27 Dec I Want What I Want. But What About My Needs Baby, What About My Needs: The Introduction of X
I met a boy. And it terrifies me. Because I am still in love with another boy.
On paper, he is everything I could ever imagine having. He is happiness. But I still have these memories nestled and embedded in my bones. In my entire body, I still feel T. I still smell him, I still dream him. And to detach myself from him—I haven’t even figured out why I am so in love with him in the first place, to abandon all that now, feels, useless. I don’t even know if seeing or kissing him would be the same. If I would melt. If my heart would quicken and all the memories of the paths of life that are still possible, would come flooding back onto me.
I am getting ahead of myself.
Maybe this new boy, X (is that a premonition of things to come?), is only the hinting of new life for me. A representation of what could be, for me. In general. Maybe X is fully devoted to his healing process too, and to incorporate myself in that path, is not something he wants to do.
All this is a mess.
I can’t plan out what I want, and I know that I am too embedded in my own head. My own thoughts. My own window of possibility. I am sure that I am missing something. Neglecting something. And I don’t want to bring it up until I have even a fledging grasp of, anything really, to present to him. X.
I think I know what I don’t want: no fuckbuddy, no friend with benefits (because in reality, he and I aren’t really friends). But I don’t know if I could have a relationship. I feel like, in this life, I have suffered so long, and so terribly, that the possibility of suffering no more, or lessening that pain, would compel me to a state of stasis. Where there is nothing. And I am nothing. And I hunger, so deeply, for all the good things in this life that have been offered, and denied me. I want so badly, the good things in this life. And I don’t want to ever forfeit success or passion, for love.
I like the way he touches me. But I don’t like the person I become when I am in love. Vulnerable. And less than. Heady with emotions, and despair. A sacrificial lamb entombed in my emotions. Back-seated occupant. Cheerleader. Congregant. Kneeled. A dog, panting, chasing, begging. Love me, validate me. Be gentle with me.
I don’t want my emptiness to show through. And I want even less, for him, or anyone else, to fill up that hole. I don’t want to be weighted down with the pomp and circumstance of waiting. Of hitting milestones. Of waiting. I don’t want to be in my head about this. To wrestle with invented dilemmas. Wring my hands over imagined discrepancies. To watch the rise and fall of fantastical what-ifs be born and undone again.
I don’t care about being cool, or hip-ly indifferent. Laid-back, and eased into, “like, whatever will be, man.” I want to be as wide-eyed, and fresh-faced as possible. I know that it would be asking too much, to never feel pain, or be vulnerable again, so instead, I just want to reduce and minimize my suffering. I want to think past my emotional crossroads. I want to fit these pieces neatly together. This boy, and that man, and my life as it has been up until now, as it has been all these ages, and how I have hoped, desperately, for it to be in the days and moments ahead. I don’t want to fall apart. I am so sick of coming undone.
Maybe I can do all that without separating myself from the things I can’t quite understand. But if not—I’ve settled into a life of aloneness before. I can continue to fully accept that solitary life, even now. I just don’t want to do it, because I am afraid.
Afraid of losing T, and what he means and has meant to me. Home. Illusion. Hope. Family. All my desires unearthed and presented to me. Always out of reach. Deeply and inexplicably, and wholly connected to. Love. Belief. Supernatural. Soul-mates. Connection. Devotion. God.
I want what I want. But oh, what about my needs, baby, what about my needs.
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