I feel like the last week has moved me a significant distance. You’ll recall that, just a week ago, I was dreaming of San Diego Breathtaker. Hoping that she was the answer. She wasn’t… or. maybe she was. Maybe she was the right answer to the wrong question. Maybe I was asking “Who is going to rescue me?” when I needed to be asking “Who will help me stop acting like this?”
I had a great chat with a dear friend, whose blog is sort of the mother of the one you’re reading, Strivingforpeace. She articulated things which I knew, but still needed to hear…. in essence, that my overwrought and desperate need to be loved was the reason I was repelling anything that might have otherwise come my way. I go through phases like that… and, I usually know I’m doing it. I absolutely have a track record of self-sabotage.
What I didn’t have my finger on at that time, but seem to now, is that I had been compromising too much, even still. It is true that none of my recent conquests were as ill-suited to an emotionally-driven me as DW is. They have all been far better, in fact. But, better isn’t enough. I get really paranoid when I think someone might not like some part of me, and I go into saleswoman mode. That’s what I’ve been doing… trying to sell myself like a whore to anyone who will listen. In a way, I’m glad it hasn’t worked. I say that, because if any of these people had ended up with me, they might not like what they bought…. and, I might not like it either.
There are a lot of things which have led me to understand this, but none so much as those in my last 24 hours. In that time, I got several messages from new men wanting to be slaves to me; a message from one I’ve been talking to a while, saying he wanted to get together this weekend; Met an amazing lesbian at a Rachel Maddow book signing (more on that under separate cover) …and, began talking with a cute poly bi-girl on the web.
The contrast proved too stark not to notice: Here I am, a dyed-in-the-organic-cotton-yarn lesbian, trying to pretzel myself so completely as to think I might derive some benefit from engaging in BDSM with men. Don’t get me wrong, it is fun to be powerful over men. It plays into some deeply-engrained feelings I have about female superiority. But, that’s only good for so much… this will not make me feel special, this will not make me feel loved.
What’s messing with me on the subject of men is Mr. BE… I really could have seen a successful relationship with him, under the right circumstances, but he’s been the only one. It’s never been about parts. It’s about the ability to feel safe with this person. Broadly speaking, men make me feel very unsafe.
But, I digress. I’ve had a calm settle over me in the last day or two. In chilling the F@*k out, I have started getting written to on the dating site again…almost as though they could smell the desperation, and stayed away. I don’t actually have to hurry…and, I don’t have to make it work with anyone who will give me the time of day. I am a VERY niche commodity, as I have said before, but not so much so that I cannot find a buyer. And, even at that…. I already have an ill-fitting relationship. Why go begging for another?
Be well, my loves… expect a full run-down on the event I attended last night which had me meeting my absolute biggest hero, Rachel Maddow.