So, it’s been three days since my last confession and since then I have neither committed suicide, murder or digressed…though I’m sure some would beg to differ on that last point. I have come to the conclusion that nobody will ever get my relationship with P. It’s just too complex and layered. Christ, half the time I don’t even fully understand it, so how could anyone else?
Last night, after three days of deep depression, I asked her to come see me. I hadn’t been able to stop crying and my heart ached for her. I thought I had truly lost her this time. She told me once that leaving was not an option; had promised she would never leave me…but I know everyone has a breaking point and that promises sometimes have to be broken.
I was scared. Terrified actually, that I had finally pushed her so far away from me that she would never be able to find her way back. Or want to. I felt alone, abandoned and completely dejected. A deep painful sadness permeated everything. I was inconsolable. Mike tried, but this time even he couldn’t get through. No one could and I didn’t want anyone to try. The only person I wanted was P.
So, I asked her to come to me.
I just wanted her to lie beside me and hold me. Part of me was terrified that she would reject me. Would tell me that she’d had enough, that unless I was willing to make all these changes in my life we couldn’t be together…she had already told me as much. But I didn’t want to talk about our stuff. I didn’t want to talk at all. I just needed her to be close to me and hold me. The simple act of lying beside me, putting her arms around me and holding me while I breathed in her warmth was all I wanted. All I needed. I just needed her to be with me.
And she came.
Thank you baby.
And then she made me cum and I cried. Again.
It’s the oddest experience, crying after you have an orgasm. I have never experienced it until P and somehow, long before it happened, I knew that it was going to happen. I almost told her so months ago, but for some reason I didn’t. Maybe I was afraid it would sound silly, or make me incredibly vulnerable. Which it did…but there is something deeply moving about being so touched by a moment of love and passion, that it can bring you to tears. Very profound indeed.
I don’t like admitting that I need someone. It makes me feel weak and I am generally a strong woman. My experiences have taught me that when someone knows you need them, they start to take advantage of your love, of your compassion and your heart full of emotions. Suddenly there is opportunity for manipulation and abuse. That when they know your weakness they get deep inside and hurt you with that knowledge. Why? Because they can.
I generally like to think that people are good, that given a choice they would choose right over wrong, good over evil…but I am a realist as well. I know there is a darkness in people that can be unleashed unexpectedly and sometimes without provocation. I haven’t learned to protect myself from that yet. Even after all these years. This has been my experience with my mother, with my father, with Victor and all the men who ever raped and fucked me.
So I don’t trust easily.
I don’t love easily.
I protect myself.
I have walls a thousand feet high.
I am afraid of the pain…hurt can fucking kill you.
I am absolutely convinced that someone, somewhere has died of a broken heart.
I don’t want to be next.
And I rarely ever need someone…or at least, admit to them that I do.
But somehow, through all the madness, hurt and confusion I have come to love and need P. I don’t know exactly when it happened because I fought her right from the moment I started to feel anything more then a curiosity about her. And the reason I fought her? Because I realized from the very first night I went out with her, as a friend, that she was capable of hurting me. Deeply.
How did I know?
Because she did.
She invited me into her mysterious world as a guest, as a spectator if you will. First she lavished attention on me for hours, smiled at me in that knowing lesbian way, flirted with me and then told me…no challenged me!…to have an affair with her. Said we were going to and she was sure of it. I laughed it off and said ‘no way’ even though a part of me thrilled at the idea of sleeping with her. I was, after all, admittedly and openly about to pursue a relationship with a woman.
When she asked me out to dance in The Village, after all the flirtation and innuendo, I was flattered and excited. It felt like a date. She was ending what she deemed to be an unhealthy relationship and I was about to end a marriage. What more could a girl ask for?
NOT what happened next!
When I met her at the subway later that night, excited about spending the evening not only in The Village, but with a real live lesbian, P commenced to tell me that she had mentioned, to the woman of this unhealthy relationship, that she would be going dancing with me. I knew in an instant I was being used in a not-so-nice game. I had no identity and was just an unwitting pawn in that all too familiar game of bullshit jealousy and crap. However innocently our day had started, P knew exactly what she was setting into motion by telling this woman I would be there. I was crushed and probably disproportionately hurt, but I was hurt just the same.
I should have ran like hell. Should have listened to the warnings in my head and paid attention to the fucking red flags that were all but whipping in my ears. Should have listened to those voices within. But I didn’t. After all, we were just friends right? She had made me no promises or committed to me in anyway and even though she had flirted outrageously with me that very afternoon, lesbians do that right?
So I got on the subway. Completely miserable. She asked me what was wrong. Seriously? I couldn’t believe she couldn’t see what she had done. That she had hurt me. That she had used me as a tool to get this other woman’s attention. But I went to The Village, knowing it was going to be a fucking disaster but trying to tough it out and act like I was unaffected. I need not have bothered. I was invisible from the moment we walked into the club.
She went to the bar, got herself a drink without asking me if I wanted one…and then waited, anxiously for this woman to show up, her eyes rarely leaving the front door. Ironically, when this mystery woman did show up, I saw her first.
Thick like only a Jamaican woman can be.
Breasts bursting out.
But sex was in her smile.
I might have been prettier but she was a lesbian. She knew how to play the game. And she did. She pissed on P and claimed her territory sending me a very loud message. P was hers and I was way out of my league. Go home straight girl. Stupid little straight girl. Poor little fool.
How was I supposed to compete with that? The raw, animal hunger they shared? It was all there for me to see. Blatant, fuck you and shameless. They had the connection of sex and I hadn’t even been kissed yet.
The night was a disaster. For me anyhow. The only saving grace was a boi-girl bus-person who must have caught my awkward situation and undoubtedly the fact that I was a newbie on the scene. She paid me silent attention but her smiles and circling around me like a bee to honey at least made me feel like I hadn’t completely turned into a wallflower. Thank you bus girl.
I left after it was glaringly obvious that P had forgotten I was there. She actually told me she couldn’t believe how suddenly ‘into her’ this woman was. Fuck! Even I knew what the hell was going on, but who was I to say anything? Maybe it was all a game lesbians played. If it was, I didn’t like it. Not one little bit!
All the way home I was furious. Hurt and humiliated. I told myself that when I saw P next I would tell her how I felt and never see her again. And then I found out that I was right and it had all been a bullshit show of control. The woman had left P at the end of the night, after all but promising sex and P had been left hurt and humiliated. I did not want to feel sorry her, but I did. I knew exactly how it felt. The irony, of course being that she had done the exact same thing to me. Well, not quite. But the sense of disappointment, humiliation and rejection were the same…
And so began my tumultuous relationship with P.
Should I have run? Hell yes! Should I have listened to the voices in my head? For fucking sure! But I have always been at war with those voices. My heart and my head rarely agree on what is good for me. I want what I want and it often conflicts with what I really need. So what do I do? I leap or I run. I this case, I leaped. Threw caution to the wind and said ‘what the hell!”
And I have been trying to run away from her and towards her ever since for a multitude of reasons. But now she offers me something I desperately want and am equally afraid of.
The voices are having a fucking field day with that one, let me tell you!
Trust her, don’t trust her. Am I truly her love or am I just a challenge? A spirited mustang to be captured, tamed and broken by her hand and her hand alone. And, if and when I am broken, what then? Will she move on to the next challenge and leave me alone and unable to return to the wild? My freedom unwanted, my desire tainted, afraid of my passion? My heart broken and ever healing? My love wasted on wrong decisions? Sigh.
Like I said, the voices are having a field day with this one.
But last night, when she held me in her arms and said nothing. When she just came because she knew I needed her, I was still inside. The voices were silent for a few peaceful moments.
I was home.
I knew no fear.
I knew no second guessing.
I knew that she loved me.
I think that is as real as love ever gets.
She invited me to come and play with her. To live the life that I claim to want. To dare to dream the impossible and make it happen. To be all that I can be.
Live, laugh and love.
Write, travel and dream.
Should make that my new mantra.
I want it all and she knows that I want it all. She wants it all too. And she wants the journey to be with me. Her and I together. Ready set GO! Do it Trish! Just jump damn it! And last night, for a beautiful, blissful moment she had me. Enraptured and caught up in the fantasy. I could hear my heart pounding with the excitement of possibility, cresting on the wave of adventure and saw myself living my life truly fulfilled. Greece, Paris. These are not just dreams, they can be reality. I want to live with the courage of my convictions. I want to be a do-er and not just a dreamer. God, I want to go on that journey. And I want to go with her as badly as she wants to go with me.
But I am afraid.
Always the fear.
Debilitating fucking fear.
Afraid to trust that she won’t drop me.
If I have to, I can go on the journey alone but I don’t want to. I am a creature of passion. I need to be loved. I need to be in a relationship but it has to be a specific type of relationship. One that allows me to express my fears and my joys, my love and my sadness, my hopes and my dreams, my weaknesses and my strengths. One that fulfills me, allows me to be me. That kind of relationship will make me bravest and I can and will do anything. I am not ashamed to admit that I need that. I crave it. I breathe it.
It completes me…
But, inevitably, the voices returned. They began softly warring with each other. Telling me that I can, that I can’t, that I should, that I shouldn’t. There are two very distinct voices within. Perhaps more so because I am a Gemini mine are equally strong, vying for control of this mind, body and soul…and that makes making a decision very fucking challenging!!!
So I will sit with them a while.
I will be still and hopefully quiet enough to hear, perhaps a third and triumphant voice that will bring me peace?
I will listen…