87. cellophane

I don’t have a whole lot of time to write today, so I’m just going to set the timer for 5:00 and see what happens.

The past two weeks have been consumed with writing/editing, with the goal of completing a short fiction collection I’m planning to submit to a literary competition, the deadline being November 1. I’ve got two stories left to finish and polish but the rest are in good shape. But that’s why this blog has been rather quiet as of late.

Do you ever have moments when you realize all of a sudden that you’ve turned into the crazy Meryl Streep character from Woody Allen’s Manhattan? That’s what happened to me yesterday.

While going through Facebook updates, I came across one from my friend Jenny, who had liked a post from Seth basically saying that he was having my best friend Emily, her husband and their 3-year-old son Liam over for dinner. Naturally I flipped out, as all mentions of Seth generally cause me to do, turning me from a relatively sane, rational individual into a raving lunatic. Like Meryl Streep. I angry-texted her to the effect of, “I know where you are and who you’re with.”

For Emily to fraternize with Seth, even over an informal get-to-know-you dinner, is interpreted by my crazy brain as her siding with the man who shattered my heart, a cruel invalidation of the pain I’ve experienced over the last year and a half, and ultimately a betrayal, unintended as it was. It’s bad enough that she’s still a Christian now that I’m an atheist, and that she and her husband are going to be involved with SafeHouse, which means that Seth will be their pastor and they’ll see him regularly, so there will be this walled off portion that we can’t share and can’t talk about. Now she’s having dinner with him—and I know how charismatic and charming he can be.

It comes down to my emotionally paralyzing terror of abandonment, and what with losing my faith and subsequently my community and my family for the most part, there’s just a lot of loss to deal with all at once—and I’m largely dealing with it on my own, since there’s no one really there to lean on when I lose it. Emily’s been the one constant in all of this. I already feel replaceable and forgettable enough—that people will eventually figure out that I’m not that interesting and move on.

And I have a hard enough time believing that anyone could ever stay with me as a partner. Seth’s rejection of me in February, coupled with the long string of failures and rejections in my past, as well as my failures in the romance department, all add up to this devastating conclusion that I will always be alone and no one will love me.

It’s like my birthday became this dividing line in the sand, with me on one side and Seth on the other; and along with Seth is God, my whole past life, and anyone who is friends with him, which leaves me increasingly alone over here. My inner narrator knows damn well that the line is completely self-imposed and that I’m the only one walling everything off, but the hurt and pain drown out all reason and rationale.

Fuck. There’s a lot to process right now, and I’m way over 5:00.

Hope I haven’t taken up too much of your time.

033. provocations

Going into this week a little less rested than I’d like to be and more depressed than I’d like to admit. Went out on Friday night with some friends of friends, got very drunk (and still managed to take care of people who were more drunk than I—not that they gave a flying fuck either way, apparently I’m that forgettable), wrote a six-page letter, and ended up sleeping on a couch alone with a cat (I’m allergic, by the way).

I’m starting to feel bitter again as the holidays roll closer. Had a sudden flash of anger tonight, the root of which was the frustration of feeling that even after making an effort and trying to care that I’m not noticed or remembered. It surprised both me and my roommates a bit. I’m tired of being the friend, of caring about other people and receive little more than indifference in return. I feel like Pagliachi—ever the comic relief getting the lovers together, but ends up alone and unloved while everyone else finds happiness.

Not looking forward to Thanksgiving or Christmas this year, or my birthday next year (about three and a half months from now.

I miss physical intimacy so fucking much, and sort of wish I hadn’t experienced it, because the absence now is absolutely killing me. And I know that going into a relationship, or even just seeking it out, looking to fulfil that need is a bad idea. But I so desperately want it that I’m afraid of not being able to control myself.

This is the loneliness talking.

Sometimes I wish that I could just be attracted to women. It would be so much easier to find a mate. At least if she’s female you have a chance. My dating pool is significantly more limited since it’s harder to find the guys that I’m interested in (which you might call “straight-acting,” a term I abhor, but for lack of a better definition am obliged to use).

I just don’t want to be 40 and single. I don’t even want to be 30 and single. 27 will probably be bad enough.

Happy Monday.

011b. corrected

Had an enligtening conversation with one of the teachers today about some of my thoughts on He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named’s stance on same-sex marriage, and he made some very good points.

To legalise same-sex marriage is to open up a legal can of worms. It’s not a matter of everyone just getting along. If you legalise it, it becomes discrimination under law for churches (who are government-protected, tax-exempt entities) to not perform same-sex marriages. The same goes for any business, non-profit organisation, clinic or hospital for whom doing so would violate their beliefs.

It then becomes a matter of reverse discrimination, where the agenda of the minority becomes forced on everyone. So while I personally do not wish to be the agent of social change in America or force my will on the populace, to desire the legalisation of same-sex marriage would be a disaster, and I see that now.

However, if and when I marry, civil union or not, I will call him my husband.

That’s really all I want.