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 wouldnít talk to him, I wouldnít listen to what he says. I think he can smell my uncertainty and that emboldens him or in other words, Iím sending him mixed signals. I know this but it isnít coquettish, it isnít a giggly game of Run & Pursue; I want him, I do, but I donít. How chicken shit to think and not write Ė Iím in love with the man Iím afraid of. Thatís not it exactly; Iím in love with this man and Iím afraid of sex. A bit more accurate. Most accurate would be Iím 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 isnít a bona fide objection Ė it registers somewhere, but I shrug it off Ė it is the difficulty with which I engage in the sexual element. I canít predict it, I canít 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 Ė 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 doesnít 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 doesnít realize how little patience he truly has, how quickly he morphs from being gentle to being pushy and demanding and more importantly, he doesnít see how this triggers it Ė I need a better word than it or episode Ė 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 isnít comfortable with the whole idea. Itís logical, ergo Leave me alone.
And yet I donít want that. Iím 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 Ė correction: It isnít inhibition, itís the worry before, immediately prior, and during sex that something will go wrong and I will ruin it Ė and be okay with things. It isnít about being with a man; that doesnít, 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 donít feel repugnant, never have, though I donít look at men on the street and want to do the things I did with Spec, and kissing or making out has zero appeal Ė 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 doesnít work or come to fruition.
So that means I pull away and push off the dock, even if I donít want to. See how that works? Itís 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 Ė No other man has the patience I do or How do you think youíre going to have another gay relationship when you canít 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; thereís no need to elucidate because for every assumption thereís the exception, right? So gay men arenít about sex first, relationship second; no, itís 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 Iím not really ready to shove off. In other words, substitute the subtitle: I donít know what to do.
It hurts when he leaves voicemails and says itís [Spec]y and how much he misses me and wonít I please call. And the salve is to dial the number and begin picking the scab. It is dispiriting, disheartening, a very flat feeling.