Bisexual, Homoromantic

Yes, it's my fifth entry about my sapphic flowering, and by far not my last

When I was 19, I lost my faith in God.  I felt the final crumb of anger float off me, exposed under the crushing weight of nothing.  My last prayer was, "Wow.  You're not even up there, are you.  You're not even fucking up there."  And it became clear that for my whole life, I had been crying on my knees to no one.  

Those were xanga's sunset years, and I blogged every day about that journey.  My page name was called Glass_Web, and I had a total of 12 readers (an astounding number to me; far more than I have now).  For several months, losing my faith was the only thing I wrote about.  As the year wore on, the atomic trajectory of that grief thinned out, evolving into questions that became so familiar, they sort of lost all interest to me.  I eventually came to understand, through long meditations, some breadcrumb basics of atheism: that death is final (for our bodies, brains, and individual self), and that time is precious.

Livejournal, on the other hand, (LizzyLeprechaun, but it’s not public) was my place to process the entirety of my first truly sexual relationship, from start to finish.  My desperation, my addiction, the sensual cage I wrapped myself in, and the eventual crack of my feminist cocoon. 

And so, Yardsale Buddha has become my place to take stock of my 30s.  My hundred-entry farewell to the idea of love I’d been chasing since I hit puberty.  Even through polyamory, and discovering all the things about sex that women aren’t supposed to talk about.

Amanda Palmer wrote the most beautiful post this past Wednesday, and I highly encourage all three of you to read it, after you squander your time reading this garbage.  There was a line that pierced me, as fresh rain to lungs.  She wrote, “everything is divorce-colored…When songs are delivered to my head, they’re divorce-shaped….The TED talks about prosthetic limbs seem to be about surviving divorce. The TED talks about genetic mutations seem to be about divorce. The TED talks about the murmurations of birds seem to be about . . . divorce.”

Do we ever accurately explain how many times our human lives fall into rubble?  

Men are not the only ones subjected to pride.  I cannot express my own grief without rage–rage that I believed in the magic I felt.  Rage that he, that they all, drank until they were full, and left without remorse.  Rage at the concerted effort to keep women mentally and culturally subjugated because domination is easier than communication, and men are terrified of sharing power.

Nothing will soothe the rage, so I just enjoy the beauty of the fire.  “Take your trophy and go,” I tell his ghost, looking up at the stars.

Do I still enjoy having sex with men?

*takes drag*

You know what, I do.  They do it well, and I’ll not deprive myself of pleasure just because they are romantically unreliable.  There is a rush of hunger in the eyes of a man that is unmatched by a woman–whose wisdom, intelligence, and collective grief tamper our flame.  How can you get excited when you already know what’s going to happen?

(Yeah, I know I’m hard-negging men right now.  It’s a step up from all-out hatred.  Hurt people hurt people, my therapist says.  And if I have to live in a world where Jordan Peterson and Christopher Hitchens exist/ed, you can handle some negging)

Desire is different from romance, and that’s not a part of straight-man culture.  Which fucks up a lot of long-term, heterosexual relationships.  Desire blinds me to everything except what I crave.  Romance enhances my experience of everything.  Desire is shutting myself down and doe-eyeing the one thing I want.  Romance is a collaborative dance–seeing that my woman is cleaning, and helping her clean.  Noticing each of our waves, and dancing with each other.  

We need both.

It’s okay to break up.  It’s okay to long for someone who isn’t longing for you.  It’s okay to masturbate to things that will never happen.  It’s okay to not be over your ex.  It’s okay to be over your ex.  It’s okay to get divorced.  It’s okay to be bored.  It’s okay to be broken.  It’s okay to not be aroused by someone you deeply love.  It’s okay to have feelings for your friend with benefits.

We don’t get to determine what we feel based on how convenient it is for our lives.  It’s fine–evolution happens to also be making shit up as it goes.