Sexuality Happens

F and I called it quits. Last week, the first night of Channukah (great timing, I know). She had left, but came back for the ziplock baggy of latkes (potato pancakes) that I had put together for her.  We sat down on the couch in my mother’s living room…she’d been over for her first Channukah celebration.

She was telling me that in addition to the emotional distance she had asked for before, she now needed physical distance. That she was frustrated, and angry, and unsure why she was feeling like that, which was frustrating her even more. I was taking it in. She needed more space. I didn’t know how much more space I could give her. I was trying.  We hadn’t had sex in weeks.  And the last time we did, it was completely disconnected. How else could I give her space? I mean, yes, I could totally avoid her, but I also was dealing with my birthday and the loss of Athena. I couldn’t have gone through that with out her.  I wonder if she waited to see that I was finally beginning to heal from Athena before she brought this up.

All dinner, we never kissed.  Afterwards, I went for a cheek kiss, and she pecked me quickly on the lips. I knew then that things were heading for another conversation.

We sat there talking, as my mother and sister sat watching TV in the other room.  My heart tightening, tears welling up on my eyes.  It’s so hard, when you care about someone so much, to realize how unhealthy it is for you to be together, regardless of what the relationship is. She told me that she felt some of her needs weren’t being met. I told her that over the last few months, that very few of my needs had been met, and that I was scared to bring them up to her, for fear of hurting her feelings.  Then she told me that she felt judged when she shared her feelings.

I’ve always been the emotional ones.  All my friends tell me I’m too sensitive, that I put too much stock into my emotions.  In grad school, I was the one who over shared, the one who was so into the affective learning, into talking about how we felt.  But then here was F, telling me that I was always using my head energy, that the only time I used my heart energy was during sex.  That I didn’t feel enough. That I was too logical. That hurt so much, every time she said something to that effect. 

So we talked. About how much we loved for and cared for each other. About how she still wanted me to come to her family’s Christmas Eve celebration. About how much her holding me that one night as I sobbed about Athena had meant to me.

And then she was gone.

I walked into the other room, stunned. My sister and mother were surprised…my mother asked me if it would have happened had she not come back for the latkes. I was sure it would have. I feel like she couldn’t even be in the same room with me any more. It hurt.

It happened on Channukah. The first night.  I have a great time with ending relationships that coincide with holidays. Last year, J broke up with me a week before Thanksgiving…when I was supposed to spend it with him and his family. My high school boyfriend and I broke up on Valentine’s Day. And now this.

I suppose I should have realized it was coming. Every little piece of my life is being slowly pulled, tugged, or ripped away from me. I don’t even have a sex partner anymore. I don’t have that one person whose arms I felt safe it, the one that I trusted. I have never trusted anyone I’ve been with that much. I got over so much baggage in order to do so. I peeled opened old wounds in order to show her how much I trusted her. I cried in front of her, with her, in her arms. I feel stupid.

And I feel stupid for having tried so hard, for having changed some of my thoughts and actions, for appeasing. But I loved her. Still do.

All in all, it’s probably the least angry, upsetting break-off of whatever it was that I’ve ever had.  Which is good.  I cried a little. Went home, intent on drinking.  Didn’t touch a drop.  Put on my flannel PJs, cried a little more, ate some dark chocolate. Thought on it. Cried a little more, no longer about her. More about my fears. That I’ll stop trusting again. That I will never be loved. That I will never find someone who will hold me as I cry. That I’ll go through all the letter in the alphabet, and while I’ll have good sex, and people who might love me, that I’ll never find someone who wants me for me, and wants to be with me. That I’ll never have sex this good ever again.  Fill in the blank.

And then I wrote this.  And went to bed. Alone. As usual. And wished things could have been different.

-Essin’ Em

Edit: Since writing this, we have talked more. Basically, we’ve figured out that we have this bi-polar relationship. And the reason we have such amazing sex, and such ridiculous frustrations and arguments is because we both care about each other very much, and we’re both ridiculously passionate.  Passion = fantabulous sex. And also volatile emotions.  Since I’ve broken up, we’ve hung out together, I spent my first Christmas Eve (that I’ve celebrated) with her family, we’ve argued more, and we’ve had incredible sex.  Yes. It’s cyclical. However, I’m now in it with no expectations, and as friends who happen to have really really really good sex occasionally.  And I’m ok with that. I’d still like to find someone who would like to be with *me* but I also really care about F.  And will continue to try and change and morph and figure things out. Will it bite me in the ass? Possibly.  But it’s better than not feeling at all.