http://m.youtube.com/watch?desktop_uri=%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DADDo5PT_ToI&v=ADDo5PT_ToI&gl=US
I keep trying to think of a way to preface this...to dumb it down, or apologize, or make it seem not so bad. But I got nothin. So fuck it, the message stands alone.
I'm jealous. I don't think I've ever experienced a more heartbreaking jealousy. I remember when my bff spent four years trying to conceive and having miscarriages and just being devastated by the sight of pregnant women. The world was unfair and she deserved better. This is like that for me.
I watched the above video and felt a repeat of this massive jealousy. It actually made me cry, it was so severe.
I am jealous of other gay people whose parents support them.
I had the same reaction when I've heard coming out stories from Chely Wright, Ellen, and others. I don't understand why these parents, once SO opposed to homosexuality, can look their children in the eye and LOVE them for who they are, and my parents won't. Of course that's not the only issue in our (lack of) relationship, and even if they did accept me I still wouldn't talk to them unless the abuse stopped. But for some reason, this gets to me like nothing else ever has.
My parents do not love me unconditionally. Not only that, but the conditions they put on our relationship aren't even their own. Their church says thou shalt hate, and they're on that shit like white on rice. Somebody else put conditions on our relationship. That's fucked up.
I think I'm too tired to articulate anymore, so I'll just stop here for now.
Friday, January 6, 2012
Friday, December 30, 2011
Dear Family
At some point, I had decided I was going to start a blog called Letters to my Family. I'm glad I didn't...I can't even keep up with the two blogs I HAVE, much less a new one. So, when the idea for this post popped into my head, I decided to post it here. It fits anyway.
I was thinking this morning on my way home about one subject after another, beginning with potty training, and eventually leading to my sexual orientation, and more specifically, my understanding of my sexual orientation. I imagined what I would say if I were to turn this internal monologue into a discussion point to my family, with the intent of helping them understand that sexual orientation isn't exactly a choice for most people (ha! Yeah right.). This is roughly what I came up with.
When I was about 7, I spent the night with a friend for the first time. I wasn't the only girl spending the night. I don't remember how many of us there were...4 or 5 maybe? I was the only one who wet the bed. But I couldn't admit that I had actually wet the bed. It had to be sweat. The sleeping bag was too hot, and I produced a lot of sweat in that area. (But the sleeping bag was DRIPPING wet!) Yeah, I sweat that much. Really. (But it smells like urine.) Nope. Sweat. My sweat smells like pee. Honest. Oh and please don't tell my mom.
It's not that I was denying the fact that I wet the bed. I COULD NOT believe that I had wet the bed. I was not ABLE to admit, even to myself, that I had wet the bed. If I wet the bed, that meant that I was stupid enough to fall back into old patterns, KNOWING that I was going to get beaten for it, and therefore, I deserved a beating because I made such a stupid choice. There was simply NO WAY that I would choose to wet the bed...therefore, it didn't happen.
My mother was so abusive about potty training that this is the message I had burned on my brain. It still is. I deal with mild incontinence that is slowly increasing over time, and I find myself STILL in denial. My underwear are just wet because I was so hot today and I must have sweated all day long. Even though I LOGICALLY know that my bladder has sprung a slow leak, I am still, nearly 20 years after moving out of my parents' home, unable to admit that I am not able to control every drop of urine that exits my bladder 100% of the time.
I'm mystified by this sometimes. But then I start thinking about how I processed (and still process) sexual orientation. Logically, I know that bladder control is not always under the control of the owner of the bladder. I work with elderly folks. I have never once blamed a client for messing in their pants. No one would ever choose to smell like urine and wear a diaper like a baby. (This is how I imagine I would feel were I in their shoes...and I say that as if I'm not ALREADY in their shoes, because I still have yet to fully accept it, and I'm not going to go back and correct the words I typed after I realized how far disconnected from myself I am). Back to my point: I also logically know that sexual orientation is largely not a choice (although I have known some folks who say they chose, and so I don't think it's 100% accurate to say it's NEVER a choice). But I was unable to apply this fact to MYSELF until recently. Sometimes I still forget.
I have always been attracted to women. I just didn't know it. I love boobs. I love FEMALE asses. I can recall enjoying ONE ass that was attached to a male body, and that particular ass was round and squeezable...rather like the ass that I would imagine a shapely woman having on her backside, in fact. I enjoy all sorts of shapes and sizes of female asses. I could care less about the same exact asses attached to male bodies. They simply do nothing for me.
I could go into all sorts of detail about what I'm realizing I am and am not attracted to (now that I know what attraction is...which I believe I covered in an earlier blog post), but I think that's enough for now. When I was younger, I thought my attraction to women was a perversion. I thought I was sick, or that I desired things when I was alone that I had no intention to ever fulfill (i.e. fantasies better left in my head). I'm not sure if I've mentioned this or not, but I have never been attracted to men. I've had this fact pointed out to me many times by women who were busily ogling men while I, totally oblivious, continued on my merry way without even noticing the hunka hunka burnin love my friends couldn't HELP but notice. I had NO IDEA what all this meant.
I had so internalized my parents' message of hate and intolerance that I unswervingly applied every word of their message to myself. I have never, ever had issues with homosexual people, even though I was raised in that environment. I was appalled at my parents for their hateful attitudes. But since my BIRTH, I have believed myself unworthy of love, equality, inner strength, etc. So my beliefs about my parents' hateful messages never seemed to apply to me. *I* wasn't gay, I was sick. *I* chose to wet the bed and get beat, even though I knew no other kid would make the same choice. There was something fundamentally WRONG with me, ever since probably the moment of my conception, that made regular rules not apply to me. Any reasonable, sane, normal kid would choose to get up and go to the bathroom if they were able to, and if they weren't able to, then it obviously wasn't their fault, and they should not be punished for something that obviously wasn't their fault. I, on the other hand, was a stupid, disgusting, annoying, inconsiderate, unworthy child who OF COURSE chose to wet the bed, just to piss of my mom and make her beat me. You see where I'm going with this, right? I chose to have perverted feelings about women, too...even though I've never believed that sexual orientation was a matter of choice for the vast majority of people on this planet.
Ok, I'm starting to fall asleep...just got off the night shift, I have limited brain power, and it seems to have drained down to zero...off to bed I go, and I hope all that made sense. I'll have to read it back later and make sure I actually made a point and didn't just mumble "bed...blanket...pillow...snore...snuggle wifey..." the whole time...since that's about all I have room in my brain for at this point. ;-)
I was thinking this morning on my way home about one subject after another, beginning with potty training, and eventually leading to my sexual orientation, and more specifically, my understanding of my sexual orientation. I imagined what I would say if I were to turn this internal monologue into a discussion point to my family, with the intent of helping them understand that sexual orientation isn't exactly a choice for most people (ha! Yeah right.). This is roughly what I came up with.
When I was about 7, I spent the night with a friend for the first time. I wasn't the only girl spending the night. I don't remember how many of us there were...4 or 5 maybe? I was the only one who wet the bed. But I couldn't admit that I had actually wet the bed. It had to be sweat. The sleeping bag was too hot, and I produced a lot of sweat in that area. (But the sleeping bag was DRIPPING wet!) Yeah, I sweat that much. Really. (But it smells like urine.) Nope. Sweat. My sweat smells like pee. Honest. Oh and please don't tell my mom.
It's not that I was denying the fact that I wet the bed. I COULD NOT believe that I had wet the bed. I was not ABLE to admit, even to myself, that I had wet the bed. If I wet the bed, that meant that I was stupid enough to fall back into old patterns, KNOWING that I was going to get beaten for it, and therefore, I deserved a beating because I made such a stupid choice. There was simply NO WAY that I would choose to wet the bed...therefore, it didn't happen.
My mother was so abusive about potty training that this is the message I had burned on my brain. It still is. I deal with mild incontinence that is slowly increasing over time, and I find myself STILL in denial. My underwear are just wet because I was so hot today and I must have sweated all day long. Even though I LOGICALLY know that my bladder has sprung a slow leak, I am still, nearly 20 years after moving out of my parents' home, unable to admit that I am not able to control every drop of urine that exits my bladder 100% of the time.
I'm mystified by this sometimes. But then I start thinking about how I processed (and still process) sexual orientation. Logically, I know that bladder control is not always under the control of the owner of the bladder. I work with elderly folks. I have never once blamed a client for messing in their pants. No one would ever choose to smell like urine and wear a diaper like a baby. (This is how I imagine I would feel were I in their shoes...and I say that as if I'm not ALREADY in their shoes, because I still have yet to fully accept it, and I'm not going to go back and correct the words I typed after I realized how far disconnected from myself I am). Back to my point: I also logically know that sexual orientation is largely not a choice (although I have known some folks who say they chose, and so I don't think it's 100% accurate to say it's NEVER a choice). But I was unable to apply this fact to MYSELF until recently. Sometimes I still forget.
I have always been attracted to women. I just didn't know it. I love boobs. I love FEMALE asses. I can recall enjoying ONE ass that was attached to a male body, and that particular ass was round and squeezable...rather like the ass that I would imagine a shapely woman having on her backside, in fact. I enjoy all sorts of shapes and sizes of female asses. I could care less about the same exact asses attached to male bodies. They simply do nothing for me.
I could go into all sorts of detail about what I'm realizing I am and am not attracted to (now that I know what attraction is...which I believe I covered in an earlier blog post), but I think that's enough for now. When I was younger, I thought my attraction to women was a perversion. I thought I was sick, or that I desired things when I was alone that I had no intention to ever fulfill (i.e. fantasies better left in my head). I'm not sure if I've mentioned this or not, but I have never been attracted to men. I've had this fact pointed out to me many times by women who were busily ogling men while I, totally oblivious, continued on my merry way without even noticing the hunka hunka burnin love my friends couldn't HELP but notice. I had NO IDEA what all this meant.
I had so internalized my parents' message of hate and intolerance that I unswervingly applied every word of their message to myself. I have never, ever had issues with homosexual people, even though I was raised in that environment. I was appalled at my parents for their hateful attitudes. But since my BIRTH, I have believed myself unworthy of love, equality, inner strength, etc. So my beliefs about my parents' hateful messages never seemed to apply to me. *I* wasn't gay, I was sick. *I* chose to wet the bed and get beat, even though I knew no other kid would make the same choice. There was something fundamentally WRONG with me, ever since probably the moment of my conception, that made regular rules not apply to me. Any reasonable, sane, normal kid would choose to get up and go to the bathroom if they were able to, and if they weren't able to, then it obviously wasn't their fault, and they should not be punished for something that obviously wasn't their fault. I, on the other hand, was a stupid, disgusting, annoying, inconsiderate, unworthy child who OF COURSE chose to wet the bed, just to piss of my mom and make her beat me. You see where I'm going with this, right? I chose to have perverted feelings about women, too...even though I've never believed that sexual orientation was a matter of choice for the vast majority of people on this planet.
Ok, I'm starting to fall asleep...just got off the night shift, I have limited brain power, and it seems to have drained down to zero...off to bed I go, and I hope all that made sense. I'll have to read it back later and make sure I actually made a point and didn't just mumble "bed...blanket...pillow...snore...snuggle wifey..." the whole time...since that's about all I have room in my brain for at this point. ;-)
Friday, November 18, 2011
So apparently, I had this crazy belief that death wasn't permanent. Not really, of course...but I have spent a good chunk of time lately pissed - absolutely PISSED - that I still have to deal with this grief shit every goddamn year...as though it was eventually just going to *poof* go away. Ten years ago yesterday (which was five days before Thanksgiving) my grandma hung herself. I didn't really grieve - I took care of everyone else. I accepted it (ha) and "understood" my grandma's choice. While it sucked a lot and I missed her, I couldn't handle the thought of judging her. She had obviously been through too much, and knowing that the lifespans in her family are crazy long, she'd probably have to live in this shithole another 40 years if she didn't take matters into her own hands.
I honestly couldn't understand why anyone would be mad at her. Until now. This year, the anger is finally kicking in and I am PISSED! And I'm actually pissed AT my grandma!
I had to get some shit out tonight, so I wrote this: (and p.s. Thank you blogger for working...been trying randomly to blog for over a year and this is the first time it has worked.)
I'm so TIRED of missing people
So tired of being the outcast
So tired of being pissed
because my people don't want me
or aren't there
So tired of being reminded
every goddamn year
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Try just one more time, for me
I know its a cruel world
I LIVE it
Every motherfucking day
Including the day every year
when I'm reminded how dead you are
And the day every year
when I remember that my people
-your people-
don't want me
won't put up with me even for
one fucking day a year
-the one day we SWORE we'd always
come hell or high water
spend together
so that YOUR death wouldn't ruin it
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Let's try another way
one that doesn't involve forever grief
Because seriously, how the fuck
did you expect any of us to deal with this?
Did you really think we weren't going to care?
or notice?
or spend the rest of our lives fucked up and lost in confusion?
Did you really think we were all going to wake up
Thanksgiving morning
-Fucking Thanksgiving???-
thinking oh thank God we don't have
to deal with that bitch today
we'd had about enough of her
"sweet'eart"s and
eggs and red dirt and
smooshy bathrobes and
unconditional love
I've had enough of that shit
to last the rest of my life
Well. Dammit. Your plan backfired.
We all woke up Thanksgiving morning
devastated
Our world had changed
What the fuck do you do with
your grandma
hanging herself
with a belt
in the spare bedroom
FIVE FUCKING DAYS BEFORE THANKSGIVING??
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Damn that's a selfish thing to ask
I know you were hurting
I know you tried everything
I know you gave it your all,
and then some
I know you put up with this world
plenty long enough
I know you deserved better
and didn't have the tools to get it
But god dammit, this didn't fix
ANYTHING!
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
And learn to love this world
even though it's fucked up
Stay with us
even though we're selfish and stupid
and can't figure out that you need us
Eat your cookie dough for lunch
And buy us 5 lb blocks of cheese
And give squishy hugs
And just fucking be ok
with not enough
Get what you can out of life
on your own terms
Just put the fucking noose away!
I honestly couldn't understand why anyone would be mad at her. Until now. This year, the anger is finally kicking in and I am PISSED! And I'm actually pissed AT my grandma!
I had to get some shit out tonight, so I wrote this: (and p.s. Thank you blogger for working...been trying randomly to blog for over a year and this is the first time it has worked.)
I'm so TIRED of missing people
So tired of being the outcast
So tired of being pissed
because my people don't want me
or aren't there
So tired of being reminded
every goddamn year
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Try just one more time, for me
I know its a cruel world
I LIVE it
Every motherfucking day
Including the day every year
when I'm reminded how dead you are
And the day every year
when I remember that my people
-your people-
don't want me
won't put up with me even for
one fucking day a year
-the one day we SWORE we'd always
come hell or high water
spend together
so that YOUR death wouldn't ruin it
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Let's try another way
one that doesn't involve forever grief
Because seriously, how the fuck
did you expect any of us to deal with this?
Did you really think we weren't going to care?
or notice?
or spend the rest of our lives fucked up and lost in confusion?
Did you really think we were all going to wake up
Thanksgiving morning
-Fucking Thanksgiving???-
thinking oh thank God we don't have
to deal with that bitch today
we'd had about enough of her
"sweet'eart"s and
eggs and red dirt and
smooshy bathrobes and
unconditional love
I've had enough of that shit
to last the rest of my life
Well. Dammit. Your plan backfired.
We all woke up Thanksgiving morning
devastated
Our world had changed
What the fuck do you do with
your grandma
hanging herself
with a belt
in the spare bedroom
FIVE FUCKING DAYS BEFORE THANKSGIVING??
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
Damn that's a selfish thing to ask
I know you were hurting
I know you tried everything
I know you gave it your all,
and then some
I know you put up with this world
plenty long enough
I know you deserved better
and didn't have the tools to get it
But god dammit, this didn't fix
ANYTHING!
So, Grandma, take that noose off
from around your neck
And learn to love this world
even though it's fucked up
Stay with us
even though we're selfish and stupid
and can't figure out that you need us
Eat your cookie dough for lunch
And buy us 5 lb blocks of cheese
And give squishy hugs
And just fucking be ok
with not enough
Get what you can out of life
on your own terms
Just put the fucking noose away!
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Family...and Fear
I'm feeling a bit...ok A LOT!!!!!!!...spastic tonight. For some reason, I decided to find a bunch of family members on facebook and add them as friends. What possessed me to do this, I do not know.
What is this obsession with family? I am absolutely TERRIFIED that they will all reject me. Of course, I'm terrified that they'll reject me on principle (just because I'm me, and I have always been "defective"), but now they must also contend with the fact that I'm a (GASP!) lesbian! (Cue scary music)
Just waiting for rejection...whimper! Why do I do this to myself? Why do I keep trying to find this connection with people who share my DNA? Do I really think they'll ever accept me? Some of them have...but have they really accepted me, or are they merely tolerating me because I don't push them to define their feelings toward me? And why - WHYYYYYYY????????? - do I care?
What is this obsession with family? I am absolutely TERRIFIED that they will all reject me. Of course, I'm terrified that they'll reject me on principle (just because I'm me, and I have always been "defective"), but now they must also contend with the fact that I'm a (GASP!) lesbian! (Cue scary music)
Just waiting for rejection...whimper! Why do I do this to myself? Why do I keep trying to find this connection with people who share my DNA? Do I really think they'll ever accept me? Some of them have...but have they really accepted me, or are they merely tolerating me because I don't push them to define their feelings toward me? And why - WHYYYYYYY????????? - do I care?
Thursday, December 2, 2010
Unconditional Love
I don't know how to write this post. There are so many pieces of this that there are no words for. My humanity is incredibly humbling in the face of this new information I'm hoping to impart to you...somehow.
I am loved. Unconditionally. I have never understood the concept of this before. I have never been loved unconditionally before. I have never believed it possible before. But it is...both possible, and happening.
About a week and a half ago, I had a terrible insight into my life...one which comes up from time to time. I have no people. "My" people - the ones I'm biologically related to - don't want me. I'm "the bad one" (i.e. the one who didn't keep her mouth shut). There have been others who have loved me...for a time. But I have no connection to them, and they all eventually leave, for one reason or another. Often, it's just time for them to move on...or time for me to move on. Nothing personal, just life. Of course, it always adds to the proof that I'm not good enough to be loved forever, even when I recognize that this is not really the reason they're leaving (or I'm leaving). It's just programmed in - I'm not good enough.
Now, there is ONE exception to this. My best friend. She has been around for 23 years now. I'm pretty sure she's not going anywhere. But still, her love is not unconditional. We have ended our friendship before, and we both know that we can end it again. It would suck. A LOT. It would be terribly painful to go down that road again, and is therefore unlikely that we will ever do so. But we COULD. Because it's conditional. As long as we both behave ourselves, and treat each other with respect and dignity, and avoid subjects like religion...we'll be friends for life. Not forever. Just this lifetime. And that's ok. Good enough. I'll take it.
So again, we're back at square one. I have no people. My people don't want me, and the only person who has ever stuck around long enough to know who I truly am, will stick around as long as we avoid our differences. I've lost other people (more than a few) who insisted that they loved me "unconditionally". It was never true. Again...I just never believed it to be possible. What does unconditional mean, anyway? It's ALWAYS conditional...right?
I fell into a deep, black hole for a few days. I tried discussing this with my Love. She couldn't comprehend, and was so deep in her own grief (brought on by her first holiday season without two loved ones...too much to lose in one year, if you ask me) that she was not able to comprehend mine. So, we went our separate ways, emotionally, for awhile. I tried to mask it, ignore it, find a way to be happy in spite of it...nothing worked. I was devastated (as I always am when I acknowledge this reality...I can pretend for so long, and then it always comes back to me...it is simply a fact of my life that I have no people, that I do not belong anywhere).
I need to skip over some of the events of this week-long ordeal, or this post will be long enough to fill a book. So, one night, we began to dip our toes into the possibility of discussing what was going on with each of us. It was TERRIFYING after a week of being absolutely CERTAIN that I do not belong in this family - or any other. I was poised for rejection, after having felt so rejected (which had little to do with my Love...everything she did felt like rejection, but she had no way of knowing this, and no way of preventing it, either). It was a difficult conversation, filled with fits and starts, aches, incomplete thoughts, misunderstanding, and immense awfulness.
Finally, we both went to bed. Even as terrified as I was, I braved the potential rejection that I knew could come from physical contact. I touched her hip. It was not enough. I needed to touch her skin. NEEDED to touch her skin. I moved her shirt aside, and cupped the curve of her hip in my palm. I felt her. My love. And I understood. I missed her. And I told her so. We both sobbed our relief at having found that bond again, having connected again.
And it grew. The understanding of what our bond actually MEANS, and exactly how deep and complete it is, took some time to understand. I began to talk, in messy, weird, probably incomprehensible fits of wild epiphanies. Of COURSE I belong. She is my soulmate. I am positive of this, as is she. We have known each other before, and we will know each other again. We have loved before, and we will love again. We belong together as neither of us has ever Belonged ANYWHERE before, or ever will again (except with each other). Even if we completely fuck up this relationship and never speak to each other again during this lifetime...we will find each other again. In the next world. In our next lives. In the Summerland. Somehow, some way, somewhere, some time, we will find each other again.
Because we are WE. Forever. No really. Forever actually MEANS something this time. Even if we fuck this up, we still belong together. And always will. Wow. I belong. And I know EXACTLY where I belong. This is unconditional precisely because IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT WE DO during this life...we will find each other again.
Now all we have to do is trust that. And we'll probably survive this life together just fine.
I am loved. Unconditionally. I have never understood the concept of this before. I have never been loved unconditionally before. I have never believed it possible before. But it is...both possible, and happening.
About a week and a half ago, I had a terrible insight into my life...one which comes up from time to time. I have no people. "My" people - the ones I'm biologically related to - don't want me. I'm "the bad one" (i.e. the one who didn't keep her mouth shut). There have been others who have loved me...for a time. But I have no connection to them, and they all eventually leave, for one reason or another. Often, it's just time for them to move on...or time for me to move on. Nothing personal, just life. Of course, it always adds to the proof that I'm not good enough to be loved forever, even when I recognize that this is not really the reason they're leaving (or I'm leaving). It's just programmed in - I'm not good enough.
Now, there is ONE exception to this. My best friend. She has been around for 23 years now. I'm pretty sure she's not going anywhere. But still, her love is not unconditional. We have ended our friendship before, and we both know that we can end it again. It would suck. A LOT. It would be terribly painful to go down that road again, and is therefore unlikely that we will ever do so. But we COULD. Because it's conditional. As long as we both behave ourselves, and treat each other with respect and dignity, and avoid subjects like religion...we'll be friends for life. Not forever. Just this lifetime. And that's ok. Good enough. I'll take it.
So again, we're back at square one. I have no people. My people don't want me, and the only person who has ever stuck around long enough to know who I truly am, will stick around as long as we avoid our differences. I've lost other people (more than a few) who insisted that they loved me "unconditionally". It was never true. Again...I just never believed it to be possible. What does unconditional mean, anyway? It's ALWAYS conditional...right?
I fell into a deep, black hole for a few days. I tried discussing this with my Love. She couldn't comprehend, and was so deep in her own grief (brought on by her first holiday season without two loved ones...too much to lose in one year, if you ask me) that she was not able to comprehend mine. So, we went our separate ways, emotionally, for awhile. I tried to mask it, ignore it, find a way to be happy in spite of it...nothing worked. I was devastated (as I always am when I acknowledge this reality...I can pretend for so long, and then it always comes back to me...it is simply a fact of my life that I have no people, that I do not belong anywhere).
I need to skip over some of the events of this week-long ordeal, or this post will be long enough to fill a book. So, one night, we began to dip our toes into the possibility of discussing what was going on with each of us. It was TERRIFYING after a week of being absolutely CERTAIN that I do not belong in this family - or any other. I was poised for rejection, after having felt so rejected (which had little to do with my Love...everything she did felt like rejection, but she had no way of knowing this, and no way of preventing it, either). It was a difficult conversation, filled with fits and starts, aches, incomplete thoughts, misunderstanding, and immense awfulness.
Finally, we both went to bed. Even as terrified as I was, I braved the potential rejection that I knew could come from physical contact. I touched her hip. It was not enough. I needed to touch her skin. NEEDED to touch her skin. I moved her shirt aside, and cupped the curve of her hip in my palm. I felt her. My love. And I understood. I missed her. And I told her so. We both sobbed our relief at having found that bond again, having connected again.
And it grew. The understanding of what our bond actually MEANS, and exactly how deep and complete it is, took some time to understand. I began to talk, in messy, weird, probably incomprehensible fits of wild epiphanies. Of COURSE I belong. She is my soulmate. I am positive of this, as is she. We have known each other before, and we will know each other again. We have loved before, and we will love again. We belong together as neither of us has ever Belonged ANYWHERE before, or ever will again (except with each other). Even if we completely fuck up this relationship and never speak to each other again during this lifetime...we will find each other again. In the next world. In our next lives. In the Summerland. Somehow, some way, somewhere, some time, we will find each other again.
Because we are WE. Forever. No really. Forever actually MEANS something this time. Even if we fuck this up, we still belong together. And always will. Wow. I belong. And I know EXACTLY where I belong. This is unconditional precisely because IT DOESN'T MATTER WHAT WE DO during this life...we will find each other again.
Now all we have to do is trust that. And we'll probably survive this life together just fine.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
You know you're getting used to this lesbian thing when...
...the major part of your foreplay consists of sitting on the bed, winking at each other, and filing your nails.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Accepting Attraction
When I was little, my dad would come home with awful stories about "gay people"...like the time when the guy in the next stall in the public restroom was playing with his keys. According to my dad, the guy was obviously trying to make a pass at him. Which was, of course, frightening. Strange that my dad, my huge-muscled, intimidating, bear of a man dad, would be scared of a guy playing with his keys. Now, I don't claim to know anything about men's room ettiquite (although I do understand it is complex), so I can't say whether my dad was right. But honestly, why was it frightening? What's one little gay man going to do to my big, burly dad? Wink at him? Lick his lips? Make a sexual remark? Is any of that REALLY frightening?
Maybe I should backtrack a little and explain where my rant is coming from. On a forum I'm a member of, I read another poster discussing the fact that she's not attracted to EVERY female, nor is every gay man attracted to EVERY male. Just like straight people aren't attracted to EVERY person of the opposite sex. But that seems to be the assumption in some circles. If you're queer, your entire focus is sex, 100% of the time.
It got me thinking about my dad's huge fear of gay men. Now, I know my dad is an attractive man. But he's not drop dead gorgeous, not by far. He has a gut, he's fond of jeans and flannel, he has somewhat long, wavy hair. I can pretty much guarantee that not EVERY gay man is gong to be attracted to my dad, simply based on the fact that he's not everyone's type. Not to mention, why on Earth would any gay man WANT to sleep with, or even make a pass at, a man who hates gay people? It seems like that would be a pretty huge automatic turn off.
All this came much later, however. My first thought, as I read this woman's post, was that what my dad (and many homophobes) fear is absolutely not true...in fact, the opposite is true.
You see, when I thought I was straight, every man - EVERY man - was a potential mate. I wasn't truly attracted to them. The determining factor for whether I could handle a relationship with a man was...whether or not he was a man (and therefore acceptable to my parents/society as a partner). After an abusive marriage, I added "non-abusive" to the list. But that was it. I could honestly sum up my "type" by listing two things: penis, won't abuse me.
I dated ugly men. I dated toothless men. I dated drug addicts, immature "boys" who would never grow up, self-proclaimed nazi's, I even dated a guy who totally creeped me the fuck out, and who I was pretty sure would molest children if given the chance (ick! I can't believe I admitted that...but, I may as well be completely honest...I've come this far). I never dated a man I could fall in love with, because I couldn't fall in love with any of them. But I could fuck all of them. Or rather, they could fuck me, thereby making me acceptable, human, worthy...or some dumbed-down version of it, since I would/will never, ever be fully acceptable to my mother.
On the other hand, now that I have accepted my sexuality, I don't view many people as potential mates. I'm extremely selective. Aside from the fact that I'm in a relationship and have no interest in adding a third partner to the mix, I simpy am not attracted to every woman who crosses my path. In fact, for the first time in my life, I have a type! I actually GET what attraction is! It's not about finding someone who will sleep next to me, find me acceptable enough to go out in public with me, and (more importantly) be seen with me in front of my parents. It's not about a piece of paper that says we belong to each other, legally. When I look at a woman, any woman, I can tell you immediately if she is attractive to me. I could never do that with a man. The question of "is he attractive?" stumped me every time. Questions like, "did you see that hot paramedic???" were greeted with, "no, I didn't notice". I thought I was attracted to any man who "liked" me as more than a friend. But I'm not REMOTELY attracted to women in that way. If a woman winked at me, and she wasn't my type, I would have no problem "letting her down easy". I still - STILL - have a hard time with not feeling obligated to return every single pass made at me by a man.
So...this idea that gay people think about nothing other than sex is just ridiculous to me. It's exactly the opposite for me. I was attracted to every man...when I thought I was supposed to be. But now that I'm free to be whatever I AM, the field has narrowed considerably. I'd never consider sleeping with a woman I wasn't attracted to. Why should I? My parents are going to hate me anyway, so fuck 'em. Might as well hold out for a Goddess on Earth. (It didn't take long to find one, but still...I wouldn't have settled for less.)
Maybe I should backtrack a little and explain where my rant is coming from. On a forum I'm a member of, I read another poster discussing the fact that she's not attracted to EVERY female, nor is every gay man attracted to EVERY male. Just like straight people aren't attracted to EVERY person of the opposite sex. But that seems to be the assumption in some circles. If you're queer, your entire focus is sex, 100% of the time.
It got me thinking about my dad's huge fear of gay men. Now, I know my dad is an attractive man. But he's not drop dead gorgeous, not by far. He has a gut, he's fond of jeans and flannel, he has somewhat long, wavy hair. I can pretty much guarantee that not EVERY gay man is gong to be attracted to my dad, simply based on the fact that he's not everyone's type. Not to mention, why on Earth would any gay man WANT to sleep with, or even make a pass at, a man who hates gay people? It seems like that would be a pretty huge automatic turn off.
All this came much later, however. My first thought, as I read this woman's post, was that what my dad (and many homophobes) fear is absolutely not true...in fact, the opposite is true.
You see, when I thought I was straight, every man - EVERY man - was a potential mate. I wasn't truly attracted to them. The determining factor for whether I could handle a relationship with a man was...whether or not he was a man (and therefore acceptable to my parents/society as a partner). After an abusive marriage, I added "non-abusive" to the list. But that was it. I could honestly sum up my "type" by listing two things: penis, won't abuse me.
I dated ugly men. I dated toothless men. I dated drug addicts, immature "boys" who would never grow up, self-proclaimed nazi's, I even dated a guy who totally creeped me the fuck out, and who I was pretty sure would molest children if given the chance (ick! I can't believe I admitted that...but, I may as well be completely honest...I've come this far). I never dated a man I could fall in love with, because I couldn't fall in love with any of them. But I could fuck all of them. Or rather, they could fuck me, thereby making me acceptable, human, worthy...or some dumbed-down version of it, since I would/will never, ever be fully acceptable to my mother.
On the other hand, now that I have accepted my sexuality, I don't view many people as potential mates. I'm extremely selective. Aside from the fact that I'm in a relationship and have no interest in adding a third partner to the mix, I simpy am not attracted to every woman who crosses my path. In fact, for the first time in my life, I have a type! I actually GET what attraction is! It's not about finding someone who will sleep next to me, find me acceptable enough to go out in public with me, and (more importantly) be seen with me in front of my parents. It's not about a piece of paper that says we belong to each other, legally. When I look at a woman, any woman, I can tell you immediately if she is attractive to me. I could never do that with a man. The question of "is he attractive?" stumped me every time. Questions like, "did you see that hot paramedic???" were greeted with, "no, I didn't notice". I thought I was attracted to any man who "liked" me as more than a friend. But I'm not REMOTELY attracted to women in that way. If a woman winked at me, and she wasn't my type, I would have no problem "letting her down easy". I still - STILL - have a hard time with not feeling obligated to return every single pass made at me by a man.
So...this idea that gay people think about nothing other than sex is just ridiculous to me. It's exactly the opposite for me. I was attracted to every man...when I thought I was supposed to be. But now that I'm free to be whatever I AM, the field has narrowed considerably. I'd never consider sleeping with a woman I wasn't attracted to. Why should I? My parents are going to hate me anyway, so fuck 'em. Might as well hold out for a Goddess on Earth. (It didn't take long to find one, but still...I wouldn't have settled for less.)
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