boys, please calm your nutsacks and sit down
Holy moly. I'm about to go on a bit of a rant right now, and call out sooooo many people. But you brought it upon yourselves, so listen up:
Dear gentlemen, exes, male coworkers, former lovers, future hopefuls, ex-datees, past hookups, and male readers,
You all need to knock it off, and knock it off now. I don't know what exactly makes you all think that what I need, based on this endeavor, is your dick in my face, or your cum on my...any bodily surface. It was entertaining when it started yesterday afternoon, but it hasn't let up for a minute. In fact, it's only gotten more steadily persistent. How did me swearing off all of you open the floodgates?! Only a month ago, I was practically fighting for it. Now that I don't want it, it's like you're all on a fucking mission (literally!) Whether you were already in my life, or you're coming out of the woodwork, you're suddenly all up in my space. Maybe I should be thankful you're paying attention to me, because really, who am I? I'm not some Victoria's Secret model beauty, I'm not even a poor man's version. I'm not super rich, my boobs aren't big, and I'm nearing the end of my 20's. In this city, maybe my cup should be running over with gratitude that any of you are hollering in my general direction. And maybe a very, very small part of me is diggin' the flood of interest. But, no. Screw that. I am not looking to get laid. I am not looking for compliments. I am not doing this for a handout. I am not doing this to add more notches to my bedpost. I am not looking to have my ass kissed, in any way, shape, or form. As confusing as this may be, since the very title of this blog refers to your man-parts, this is not about you. As I tried to explain to the guy hitting on me at work tonight, this is about me and my journey of self-discovery and self-improvement. You were merely the catalyst to help me realize that something needs to change, and cutting you out was necessary to make that happen.
It's one thing to have some doubt that I'll make it to day 100. Even I have no idea what's going to happen. I know my history, I know how much I am turned on by men. But I'm determined to stick it out as long as I can. I'm realizing it will be easier than it sounds, because this isn't really about sex and just sex. This isn't me denying myself of something that is all I want and all I can think about. I'm not starving myself, I've simply turned off that switch, for now. But to the many guys telling me that this pursuit is ridiculous, that are sending me sex texts and dick pics, propositioning me with threesomes, promising me all kinds of happy endings, trying to romance me into submission: stop it. I don't appreciate you trying to confuse me and get me to buckle at the knees, to fold my hand and succumb to your dick-n-balls. I mean, a) in some cases, I am very, very tempted, b) you know I love dick, so don't use it against me, and c) I'm not hinting that I want to be "saved". I'm not hoping you'll play either sexual deviant of my dreams, nor the dashing hero that swoops in and sweeps me off my feet. Despite what you think, you're not what I've been missing my whole life.
I'll admit that I had a couple of weak moments tonight, owing to a specific person who I am undeniably incredibly attracted to. I may not know what I want yet, nor what I'm looking for in the grand scheme of things. But I do know that this person cannot truly give it to me. I mean, boy can give it to me (wink), plus he's fun, talented, and we have a great time together. But he's not in a place where he can offer me anything substantial. Nothing we'll share will help either of us grow or be better people. So now when I look at him, I get sad. I wish that things were different. But I just got my heart smashed to pieces by a different guy, who said basically the same thing before we started dating: he doesn't want a relationship, at all, with anyone. I dove in anyway, because we clicked so well, and despite his commitment phobia. This ex was also an incredible person that I felt was worth whatever pain came from it. I completely gave my entire self to him and to what we had. And I wound up getting figuratively shit on in every way possible. So what was the point of repeating that, with a different guy who was just as incredible but had the same issues?
The point of all this is, you boys are being so silly. When I'm willing to give you all of me, when you actually make me consider being monogamous, and when you KNOW it could work, you pass up the chance. And now, when I'm closed for the season, you're all banging at that locked door and peering in the windows. No apologies are expected for your ridiculous behavior the past two days, or otherwise. But whether you believe in me or not, I plan on seeing this to the end.
I still love you though. (Relax, jeez, it's just a word.)
Elena
Dear gentlemen, exes, male coworkers, former lovers, future hopefuls, ex-datees, past hookups, and male readers,
You all need to knock it off, and knock it off now. I don't know what exactly makes you all think that what I need, based on this endeavor, is your dick in my face, or your cum on my...any bodily surface. It was entertaining when it started yesterday afternoon, but it hasn't let up for a minute. In fact, it's only gotten more steadily persistent. How did me swearing off all of you open the floodgates?! Only a month ago, I was practically fighting for it. Now that I don't want it, it's like you're all on a fucking mission (literally!) Whether you were already in my life, or you're coming out of the woodwork, you're suddenly all up in my space. Maybe I should be thankful you're paying attention to me, because really, who am I? I'm not some Victoria's Secret model beauty, I'm not even a poor man's version. I'm not super rich, my boobs aren't big, and I'm nearing the end of my 20's. In this city, maybe my cup should be running over with gratitude that any of you are hollering in my general direction. And maybe a very, very small part of me is diggin' the flood of interest. But, no. Screw that. I am not looking to get laid. I am not looking for compliments. I am not doing this for a handout. I am not doing this to add more notches to my bedpost. I am not looking to have my ass kissed, in any way, shape, or form. As confusing as this may be, since the very title of this blog refers to your man-parts, this is not about you. As I tried to explain to the guy hitting on me at work tonight, this is about me and my journey of self-discovery and self-improvement. You were merely the catalyst to help me realize that something needs to change, and cutting you out was necessary to make that happen.
It's one thing to have some doubt that I'll make it to day 100. Even I have no idea what's going to happen. I know my history, I know how much I am turned on by men. But I'm determined to stick it out as long as I can. I'm realizing it will be easier than it sounds, because this isn't really about sex and just sex. This isn't me denying myself of something that is all I want and all I can think about. I'm not starving myself, I've simply turned off that switch, for now. But to the many guys telling me that this pursuit is ridiculous, that are sending me sex texts and dick pics, propositioning me with threesomes, promising me all kinds of happy endings, trying to romance me into submission: stop it. I don't appreciate you trying to confuse me and get me to buckle at the knees, to fold my hand and succumb to your dick-n-balls. I mean, a) in some cases, I am very, very tempted, b) you know I love dick, so don't use it against me, and c) I'm not hinting that I want to be "saved". I'm not hoping you'll play either sexual deviant of my dreams, nor the dashing hero that swoops in and sweeps me off my feet. Despite what you think, you're not what I've been missing my whole life.
I'll admit that I had a couple of weak moments tonight, owing to a specific person who I am undeniably incredibly attracted to. I may not know what I want yet, nor what I'm looking for in the grand scheme of things. But I do know that this person cannot truly give it to me. I mean, boy can give it to me (wink), plus he's fun, talented, and we have a great time together. But he's not in a place where he can offer me anything substantial. Nothing we'll share will help either of us grow or be better people. So now when I look at him, I get sad. I wish that things were different. But I just got my heart smashed to pieces by a different guy, who said basically the same thing before we started dating: he doesn't want a relationship, at all, with anyone. I dove in anyway, because we clicked so well, and despite his commitment phobia. This ex was also an incredible person that I felt was worth whatever pain came from it. I completely gave my entire self to him and to what we had. And I wound up getting figuratively shit on in every way possible. So what was the point of repeating that, with a different guy who was just as incredible but had the same issues?
The point of all this is, you boys are being so silly. When I'm willing to give you all of me, when you actually make me consider being monogamous, and when you KNOW it could work, you pass up the chance. And now, when I'm closed for the season, you're all banging at that locked door and peering in the windows. No apologies are expected for your ridiculous behavior the past two days, or otherwise. But whether you believe in me or not, I plan on seeing this to the end.
I still love you though. (Relax, jeez, it's just a word.)
Elena
Saturday, December 14, 2013
DAY THREE: Thought-Provoking Reactions...
Well well well, today was certainly interesting.
I woke up to this text from my good buddy, Matt:
Pretty much summed up the bulk of my waking hours.
And throughout the day, I kept receiving various texts from either people saying that they, or their friends who know me, are sure that I'm not gonna make it. "She's a girl who gets hers," etc, and "she's probably going to cheat / won't last." Even my closest friends, who were super supportive at first, started voicing their doubts. Damn, people! IT'S THE THIRD DAY.
Okay, okay. I get that based on my infamous writing, my Facebook statuses, my actions, my lack of boyfriends but steady flow of doting booty calls over the past several years, that yes, I would have justly earned some doubt when it comes to abstaining from getting some. I've established a particular image for myself, yes. And I'll admit, those brief periods when I've gone without, be it a week, two weeks, or even (gasp!) a month, I've been known to publicly bitch about how much I'm "dyyyying." That I've legit missed, and daydreamed, about having a dick in my mouth. So, I understand I may very well deserve all the criticism and doubt I've been receiving over this polar-opposite embarkment.
But here's the thing I'm realizing, even if all the doubters haven't: this isn't about sex, or weenies.
This isn't about men.
Those silly panty-twisters merely pushed me to this breaking point. Ultimately, this is about me. I'm the reason why I'm here. It just happened to happen that the role men were playing in my life helped me to realize something needs to change.
So, in case it wasn't clear, I'm a sexual being. I've loved men and desired them since pretty much the womb. In that way, they've had a pretty big part in my life. But I don't think I realized until I started this project, just how much I've been drowning the past few years. I've been neglecting myself, who I really am, and what I truly want, because I had such dude-tunnel-vision. I've experienced some good connections, some great sex, and added some hilariously amazing stories to my collection. I got as much as one could get out of oat-sowing.
But anytime I attempted to establish something real, something more than just happy-fun-good-time, a small part of me would die, because it never worked out.
My happiest days started to be because I posted a new blog story and the resulting flurry of laughs and positive feedback was so rewarding. Or the high I'd get after a successful recording session, or reading. Even so, I wasn't doing enough to pursue my own pursuits, and this was leaving an empty hole in my life that I now admit I had been filling with men. Instead of actively focusing on my work and craft, my energies would instead, and always, turn to men. I definitely had no real idea the toll this constant craving for male attention was taking on me, because I became so lost in thinking they were what I really wanted. I was so sure they were the root and source of my happiness. Being boy-crazy and sexual is a part of who I am, absolutely, but I was letting it consume me far more than I realized. I had always just brushed it off as being part of my personality. But these past few days, being on this heightened-self-awareness, I'm realizing... I may not want men at all. No, I'm not a lesbian.
I'm realizing I actually have no fucking idea what I truly want.
I might like doin' it, but...so what? Why have I placed men in this position where I base all my happiness and sense of fulfillment on them?
I gave that some thought. Could it stem from my long, long, LONG awkward-phase where I was a super ugly human being from the ages of 9-19, and was rejected by nearly every boy I wanted? Was it because I was forced to watch as all the gorgeous girls were courted, because they were the ones, and not me, that the boys wholly desired? Is it because I'm a middle child and never felt truly accepted or wanted as a little kid, by my own family? If those are really the reasons, I give every single one of you permission to slap me in the fucking face and tell me to get over it because... seriously? There is something to be said for the hell that is junior high, and never feeling wanted as a kid, by anyone. But I'm almost 30...I'd hope I was past all that, jeez.
I think, yes, a small part of current-me may still seek acceptance from men because of those bottled-up feelings from my youth that I never got the chance to unleash until I was normal-looking. But if I'm going to be honest, I don't know the answer to why I gave men the role I gave them. I'm still confused and unsure as to what I really want, and why I have been placing men in the void where self-fulfillment should go. Maybe it was the perfect storm, combining:
insecurities + a crazy sex drive x fear of pursuing her dreams = Elena.
Maybe it was only natural for me to sub in the boys, and use them as pinch-hitters for the self-validation that I was denying myself by not going out there and living - for me. In any case, this is opening my eyes to what's really important. It's smacking me in the brain as to what my priorities should be. It's beginning to show me the necessity of doing things that will make me truly happy, that will help me be the best version of myself, on my own. And above all, I'm understanding what it really means to be completely honest with myself about who I am and what I want.
I woke up to this text from my good buddy, Matt:
Pretty much summed up the bulk of my waking hours.
And throughout the day, I kept receiving various texts from either people saying that they, or their friends who know me, are sure that I'm not gonna make it. "She's a girl who gets hers," etc, and "she's probably going to cheat / won't last." Even my closest friends, who were super supportive at first, started voicing their doubts. Damn, people! IT'S THE THIRD DAY.
Okay, okay. I get that based on my infamous writing, my Facebook statuses, my actions, my lack of boyfriends but steady flow of doting booty calls over the past several years, that yes, I would have justly earned some doubt when it comes to abstaining from getting some. I've established a particular image for myself, yes. And I'll admit, those brief periods when I've gone without, be it a week, two weeks, or even (gasp!) a month, I've been known to publicly bitch about how much I'm "dyyyying." That I've legit missed, and daydreamed, about having a dick in my mouth. So, I understand I may very well deserve all the criticism and doubt I've been receiving over this polar-opposite embarkment.
But here's the thing I'm realizing, even if all the doubters haven't: this isn't about sex, or weenies.
This isn't about men.
Those silly panty-twisters merely pushed me to this breaking point. Ultimately, this is about me. I'm the reason why I'm here. It just happened to happen that the role men were playing in my life helped me to realize something needs to change.
So, in case it wasn't clear, I'm a sexual being. I've loved men and desired them since pretty much the womb. In that way, they've had a pretty big part in my life. But I don't think I realized until I started this project, just how much I've been drowning the past few years. I've been neglecting myself, who I really am, and what I truly want, because I had such dude-tunnel-vision. I've experienced some good connections, some great sex, and added some hilariously amazing stories to my collection. I got as much as one could get out of oat-sowing.
But anytime I attempted to establish something real, something more than just happy-fun-good-time, a small part of me would die, because it never worked out.
My happiest days started to be because I posted a new blog story and the resulting flurry of laughs and positive feedback was so rewarding. Or the high I'd get after a successful recording session, or reading. Even so, I wasn't doing enough to pursue my own pursuits, and this was leaving an empty hole in my life that I now admit I had been filling with men. Instead of actively focusing on my work and craft, my energies would instead, and always, turn to men. I definitely had no real idea the toll this constant craving for male attention was taking on me, because I became so lost in thinking they were what I really wanted. I was so sure they were the root and source of my happiness. Being boy-crazy and sexual is a part of who I am, absolutely, but I was letting it consume me far more than I realized. I had always just brushed it off as being part of my personality. But these past few days, being on this heightened-self-awareness, I'm realizing... I may not want men at all. No, I'm not a lesbian.
I'm realizing I actually have no fucking idea what I truly want.
I might like doin' it, but...so what? Why have I placed men in this position where I base all my happiness and sense of fulfillment on them?
I gave that some thought. Could it stem from my long, long, LONG awkward-phase where I was a super ugly human being from the ages of 9-19, and was rejected by nearly every boy I wanted? Was it because I was forced to watch as all the gorgeous girls were courted, because they were the ones, and not me, that the boys wholly desired? Is it because I'm a middle child and never felt truly accepted or wanted as a little kid, by my own family? If those are really the reasons, I give every single one of you permission to slap me in the fucking face and tell me to get over it because... seriously? There is something to be said for the hell that is junior high, and never feeling wanted as a kid, by anyone. But I'm almost 30...I'd hope I was past all that, jeez.
I think, yes, a small part of current-me may still seek acceptance from men because of those bottled-up feelings from my youth that I never got the chance to unleash until I was normal-looking. But if I'm going to be honest, I don't know the answer to why I gave men the role I gave them. I'm still confused and unsure as to what I really want, and why I have been placing men in the void where self-fulfillment should go. Maybe it was the perfect storm, combining:
insecurities + a crazy sex drive x fear of pursuing her dreams = Elena.
Maybe it was only natural for me to sub in the boys, and use them as pinch-hitters for the self-validation that I was denying myself by not going out there and living - for me. In any case, this is opening my eyes to what's really important. It's smacking me in the brain as to what my priorities should be. It's beginning to show me the necessity of doing things that will make me truly happy, that will help me be the best version of myself, on my own. And above all, I'm understanding what it really means to be completely honest with myself about who I am and what I want.
Friday, December 13, 2013
DAY TWO: It's...Well, It's Day Two
I'd say today went as typical as a Thursday might: treadmill for an hour, shower, get dressed, pack my work bag, bike to work, work, bike home. In terms of my decision to be free-of-men, and everything about them, I had a lot to think about during my workout, shower, cold bike rides, and lulls at work.
I started realizing how much of my energies and how much my actions are driven by men. And if not driven by them, definitely revolve around them.
I work out and like to look good so I don't cry in disgust when I see my reflection, sure. But really...I like to keep it tight for when I get seen naked. I like when a guy comments in admiration on my body. I constantly review my physique so I know how I look in every position, in every light, so I can know my strengths and weaknesses. I don't know if this is narcissistic behavior, or stemming from my insecurities and need to achieve what I deem perfection (or close-enough-to). But in all honesty, I'm definitely not doing it for only myself. So we can, at least 50%, chalk my faith to fitness to men. Even just yesterday, coming home from my abomination of a "date", I kept my heels on for the whole walk to the train, and ride home, because damn they made my legs look fiiiine. And sure, it's a nice feeling to know I like how I look, but again, so much of that revolves around enjoying the stares and attention it also gets me from the dudes.
I could go on and on with other examples like this: needing my hair to look as perfect as I can make it, even during my bikes rides. Because drivers and passerby will see me (and of course they're looking at me, right? Where's Liz Lemon, I need an eye roll.) Needing my make-up to be beyond on-point during my work shift, and taking at least two bathrooms breaks to reapply/touch-up over the 8-10 hours I'm there. Making sure I'm wearing something enticing, in some way, because I don't want to be ignored or looked-over when customers walk in the door. And so on.
Sure, this could simply be manifestations of my perfectionism, my insanely high standards and harsh criticisms that I place upon myself (however unnecessary as they may be.) I did briefly see a counselor in college about an eating disorder, and while we barely touched on that subject specifically, I did realize that I get these visions in my head of where I should be at and constantly ride myself relentlessly to reach them.
So maybe this, this "look" thing, isn't about guys, per se. Maybe this is wayyy more my own issue and guys are just a tiny part of the picture. But really, after paying attention and really focusing today on how much my actions happen because of guys, I felt disappointed in and almost ashamed of myself. I say all the time how I'm this chill, dude-like girl that is above all "that" bullshit. For instance, I don't have sex for validation or acceptance; I do the do because I enjoy it. I can take guys or leave them, and I often take them because it's fun and I know what I want. And then leave them because I'm over it. True, I am not alone in describing myself this way. Pretty much anyone I know will say the same about me. But it made me think: IS this really me? Or is it just another defense mechanism, a guard, a wall I have up to stop people from seeing my weaknesses, my vulnerabilities? I don't like being weak, and I sure as fuck hate feeling vulnerable, so I wouldn't be surprised if I had built myself this funny, awesome mask to stop people from seeing in.
But no, I don't think that's what's up. I think all of these things are really, and completely, me. Yes, I am still the cool, hilarious, cock-loving woman...but I'm also the self-abusive, hyper-self-critical, sometimes fragile, girl.
Bigger question: do I use sex and men to escape that weaker side of myself, to bypass my flaws, and instead dive into a realm where I feel and know I excel and thrive? It's possible. But today, consciously tuning in to my mental processes and seeing how I act and why I'm acting that way, what's motivating me, I now know what I need to change. I have to stop being so influenced by men, by their attentions, by the possibility of them being into me and finding me attractive (and getting angry, hurt, and hating/blaming myself when they aren't.) I need to stop basing all my actions and decisions and clothing choices on men. It's clear I get some sort of fulfillment out of guy's appreciation, but it's looking like I'm gonna need to get that fulfillment elsewhere. Like, I don't know...myself. And tonight at work was a great place to start. It's a sports bar, so the guys are always on endless tap; particularly, guys I'd be interested in. It was kinda nice, to start chipping away at this marble-block of a mission.
For starters, I donned a beanie at work instead of spending 10 minutes trying to fix my hair into perfection after biking the 15 miles in. I wore my boots that may look like Napoleon Dynamite's, instead of my heels, because fuck looking sexier. It was too freezing out for that shit, and I wanted my feet to stay warm, damn it. I fixed my make-up only once, because yeah it looked okay during the whole shift, but mainly because I felt okay! I had a day where I took care of myself, ate well, and wound up smiling - because I was happy. It was extremely liberating, to do all those things for me, and not give a crap if the cute guys at the table next to my hostess stand were looking at me or not (they totally were, and I mentally acknowledged for a second, but that was it.)
Don't get me wrong, this whole "100 days without" thing does NOT mean I'm depressed, giving up on love and life, throwing in every towel, hate men, am going to get fat, am going to stop bathing, am going to start using copious amounts of drugs to escape. No. None of that. But for the first time, seriously, the FIRST TIME in my life I will be doing what I do, for me. Not to say I don't at all, but there's always, always been that subconscious motivator that is the men-folk that really drives my actions and habits.
Today was the first time I felt what it's like to drop that hang-up and just hang out with me. It was fucking great, and I can't tell you how excited I am to keep this going. Yes, it's only day 2, and that may be premature but as of right now, it feels like the exact path I want to be on.
I started realizing how much of my energies and how much my actions are driven by men. And if not driven by them, definitely revolve around them.
I work out and like to look good so I don't cry in disgust when I see my reflection, sure. But really...I like to keep it tight for when I get seen naked. I like when a guy comments in admiration on my body. I constantly review my physique so I know how I look in every position, in every light, so I can know my strengths and weaknesses. I don't know if this is narcissistic behavior, or stemming from my insecurities and need to achieve what I deem perfection (or close-enough-to). But in all honesty, I'm definitely not doing it for only myself. So we can, at least 50%, chalk my faith to fitness to men. Even just yesterday, coming home from my abomination of a "date", I kept my heels on for the whole walk to the train, and ride home, because damn they made my legs look fiiiine. And sure, it's a nice feeling to know I like how I look, but again, so much of that revolves around enjoying the stares and attention it also gets me from the dudes.
I could go on and on with other examples like this: needing my hair to look as perfect as I can make it, even during my bikes rides. Because drivers and passerby will see me (and of course they're looking at me, right? Where's Liz Lemon, I need an eye roll.) Needing my make-up to be beyond on-point during my work shift, and taking at least two bathrooms breaks to reapply/touch-up over the 8-10 hours I'm there. Making sure I'm wearing something enticing, in some way, because I don't want to be ignored or looked-over when customers walk in the door. And so on.
Sure, this could simply be manifestations of my perfectionism, my insanely high standards and harsh criticisms that I place upon myself (however unnecessary as they may be.) I did briefly see a counselor in college about an eating disorder, and while we barely touched on that subject specifically, I did realize that I get these visions in my head of where I should be at and constantly ride myself relentlessly to reach them.
So maybe this, this "look" thing, isn't about guys, per se. Maybe this is wayyy more my own issue and guys are just a tiny part of the picture. But really, after paying attention and really focusing today on how much my actions happen because of guys, I felt disappointed in and almost ashamed of myself. I say all the time how I'm this chill, dude-like girl that is above all "that" bullshit. For instance, I don't have sex for validation or acceptance; I do the do because I enjoy it. I can take guys or leave them, and I often take them because it's fun and I know what I want. And then leave them because I'm over it. True, I am not alone in describing myself this way. Pretty much anyone I know will say the same about me. But it made me think: IS this really me? Or is it just another defense mechanism, a guard, a wall I have up to stop people from seeing my weaknesses, my vulnerabilities? I don't like being weak, and I sure as fuck hate feeling vulnerable, so I wouldn't be surprised if I had built myself this funny, awesome mask to stop people from seeing in.
But no, I don't think that's what's up. I think all of these things are really, and completely, me. Yes, I am still the cool, hilarious, cock-loving woman...but I'm also the self-abusive, hyper-self-critical, sometimes fragile, girl.
Bigger question: do I use sex and men to escape that weaker side of myself, to bypass my flaws, and instead dive into a realm where I feel and know I excel and thrive? It's possible. But today, consciously tuning in to my mental processes and seeing how I act and why I'm acting that way, what's motivating me, I now know what I need to change. I have to stop being so influenced by men, by their attentions, by the possibility of them being into me and finding me attractive (and getting angry, hurt, and hating/blaming myself when they aren't.) I need to stop basing all my actions and decisions and clothing choices on men. It's clear I get some sort of fulfillment out of guy's appreciation, but it's looking like I'm gonna need to get that fulfillment elsewhere. Like, I don't know...myself. And tonight at work was a great place to start. It's a sports bar, so the guys are always on endless tap; particularly, guys I'd be interested in. It was kinda nice, to start chipping away at this marble-block of a mission.
For starters, I donned a beanie at work instead of spending 10 minutes trying to fix my hair into perfection after biking the 15 miles in. I wore my boots that may look like Napoleon Dynamite's, instead of my heels, because fuck looking sexier. It was too freezing out for that shit, and I wanted my feet to stay warm, damn it. I fixed my make-up only once, because yeah it looked okay during the whole shift, but mainly because I felt okay! I had a day where I took care of myself, ate well, and wound up smiling - because I was happy. It was extremely liberating, to do all those things for me, and not give a crap if the cute guys at the table next to my hostess stand were looking at me or not (they totally were, and I mentally acknowledged for a second, but that was it.)
Don't get me wrong, this whole "100 days without" thing does NOT mean I'm depressed, giving up on love and life, throwing in every towel, hate men, am going to get fat, am going to stop bathing, am going to start using copious amounts of drugs to escape. No. None of that. But for the first time, seriously, the FIRST TIME in my life I will be doing what I do, for me. Not to say I don't at all, but there's always, always been that subconscious motivator that is the men-folk that really drives my actions and habits.
Today was the first time I felt what it's like to drop that hang-up and just hang out with me. It was fucking great, and I can't tell you how excited I am to keep this going. Yes, it's only day 2, and that may be premature but as of right now, it feels like the exact path I want to be on.
Thursday, December 12, 2013
DAY ONE: The Decision
How does one get to this place? The place where they say to themselves, "Yo...100 days of self-imposed celibacy? Holy shit. YES."
For me, it was not just a "hmm, okay" sort of thought. I didn't just simply reach that VERY SPECIFIC (and maybe insane) mental destination. I was actually excited and thrilled at the idea of executing it. If you don't know me, know this: I love sex. I love it. I love everything about it. I love penetration. I love giving blowjobs. I love men. I love their bodies. I love being touched and stroked and desired. I am not one who would ever willingly give any of that up. So then... how did I get here? Namely, overjoyed to say goodbye to literally all of those things?
As a woman, and more particularly, a woman in NYC, I have to say: it was (practically) inevitable. It's almost like romance comes to this metropolis to die. Ironically, classic movies and chick flicks always portray NYC in a shimmering, golden-pink, doe-eyed filter. But I'm not talking about the fake fantasy or the technicolor idealistic love stories; I'm talking about DATING. Just romance, within dating...and that's it. Yeah, I could cite the statistics that there are way more women than men (5:1, and that's a fact) and all the resulting behavior that comes from those disproportionate numbers. I could talk about how NYC is a place that people come to to achieve personal career ambitions, not settle down. It's the epicenter of self-centered-ness, ego, and the selfish and unrelenting drive to succeed. I could talk about how romance doesn't thrive here simply because it can't. But like all the other aspiring artist types who are completely self-serving, that is also why I wound up making this decision.
I had had a particularly terrible few months in the man department, but the culmination of it all was these past two days. Tonight specifically was the pinnacle, or maybe the nadir, of my shit-streak of a love life. I found myself on the subway ride home feeling totally depressed. Not because it didn't work out with the date I had just been on, with some dude who was awful (to put it nicely.) It was more because I was finding myself in a place I had never been before: completely and utterly broken. And it was bumming me the fuck out. I've had my heart smashed before, sure, but I've never truly wallowed and let it change me for the worse. No matter how bad something was, no matter how much I had been shit on, I was always able to approach a new guy like he was exactly that: a new guy. In short, my hope never fragmented or diluted; I was an eternal optimist.
Tonight, however, felt like I had completely lost that ability. Not necessarily because of Shitty Horrible Human Date Guy. More as a whole, I was reaching out to grab onto my hope, my bounce-back ability, my roll-off-your-back attitude. But my fingers were grasping only at empty air. I spent a good part of my train ride home from tonight's date thinking about the sex I had had the night before. It had been with a different guy, one I had known for/been off-and-on with, for about a year. As I thought back on that previous night and the sex we had had, I found I was no longer turned on. In fact, in this moment now, the thought of having sex at ALL was making me physically exhausted (and grimace a little.)
Maybe nausea was being induced upon my reflecting because Night Before Guy had brought up the "where we're at" conversation, for god knows why. I was sitting on his living room couch, staring at the empty plates of the dinner he had cooked us, and listened as he said the same spiel I've been hearing forever, "I'm not looking for a relationship right now. But I still want to hang out, have fun, have sex with you." BLECHH. I am SO OVER hearing that fucking sentence! I found myself getting angry, and wanting to cry. It's not even that I want to be with Night Before Guy. I just want to mean something to someone, beyond my awesome vagina and chill personality, damn it. How do so many other girls get boyfriends, all the time? What is it? I don't even really want a boyfriend, so what does it matter anyway? But these days all I can conclude is I don't want "just sex" anymore either, especially if I'm being told from the get-go that's all it is. What? This never used to bother me. This never used to be an issue; I was usually the one who didn't allow strings. Where have my compartmentalizing skills gone? Do I even want sex at all? Inner Blanche Devereux, WHERE ARE YOU??
I got home, in a complete daze because...well, what the hell was going on here? I was so confused and felt like throwing myself off a bridge. Or maybe moving to a hot climate, because it was entirely too cold out and it was only adding to how much I was already pissed off and irritated. But upon talking with my friend Jasmine, she confirmed the idea that I had been toying with that very morning: celibacy. However, where I had been thinking just cutting off the act of sex itself, she meant everything. No dates, no men, no hooking up, no sex. None of it.
At first I read her text, like, I saw the words and understood the English. But after a few moments I thought, this could be a really interesting thing. I mean, yeah, its kind of perfect because oh my god, I am so ready to give up entirely: boys: y'all have pushed me to my limit. But also because I've been having total man-vision, with no real rewards (except for some hilarious stories, and the occasional orgasm) for 11 years in a row now. No breaks, no pauses. I don't mean just having sex, I mean devoting basically all of my energies and focus on men. Maybe I'm feeling so burnt out because I am ACTUALLY BURNT OUT. I've been throwing so much energy towards the gents that I never really gave myself a chance to breathe, or stretch. 11 years is a long time to do something without stopping. It's not that I need a break, but for the first time in my life - I wholeheartedly want a break.
I want boys to not pay attention to me. I want to not think about if they're looking at me or interested or why aren't they looking at me? I want to have my abs and a hot bod...for me. I want to walk into a subway car and not give two shits if a hot guy is there, or if one happens to get on board a few stops later. I want to turn that part of my brain, that energy, those hormones, OFF.
I had a good last fuck, so that's probably why I'm being as cool as I am right now. 100 might have sounded like a good, round number (that's really the sole reason here) but I have no idea how I'm going to feel tomorrow. I may regret this. I may wish I had listened to my friend Delorean, who said, "Tonight? You sure you don't wanna wait til Jan 1st? 100 is a long time..." I may fail, fall off the wagon (on the wagon? Ehhh) so to speak. But ultimately, I may live the next 100 days and find that life was more fulfilling than I had ever previously allowed it to be. I hope to learn more about myself outside of my sexual, male-pursuer side. I hope to get out and live more, for me, and not for leers and catcalls and attention. I hope to truly live all the other walks of life that I've been blind to for so long. I mean guys are hot, I know exactly why they were top of my list of things to do for so many years. But if all that "love" only made me reach this utter low point, was it really worth keeping it at priority number one? I'll miss you, guys, but maybe I won't miss you at all.
For me, it was not just a "hmm, okay" sort of thought. I didn't just simply reach that VERY SPECIFIC (and maybe insane) mental destination. I was actually excited and thrilled at the idea of executing it. If you don't know me, know this: I love sex. I love it. I love everything about it. I love penetration. I love giving blowjobs. I love men. I love their bodies. I love being touched and stroked and desired. I am not one who would ever willingly give any of that up. So then... how did I get here? Namely, overjoyed to say goodbye to literally all of those things?
As a woman, and more particularly, a woman in NYC, I have to say: it was (practically) inevitable. It's almost like romance comes to this metropolis to die. Ironically, classic movies and chick flicks always portray NYC in a shimmering, golden-pink, doe-eyed filter. But I'm not talking about the fake fantasy or the technicolor idealistic love stories; I'm talking about DATING. Just romance, within dating...and that's it. Yeah, I could cite the statistics that there are way more women than men (5:1, and that's a fact) and all the resulting behavior that comes from those disproportionate numbers. I could talk about how NYC is a place that people come to to achieve personal career ambitions, not settle down. It's the epicenter of self-centered-ness, ego, and the selfish and unrelenting drive to succeed. I could talk about how romance doesn't thrive here simply because it can't. But like all the other aspiring artist types who are completely self-serving, that is also why I wound up making this decision.
I had had a particularly terrible few months in the man department, but the culmination of it all was these past two days. Tonight specifically was the pinnacle, or maybe the nadir, of my shit-streak of a love life. I found myself on the subway ride home feeling totally depressed. Not because it didn't work out with the date I had just been on, with some dude who was awful (to put it nicely.) It was more because I was finding myself in a place I had never been before: completely and utterly broken. And it was bumming me the fuck out. I've had my heart smashed before, sure, but I've never truly wallowed and let it change me for the worse. No matter how bad something was, no matter how much I had been shit on, I was always able to approach a new guy like he was exactly that: a new guy. In short, my hope never fragmented or diluted; I was an eternal optimist.
Tonight, however, felt like I had completely lost that ability. Not necessarily because of Shitty Horrible Human Date Guy. More as a whole, I was reaching out to grab onto my hope, my bounce-back ability, my roll-off-your-back attitude. But my fingers were grasping only at empty air. I spent a good part of my train ride home from tonight's date thinking about the sex I had had the night before. It had been with a different guy, one I had known for/been off-and-on with, for about a year. As I thought back on that previous night and the sex we had had, I found I was no longer turned on. In fact, in this moment now, the thought of having sex at ALL was making me physically exhausted (and grimace a little.)
Maybe nausea was being induced upon my reflecting because Night Before Guy had brought up the "where we're at" conversation, for god knows why. I was sitting on his living room couch, staring at the empty plates of the dinner he had cooked us, and listened as he said the same spiel I've been hearing forever, "I'm not looking for a relationship right now. But I still want to hang out, have fun, have sex with you." BLECHH. I am SO OVER hearing that fucking sentence! I found myself getting angry, and wanting to cry. It's not even that I want to be with Night Before Guy. I just want to mean something to someone, beyond my awesome vagina and chill personality, damn it. How do so many other girls get boyfriends, all the time? What is it? I don't even really want a boyfriend, so what does it matter anyway? But these days all I can conclude is I don't want "just sex" anymore either, especially if I'm being told from the get-go that's all it is. What? This never used to bother me. This never used to be an issue; I was usually the one who didn't allow strings. Where have my compartmentalizing skills gone? Do I even want sex at all? Inner Blanche Devereux, WHERE ARE YOU??
I got home, in a complete daze because...well, what the hell was going on here? I was so confused and felt like throwing myself off a bridge. Or maybe moving to a hot climate, because it was entirely too cold out and it was only adding to how much I was already pissed off and irritated. But upon talking with my friend Jasmine, she confirmed the idea that I had been toying with that very morning: celibacy. However, where I had been thinking just cutting off the act of sex itself, she meant everything. No dates, no men, no hooking up, no sex. None of it.
At first I read her text, like, I saw the words and understood the English. But after a few moments I thought, this could be a really interesting thing. I mean, yeah, its kind of perfect because oh my god, I am so ready to give up entirely: boys: y'all have pushed me to my limit. But also because I've been having total man-vision, with no real rewards (except for some hilarious stories, and the occasional orgasm) for 11 years in a row now. No breaks, no pauses. I don't mean just having sex, I mean devoting basically all of my energies and focus on men. Maybe I'm feeling so burnt out because I am ACTUALLY BURNT OUT. I've been throwing so much energy towards the gents that I never really gave myself a chance to breathe, or stretch. 11 years is a long time to do something without stopping. It's not that I need a break, but for the first time in my life - I wholeheartedly want a break.
I want boys to not pay attention to me. I want to not think about if they're looking at me or interested or why aren't they looking at me? I want to have my abs and a hot bod...for me. I want to walk into a subway car and not give two shits if a hot guy is there, or if one happens to get on board a few stops later. I want to turn that part of my brain, that energy, those hormones, OFF.
I had a good last fuck, so that's probably why I'm being as cool as I am right now. 100 might have sounded like a good, round number (that's really the sole reason here) but I have no idea how I'm going to feel tomorrow. I may regret this. I may wish I had listened to my friend Delorean, who said, "Tonight? You sure you don't wanna wait til Jan 1st? 100 is a long time..." I may fail, fall off the wagon (on the wagon? Ehhh) so to speak. But ultimately, I may live the next 100 days and find that life was more fulfilling than I had ever previously allowed it to be. I hope to learn more about myself outside of my sexual, male-pursuer side. I hope to get out and live more, for me, and not for leers and catcalls and attention. I hope to truly live all the other walks of life that I've been blind to for so long. I mean guys are hot, I know exactly why they were top of my list of things to do for so many years. But if all that "love" only made me reach this utter low point, was it really worth keeping it at priority number one? I'll miss you, guys, but maybe I won't miss you at all.
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