Seriously. Awesome.

This is but a single grain of sand on the metaphorical beach of my love for the Vagina Monologues. It was written by a returning cast member.

"so this afternoon after rehearsal, I was walking through target with my tampons and dove chocolate (CLICHE). My mom called me telling me that Megan AND Melissa (my little sisters who are 16 and 18) will be coming to see the performance. I was a little shocked, "what?
melissa actually wants to come?" and my mom told me that yes, yes she did. (at this point i want to mention that when i recommended the book to Melissa and let her borrow my beloved copy, she told me she read the first few pages and had to close it because she was just so uncomfortable.)

She told my mom that the fact that i extended the invitation to her, despite knowing how uncomfortable vagina-related talk makes her, really meant a lot. She said that even though she was probably going to be uncomfortable at times, she still wanted to go because it meant a lot to ME. She said that sisters are supposed to support eachother. My mom explained to her that the performance WILL make her laugh, it WILL make her cringe and it WILL make her uncomfortable. She probably WILL cry. My mom and sister both cried last year, despite reading the book and seeing Eve perform on TV. My mom explained to her that even after my countless times seeing the women in this cast perform, that I still cry and laugh and cringe. "because women who speak up about things they 'aren't supposed to' just have that power over people." she said.

and then i became the girl in target with tampons and chocolate who was crying."

Where am I?

I thought we were at the point where we at least understood where the other person was. Where we could joke about our differences and similarities because now we know them, know one from the other, and are even okay in those. We can joke about the hot-button issues as long as it's not a day when either one of us is a 'delicate flower.' We even have the overly cute code to make it okay and signal our own insecurities and sensitivities, yes, delicate flower.

But I was wrong. I thought we could joke and we were until it turned back into the the fight again. I know the ex and I had the re-occuring 'I want to be out, she doesn't' issue, but that's all it was, an issue. This, this pain, this fear, this fight, has so much more weight, so much more direct pain. I guess at the heart of it, so much more misunderstanding. The ex and I were never going to end over the Out Issue, even if we should have. This fight has relationship-ending power.

We were joking, in front of friends, making fun of each other in the way couples do once they've really gotten to know each other and have that bit of security, even that urge to show off: look we know each other this well now, and we still like each other!

She said I loved her at the table. In front of everyone. I'd already told them of course, I told them before I told her as is the way with best friends versus girlfriends, but I didn't want our first face to face, non-drunk admission to be at a table in Shakespeare's with four other people around us. So I made fun of her for it. I made fun of the whole table, but I made fun of her too. I joked about her inability to make things romantic, how she'd rather involve the whole table when we say we love each other, and hand me her key under the bar with all of her friends around so I couldn't react.

And it was fabulous. The shock on her face that I would accuse her of that, the joy at my challenge of her and her ways, even her own pride at her past actions caused not only a huge grin but the beginning of a friendly competition with words against each other and meaning absolutely tieing us to one another.

She quickly replied with my secret return of her key, the abandonment all alone on her empty kitchen counter while she walked out the door with me. Ah, but I had my come back prepared, and said--perhaps louder than I needed to because I wanted the whole table to take part and join in, I wanted the whole table to come back to us and take sides and laugh right along with us--"I only gave the key back because that very same night you said it wasn't over with another woman!"

Ha. And my argument was complete. I enjoyed reliving that painful time because it was over and I had won and she had won, I had a key and she had me and it was done.

But no. No. Where am I? Where am I in this relationship quickly being the largest part of at least my social life? I'm at a point where she didn't miss a beat and simply looked at me to state, getting a bit angry now it seemed, somewhere along the line the banter had become real, "It's not over." As if I knew and understood that. As if that statement was okay and didn't even count as an argument back.

And I don't believe there was a pause, I think there was no beat in her speech, but in my heart I felt a missed beat, I felt it lower as well, much deeper into my torso, the background noise faded away and I was in that hole again, alone. "It's not over, but it's not continuing." As if that was enough. As if that explained it all away and I can't be hurt anymore. Repeating those three words and adding four more. Seven little words to take away the first three. Still no.

I want my hope back. I want to argue with myself that it's just semantics and at least that way I can pretend that I have the hope. Perhaps this wounded heart is too smart for that.

All that statement says to me is that she's in love with the other woman and has hope at a someday, regardless of the improbability.

Even if I too have at least the whisps of a someday with another, floating around inside my head and more smoky and visible on some days and at some moments, I give that up to be committed. That's what commitment means.

I don't know where I am.
"She said she loves me."
Embarassed, "Well, that was romantic!"
Embarassed herself, "Whatev. I already knew."
"I know you knew. Besides, you're not one to be romantic. You're more the type to hand me a key underneath the bar when all your friends are there."
Shock. Laughter. "Well, you gave it back to me. Left it on my kitchen counter."
"Only because you said it wasn't over with another woman."
"It's not over."

The amazingly quick construction of whatever bits of wall around my heart had been broken down...

"It's not over and it's not continuing."

I ended the conversation by being overly dramatic, closing my eyes, going limp, and slumping/sliding all the way down my chair until there was nothing to do but laugh and change the subject. I was almost on the floor.

Maybe the question shouldn't be "where am I?" but "how did I get here?" or for the really confident moments "what am I doing here?"

i feel quiet

i feel quiet. in the way i feel after i've just had emotion. dave put it best so many years ago, but i can't remember his exact words.

i feel quiet in a way that doesn't go away by talking about it or writing about it or playing soccer. it may go away with a hold, not a hug with a beginning and an end, but a hold where our bodies are just together now and will be again soon, even though we may have stopped touching. it may go away with an unprovoked kiss on the top of my head, no rhyme or reason, just an action done out of care.

i'm not looking for anyone to fix this and it's probably best that i'm alone right now. it's just one that will go away with time. not all the way away where it no longer exists, but just away, inside the toy chest in my head that's now filled with grown up things, in the corner of the living room in my frontal lobe. there's a lot of storage up there and every once in a while i need to pick up the bits of myself strewn on the floor. but i guess this sadness just needs some air before i close it away again. because it can't be locked away. it seeps out under the closet door and through the keyhole on the trunk so i may as well have it in the chest in the corner of the room in my head where all of my emotions live because then it can get out when it needs to, but at least i always know where it is, living within me, not about to make a sneak attack.

there's a submission in this sadness, which is where i guess the silence comes from. i can try to tell you where the sadness came from and how it came about, but it's not about this one conversation or this one subject; it's everything that's ever been talked about, it's everything in the world i'll never be able to make better. i'm not ghandi and i'm not mother theresa, i don't have delusions of grandeur that i can make peace or can stop world hunger, but to live in my life i have to have some sort of faith that i can help make the worlds i live in better places. that i can make this friend remember that she is loved, and this friend remember that she's beautiful, and all of us remember that we have worth. i truly don't pretend that i am capable of taking away hurt or fear, but i have to believe that i can bring love and comfort.

this is the sadness of submission. i submit to ugly. at this point, i submit. i submit to hatred and fear. i submit to discrimination and prejudice and the world being absolutely unfair.

this silence is the sadness of submission.
this is silently submitting to sadness.
this is the sadness of silent submission.
I submit to Sadness. Silently.

The Next Step

If only she could understand the power of the statement. If only she knew what it meant. What it means.

"I'm finally open to the idea of you."

I'm open to the idea of Jessa hurting me. I'm open to the idea of her taking up space in my journals and being what I think about and taking part in my life story. When I tell the story of my life, she'll be the woman that followed the ex. She'll be the next one. The next real one. I have the story of Random Makeout and that's all that was and it helped along the way. I have the story of secret unattainable crush just to test out these feelings and realize that I'm actually able to feel certain ways for certain people that aren't the ex. I found an absolutely unattainable attraction just to figure out I was capable of getting tingly in my chest and giggly in my descriptions. An unattainable attraction to take steps forward and know that even if the ex sucked the love out of me, she can never take away my capacity for love.

When I turned and whispered to Stefania after more held glances and smiles across the room that "I'm going to talk to her tonight" I was ready. I made the decision that I was ready to talk to Jessa. I knew within myself that I was ready to open up, at least a little bit, to someone else being in my life. It was not my intention to take her home that night, or to have sex with her, or to start a u-haul relationship, but I think that's maybe part of the point. My intention was to talk to her and see where it went and try it out. (I have butterflies in my stomach right now, finally allowing myself to--as much as I can--unabashedly feel, to truly remember.) I wanted at least her number, I wanted a new experience, I wanted to go home with her, I wanted an awkward kiss goodnight, I wanted flirting, I wanted everything all wrapped into one and I ended up getting one of the stories. I got an experience and it's turned into something more and I'm so thankful for that.

I've taken another step. And I know how important it is for me to own my own decisions and choices, but I have to give credit where credit is due. Two nights ago talking to Stefania I figured out what I wanted to do and she helped me so much. She suggested the mere idea of an emotion and it was enough to allow me to finally feel what I was feeling. I jumped on it and expressed all the "buts" that happen and that I don't want to over-therapize everything and that I don't want to feel the need to be the perfect picture of responsibility at all times and it doesn't feel chaotic or out of control or wrong, it feels like a relief. It feels like life is supposed to feel and like I'm finally believing in myself enough to validate my own emotions without first checking in with someone else. I'm also finally trusting myself enough to know that no matter what happens in the future I will be okay.

Really listen to that. Focus on it. Read it again: I'm finally trusting myself enough to know that no matter what happens in the future I will be okay.

And that makes me feel much more in charge and control of my own life and role in this relationship than I was before. Before it felt like I needed to end it, but I didn't want to so I was being an asshole to her and unfair to both of us and going against what I wanted but "doing the right thing." It felt contradictory and wrong. Even though I did call Autumn and tell her "If I'm still together with this girl when I come to visit you in three weeks, slap some sense into me." Even though when I was at therapy I was feeling like I needed to jump off the Jessa train before it wrecked horribly hurting me too much and I gave Debbie the opportunity to tell me that I should end it and the ability to play my words back to me in definitive statements.

I've changed my mind. When this train crashes, she'll be crashing on my train as much as I am on hers and we will both be okay again.

"I am finally open to the idea of you."

I'm no longer at the "I want and am finally ready for an experience" stage. I'm now truly open to the idea of her. To truly giving her a chance, whereas before I was not at all ready for something like that. I'm still not thinking that she's the next long term girlfriend or she's the one forever or anything like that, but I am saying that I'm open to her. I don't know how to explain it but it feels so good inside. The world on my shoulders feels lighter because I've allowed myself the pleasure of feeling emotions and admitting to them and believing in their validity and truth.

Because I somehow feel it's necessary: while she says "I love you" at this point, she never amended the "'love' is different that 'in love'" speech that we had and I do not say "I love you" back. There was the original drama the first night she said it (see archives for that meal of a story), and then once more that I said it when I was way too drunk. Three nights ago, she said "I'm falling in love with you." Two nights ago, I said "I'm falling in love with you." I said it twice. I have a key to her apartment. She does not have a key to my apartment, nor is she going to get one anytime soon, despite her best efforts to convince me I should (only without flat out asking so she doesn't get a flat out rejection).

Last night she said that with me she feels like she's been given the chance of doing it right. She says so many good things. We're really good for each other.

I know I get/got negative, but I've been positive too. It was my fear masked as responsibility only focusing on the bad. What about the fact that I'm in a relationship where I'm loved? What about the fact that I'm in a relationship that makes me happy? What about the fact that I'm in a relationship with the most amazing sex anyone has ever imagined? (Ice, honey, handcuffs, tie blindfolds...) What about the fact that I'm being taken care of? Hello? Do we remember the ex? I am currently being taken care of. It's so amazing to feel this. To know I can have this. To have this. To truly experience it. To be exposed to her friends and her life and her experiences and her personal wisdom and her books and her stories and her.

I know I flip flop. If she mentions non-monogamy I know I'll be back here immediately speaking of her evil and how I deserve so much more, but that's a part of it.

The new me: unabashedly feeling. All of it.

Maybe she doesn't have to be one or the other. Maybe she's both good and bad at the same time. Maybe we all are.

Just some thoughts

Okay. I just did the thing where I wrote the whole post, then I highlighted it and deleted it. I mean, I guess it wasn't an entire post, it was just me writing and fuck man, I didn't want to go to those places.

I know I'm a big lesbian, and I work with counselling psychologists, and I'm a writer and a talker, but fuck dudes, sometimes I just want to be. I just want to live and not analyze and process and work it all the way the fuck out and know exactly what I'm doing at all times and why and being perfectly intentional in all of my actions and absolutely the epitomy of maturity and responsibility and logic.

Like I wrote in my journal last night: "I want to unabashedly feel emotion."

I don't want to analyze and process everything all the time. I want to actually live it. I allow my head to get in the way of my heart, and I kinda wanna see what it would be like to just allow myself to follow my heart for a while.

I know I need therapy to deal with the nightmares; to help me with the sudden-insecurities as we lay in bed and without warning it's not okay for her to be touching me or to tell me good things or for me to share anything remotely personal; to remind me of my own worth, but I really think I'm starting to know it; to value myself even in the face of my parents and their constant attacks--

Oh! Get this! You know how usually I'm too fat for my mom? Well, maybe you don't since I usually try to not talk about weight or body type, but she's nutso and has been making comments since at least high school about my size being too large--no seriously, she has, I already told you: nutso--and sitting me down for talks about the necessity of me being on Atkins and all sorts of crazy. For real, so many other parents (like of my friends) constantly question their children if I have an eating disorder and there's mom, telling me to go on f-ing Atkins. But the other week she called to ask if I could fit into some pants that she doesn't anymore and if she wants me to have her send them to me, but they were too big. Like, by 4 sizes. Or maybe only 2. I'm not good at this stuff, I don't know how sizing works, but regardless, they were too big. She got all huffy like I was lying to her or something. I mean, I got out my work pants, looked at the tags of three different brands and they were all the same size, either 2 or 4 below what she was trying to send me. But that was absolutely unacceptable. How dare I not be the size she's currently telling me to be.

She's just nutso. I mean, I clearly know that I'm not fat. So when she tells me that ridiculousness it's so easy to know that she's just spewing crazy at me and I need to put up my splash guard. But now, I mean, how can she not see herself how much bs she's trying to feed me? It's just so utterly nonsensical that I don't know how to even respond to her.

But yeah, with things not quite so obvious where she may be able to get some spew on me because I'm not prepared with my shield, therapy is good for cleaning up the crazy and reminding me what's real. Also, therapy was absolutely essential when it came to helping me realize and remember that I'm still okay and good and all of that, even without the ex. That was a pretty rough patch for a while...

I'm not sure why I just went on for so long about therapy, but I know one of my original points was that I don't need to therapy-ize every aspect of my life. I don't think I ever knew that before, but there's a part of me that (for once) doesn't want to overanalyze and wants to give living a shot. Let's see what I've learned and believe in myself to live a good and healthy life without the help of a trained professional for $20 a pop once every one to two weeks. If the point of therapy is to teach me that I'm strong and good and capable of living a life on my own, then maybe it's time I own my shit and stop relying on other people and actually go live that life.

Not that I'm going to stop therapy, because I do need the trained professional to deal not only with the literal meaning of "nightmares" but with the whole metaphorical, read-between-the-lines, when I say "nightmares" I really mean everything involved with them, why I have them, what they're about, what happened that's now causing them, on and on...

Yesterday she said "I love you" when I wasn't expecting it, and I needed it. Not only was I okay with hearing it, it felt really good to hear it and she said it right at the perfect time and could tell that I needed to hear it even though I didn't know that's what I wanted or needed. Things with her are really, really good.

She made me breakfast this morning. Such good coffee. Such good.