Dating and Relationships
Don’t tell me that the first date is super casual… jeans and t-shirts attire. I don’t date like that. I don’t do jeans and t-shirts in general. I do pencil skirts, I do slacks. This to me just translates to “I’m lazy and can’t force myself to dress nicely for you, so rather than feel badly about my attire, I’m going to tell you to dumb it down too.”
A few weeks ago, I suffered a birthday. At my age, I no longer care to celebrate birthdays. I merely endure them, as inconspicuously as possible, and hope no one else remembers. I am none too thrilled about getting older. I feel okay, but age does strange and disturbing things to the body. Plus, society in general tends to be a bit youth-obsessed, and gay men in particular can be extremely ageist. I’ve tried to keep myself in relatively decent shape; however, over the years, my skin has lost a considerable amount of elasticity, and I find that exercise doesn’t have quite the impact it once did. Mercifully, people rarely think that I look my age. Although, I’m not sure how my age is supposed to look. I consider it to be case-specific. I believe that genetics and self-improvement play a substantial role in determining how one does or does not display the influence of time. Personally, I often think I’m gross. And occasionally, I suffer, to varying degrees, from feelings of obsolescence. I’ve tried to rise above it, but it never fully dissipates. Being single doesn’t really help all that much.
It’s so out of fashion to say it aloud. To stand on a mountaintop and scream at the top of your lungs “Goddamnit I want so desperately for someone to fucking love me.” These are the kind of things you are never supposed to feel. And if you feel them you aren’t supposed to. Never say it out loud. Neediness equals weakness.
He told me that everything ends, and usually badly. That he hasn’t seen examples of it working, of there not being heartbreak, of him not being the cause. Boy with a fragile sense of self enters the dating world and is eaten alive. Now, at 39, he is so deeply imbedded in a pattern of belief that everything he touches, everyone he touches, will break. How do you convince someone otherwise? How do you hold someone’s hand and show them that they deserve to not be alone? That they deserve to let someone in and be loved? How do you do that, when they don’t believe in their core self that they are worthy of any love and that if anyone does seem to love them, surely they must be fooled?
Once upon a time I used to wear my hair long. I also used to take showers instead of baths. And there’s something else I used to do that I don’t do anymore: the second I became interested in someone I burdened them with a long grocery list of everything that was wrong with me and everything bad that had ever happened in my life.
Before someone got the chance to know me I warned them about everything awful I was going to do and I filled them in on the childhood trauma I was using as an excuse for that action. Long before I let someone know my favorite soda, what I liked on my pizza, and what my favorite Joni Mitchell song was, I let them know each of my defense mechanisms and what all of my flaws are.
With the trap door flying open on all my discrepancies, it’s no surprise not many stuck around for the pizza.
Weeks. We haven’t talked. Emails not returned. Texts ignored. The silent treatment again. I get too close… Type Geek pushes back with greater force. My gut tells me it’s done. I have done all I could, said all I could, presented my best arguments for why YES, rather than why NO. Fear and shame are tricky things, and he has mountains of both.
Type Geek is still the man I love, it just is reaching a point at which I need some emotional B-12. It makes me sad to recognize it, but loving a two-dimensional man is growing to be exhausting and without some sign on his end, other than fear, I am finding myself lacking the ability to rally, as I had in the past.