I struggle with you every day .
Most of my life I have been lectured on my complete abandonment of "reality" and it's various trappings.
As of late I have been particularly haunted by it because my greatest joy at the moment lives in this
strange reality- somewhere between here and the-as I will keep it vague "there"
I have a terrible habit of becoming deeply attached/involved with thoughts and ideas.
The plus of it is it gets to the core of me- my affections are complete, from the inside out.
the minus is that the reality constructed between myself and the object of my affections is a world that isn't always anchored in what's real.
Questions go unasked, answers edited and obscured, details are always selective and blurry.
I fell in to a something in April and it took me til well in to October to DT from the little world we
He brought me words and ideas and I did the same for him-- we would write massive missives and talk and talk about everything- our writing- art- dreams- desires and it because it was what I so dearly wanted was able to look past the fluttering red flags and throw myself in to it full hearted ( only now does our heroine discover that could also be spelled "fool hearted")
There was a lovely month- a lovely month where I felt admired and adored...it felt like love.
However, when the flapping of the red flags in the coming storm start to drown out the beat of one's heart- it's hard to ignore- it feels frightening and sickly-the anxiety and nervousness that comes with all the human feelings suddenly ambling for a home.
My attempts to make a place for myself in his heart were met with rejection and then promises to come around...maybe.
I won't go in to all the gory details but I waited, oh how I waited....and I fell for it again when the maybe became a yes.
This time around the very things I crave snapped in to place- plans to make, create, build, work, share-- every word that just makes me melt were thrown around like confetti, it was a yes, a yes that could last, plans were made and plans mean you can relax, right?
Oh no, because that very "relax" means getting real.
When you live in that space of Champagne, Ether and Mercury- as real as it feels to me ( because it is the thing I value about myself beyond my physical body) it lacks the flesh and bone of daily life, of- for all intensive purposes "showing up".
I want to be above these desires but I'm not- for all the nights full of notes and charts and papers spread out across tables- grand plans,laptops, arguments over fonts and rasterizing with various lovers/collaborators that have turned me on like no physical thrill could-- in the words of St. Morrisey "I am human and I need to be loved".
In this case my desire to be loved ended in a humiliating email exchange where this particular specimen
took it upon himself to berate me for his inability to feel anything for me.
For all the lust and inertia, the voraciousness of speech and text- he was a neuter in his bed and I was to blame- I was "too much" my motives were suspicious and unclear, I was wrought with agenda and my obsessions and sundry madnesses frightened him.
The very intensity that beguiled him was the very thing he rolled up and hit me with the minute I had a want.
My desire to become real-- to transform from the page to a person to bloom from snapshot to a flesh and blood human was the worst thing I could ask for.
"Humiliated" is an understatement.
I went away from the world and stayed away.
Fast forward to now-
I find myself asking a lot of questions about the realness of my current world and circumstance-
Due to heartstrings and history it resembles something more dear and real than any of the other dreamgirl hunters have provided me. However, something has changed;
for all the lust and intrigue it provides I find myself continually thinking about the simple things like being hugged ( I'm not a hugger, it's hella weird), having my hand held and sitting beside him- all the little things.
Details as always with things that are "away" are blurry- it's easy to blur realities and tell the- as my father called it "truth by omission" and I am constantly asking myself if this is real....it feels real..I want it to be real...but "want" doesn't always reconcile with "is".....
Where do but the tipping point between faith and proof when it comes to these things, I read way too many stories, watched way too many movies- distance and challenges never deterred anyone from anything worth having.
Oh realness, how does one know?
I will have more to say on this but for now I leave you with someone else's words on realness-
This book ( The Velveteen Rabbit) and The Little Prince teach a good many adult lessons on loving someone,allowing oneself to be loved and the hard work that goes in to both of them.
What is REAL?’ asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. ‘Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?’
‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘It’s a thing that happens to you. When someone loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real.’
‘Does it hurt?’ asked the Rabbit.
‘Sometimes,’ said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. ‘When you are Real you don’t mind being hurt.’
‘Does it happen all at once, like being wound up,’ he asked, ‘or bit by bit?’
‘ It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That’s why it doesn’t happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in your joints and very shabby. But these things don’t matter at all, because once you are Real you can’t be ugly, except to people who don’t understand.’
‘I suppose you are real?’ said the Rabbit And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse only smiled.
‘ Someone made me Real,’ he said. ‘That was a great many years ago; but once you are Real you can’t become unreal again. It lasts for always.’