12
Time with Rich ("mark")...is over. I left once due to inconsistency and intermittent vulnerability (and my ensuing inability to comprehend it and ability to accept it) and it outweighed anything I received anymore. It felt like what I would have called a break up: tough, grief-filled, a bit abandoned, longing, mourning...it's just how I get when I get attached--when I get vulnerable--and it ends like this. He came back though. he kind of showed up. Then he waned. It felt like he was "letting me down easy." It's hard to say who "ended it"...I feel like I just took the hint and took the dive...I chose it, angrily, painfully, for good.
We weren't together though. I've said it before but that isn't what this was. I wasn't in love with him. He wasn't my boyfriend. He was not some sustainable relationship that would provide loyalty, fidelity, consistency. That said, he was absolutely a brother I put a lot of faith into. I wanted assurance from him, validation as a man, free space as a man. I think he wanted the same from me? (I'll never know...I don't think he knows, either...everything was a dom-sub sexual parallel...just another step out of accountability for what you want, feel, and need, if you ask me.) He was absolutely what felt like a "Second chance," to prove myself as a man, to get attention from an older brother--a fucking father--I never really had. And it felt good, felt affirming, felt warm, felt validating, felt motivating, felt purposeful--just like (for a short period with each) with Tony, just like with Garrett, just like Melvin, just like with whomever the fuck else. I just never got that far intimacy and vulnerability wise. This time? I just got fooled into thinking it would be sustainably safe.
And what if I had gotten this stuff sooner? Would I even desire it now? Would it have felt like some magnetic missing piece? Whose pull is stronger and stronger with each orbit of vulnerability? Finally though, I saw it for what it was: proof that I'm not a fag, is what I wanted. Proof that I could be loved by the respectable (appearing) men of our society. Proof that I could sell myself as one of the boys, one of the men. You know what I see now? It's all a fucking performance. It is a fantasy that keeps men together insomuch as they give up their needs, wants, and vulnerabilities--but otherwise drives us apart, because when we break the act, it reveals the FAGGY pieces of ourselves. Yes! I'm saying fag, with outward indignation and possibly with delight--because to whatever degree that it looks from one man to the next, at least what society would call an anti-masculine FAG, is real. At least we're allowing our soul to touch something.
The performance is an illness. And so I was faced with a choice: the fantasy of bro-ship and the elaborate sexual expressions all men go through just for an excuse to touch without actually saying they need to and want to. Or the relief that comes with making my wants known. I wanted growth with Rich. I wanted to try new things. Much like a child feels safe to explore new parts of their world when they trust their parent, so too did I feel safe with Rich. I joined sports teams. I pushed harder at the gym. I examined how I showed up in *all* my relationships. I re-examined--and even strengthened!--my primary relationship. And so, reopening this wound (this time) was not bad. I think I was given enough safe space for a period long enough, to explore a few things. Painful, but ultimately not bad. I had guidance this time. I had support. I had words to describe what I was going through and how I felt inside. It was no longer just some superficial easy stamp of "love" but a complex interplay of an unrealized potential and vulnerability. It's a wound I haven't opened in ten years; I didn't even even know it was a wound.
I've felt a range of emotions sticking to my decision to let Rich's and my dynamic lay down--disgust, anger, sadness, depression, grief, relief, peace, turmoil...sometimes simultaneously, sometimes separately, sometimes not at all, sometimes at myself and sometimes for him. I felt these things, not because Rich and I were mismatched, but because he left without so much as any bit of respect for what was a valuable relationship. He made me feel special, and then quickly took it away. We said our last words, but his words were *just* words. There was not respect or honor to us. I imagine he'll call me an "ex" to future toys; funny, he didn't want any labels when we spent time together--barely called me so much as a friend--but he readily calls previously-unlabeled toys, "dynamics," and flings "exes" just the same. I want that part of the dynamic, I want the acknowledgement of who I was to him. Dynamics and relationships don't exist in vacuums. Sadly, I don't think many male-male relationships and dynamics get this honor or respect. Our wounds would be smaller if they did.
I think about what I would say to him if he ever wanted to talk, to provide some explanation or give some closure. I think of so many toxic scenarios in which I bless him down, make him aware of what damage he causes people when they draw too close. But the truth is, that won't ease the pain of loss, and will only push him further away. It won't help him on any path to healing, either (whatever that even looks like, if at all...healing is an intentional choice, sooner or later.) I think about what future me would say in five, ten years, if Rich and I saw each other again...we'll be very different people then, hopefully for the better. I wouldn't want to feel apologetic for some things said now that are simply juvenile attempts to draw someone back in. We are simply mismatched. He is simply not willing to accept what I had to give, and what he was giving was no longer enough and sparse, to say the least. I'm not sure he was ever there in the first place, except when he didn't have any accountability. The mark of anti-masculinism is a loss of accountability, so it helps me let go of this idea that somehow he was going to guide me through this journey of masculinity and nuanced male relationships.
I don't think I will make this trip again. I don't think I'll need to. I recall saying back in entry #7 that "I don't need the invitation anymore." It's apparent now that I did and that sometimes the only way out is through, and I experienced it this time with a new level of vulnerability. The wound is smaller now. I feel different--I want to start asking the right people for warmth, respect and validation, first, the people who love the pieces of me that I ran from in the first place. Regardless of the pain I also feel grateful to have been able to grow out of the need for love and respect from people who are endlessly searching for it, themselves, and have no love or respect to give others in the first place. I let go of a good bit but not without pain. Good riddance and good luck out there, Rich.
