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9:37 a.m. - March 09, 2003 I perpetuate this ebb and flow because if I were sincere about cutting him out of my life I would change my telephone number or my email, I wouldn�t talk to him, I wouldn�t listen to what he says. I think he can smell my uncertainty and that emboldens him or in other words, I�m sending him mixed signals. I know this but it isn�t coquettish, it isn�t a giggly game of Run & Pursue; I want him, I do, but I don�t. How chicken shit to think and not write � I�m in love with the man I�m afraid of. That�s not it exactly; I�m in love with this man and I�m afraid of sex. A bit more accurate. Most accurate would be I�m in love with the man who reminds me of when I was little, discard the unpleasant grammatical construct. The issue of him being physically threatening and violent isn�t a bona fide objection � it registers somewhere, but I shrug it off � it is the difficulty with which I engage in the sexual element. I can�t predict it, I can�t control it; one encounter I love it and the next have one of those episodes and that triggers him and everything avalanches from there. And I cannot make him understand how this makes me feel, I cannot articulate clearly so that he understands my predicament � being attracted to a man but unable to act on it. He says he understands, he will work with me, he will be patient. What he doesn�t realize is how being the impaired object feels, how it feels on my end, that constant uncertainty and institutional hierarchalism, one needing the benediction of the Other. I am a fan of placid and predictable, of zero surprises. He also doesn�t realize how little patience he truly has, how quickly he morphs from being gentle to being pushy and demanding and more importantly, he doesn�t see how this triggers it � I need a better word than it or episode � and I panic and everything turns into a nightmare. On a practical level, neither he nor I need that added pressure to a relationship, especially one in which half of the equation isn�t comfortable with the whole idea. It�s logical, ergo Leave me alone. And yet I don�t want that. I�m ashamed to cite how frequently I think about him, think about how I could have handled things differently, how I could feel safer with him, be less inhibited � correction: It isn�t inhibition, it�s the worry before, immediately prior, and during sex that something will go wrong and I will ruin it � and be okay with things. It isn�t about being with a man; that doesn�t, and really never has bothered me (but there is, as always, a but) and in many ways it feels natural to me and I like it. (The but: I don�t feel repugnant, never have, though I don�t look at men on the street and want to do the things I did with Spec, and kissing or making out has zero appeal � but I loved doing it with Spec. So who knows what this all means?) And for me on my end, it is something I want, something I desire, but it just doesn�t work or come to fruition. So that means I pull away and push off the dock, even if I don�t want to. See how that works? It�s twisted and fucked but there is a calm certainty that pervades; it is the best decision for me. A hard one, a sad one, a lonely one, but the best one. And then I think about the hitting aspect and I think Yes Jason, run away, and about the comments he makes � No other man has the patience I do or How do you think you�re going to have another gay relationship when you can�t have sex? or the one that hurts the most because he says it with conviction and knowing, You are homosexual. That always infuriates me and I know I fall into the trap but it bites. And you know, he makes several good points; there�s no need to elucidate because for every assumption there�s the exception, right? So gay men aren�t about sex first, relationship second; no, it�s sex first and then a new sex partner later. Some bitterness there, eh? (small grin permitted) All this to say I think about him more than I should ought, or want but I�m not really ready to shove off. In other words, substitute the subtitle: I don�t know what to do. It hurts when he leaves voicemails and says it�s [Spec]y and how much he misses me and won�t I please call. And the salve is to dial the number and begin picking the scab. It is dispiriting, disheartening, a very flat feeling.
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