July 22, 2024
Franklin is coming. He’ll be in Seattle for business, and he’s driving to Portland Thursday afternoon to meet me. He wanted to come last spring, but I had school, and it was a legitimate excuse. But I was more than a little relieved to put him off. Then he told me over a month ago he’d be in Seattle on business and that he wanted to spend time with me. The terror hit all over again. Not one to let fear drive my decisions, I’ve been trying for months, now, to figure out why I’ve been so apprehensive. So many reasons, but I’ll distill it down to two. At least two major headings with a whole bunch of subtext.
I’m afraid to have sex.
I haven’t had a sexual relationship in coming up on two years. Actually, almost exactly about this time two years ago. With Don. That was a lovely relationship, and is still a lovely friendship, but letting go of him as a lover was excruciating. It was absolutely the right thing to do, even selfless! But still, excruciating.
Just two months later, I met David. And as you know, if you’ve been on this journey with me, I for sure for sure thought the quest was over. That I’d found that person who I’d be with. Not forever, because that’s just ludicrous. I’m sure eternity would put people off on one another. But, I thought, long term. There were many issues in our relationship, most problematic being the fact we have very little in common. And of course there was the complete absence of the physical. But as I am wont to do, I let “love” cover over. At least for a time. Finally, it got to be too much, it was obvious how wrong we were as a couple. We transitioned to friendship. It was the right thing to do at exactly the right time, but I spent months mourning the loss of what I thought was something permanent. I’m better now, 14 months on. But it was very painful for a very long time.
Losing the sexual relationship with Don, and not having sex with David, caused me to couple the idea of sex with incredible emotional pain. It’s hard to think about having sex. I should be over it, I should be able to move ahead in confidence, but I’m just not. I don’t even let myself think about sex. I don’t even fantasize. The thought crosses my mind every now and again I should at least masturbate, and I wince. I’ll be in the shower, and I’ll realize it’s been weeks, a month, even more. I have an obligatory session every now and then, but I have to talk myself into it. I’m not ready to give in to my complete lack of interest just quite yet. I’m too young, even still, and it’s not who I truly am. I know there are really big psychological reasons for why sex puts me off right now, and I know that won’t always be the case. I do know that. I’m quite certain of that.
I didn’t think I was worth the extra effort.
I had some requirements for meeting Franklin I feared would inconvenience him in ways that would preclude our meeting altogether. I knew that was ludicrous. It was his idea to meet in person and he was more than willing to go to the expense and effort to make sure it happened. Money is not an issue in this situation.
But I have this weird thing about money. I always have. We were taught in our family that money bought everything, that making money should be the focus of our existence. If we weren’t worrying about money, we weren’t focused on the right thing. I bought into that, literally. I was incredibly driven in my career, and my primary motivator was a higher and higher income. And I did well. I loved my work; I loved my career and the opportunities it afforded me. But whereas the work was fulfilling, it was my income that measured my success, it was my income that measured my worth.
I’m better than I was, I no longer think of money as a means to an end, but simply as a means. Losing everything really puts things into perspective, and I’m much happier with where my priorities lie now. And yet now it’s reversed. Now that money is so much scarcer than it was before I got sick, I tend to project that fear of lack onto others. I’m very conscientious of never taking advantage of David because we’re about equally matched in terms of resources. But that doesn’t fit in this situation.
Practically, I was worried about the extra tank of gas driving up to Seattle, it would have been a hardship for me. But I was afraid to ask Franklin to come to Portland. I worried an extra three hours’ drive was an inconvenience. And I felt selfish asking for a hotel room in Seattle, and I felt guilty about asking he pay for one in Portland. But I knew if our meeting was to happen at all, he’d have to have his own room. Fooling around is one thing, but I won’t sleep over. I just won’t. I have my reasons; I believe compelling reasons. But it doesn’t matter if they’re compelling or not. I have my reasons. Period.
I was also worried about assuming he’d pay for food and drinks, and furthermore, being the good feminist that I am, shouldn’t I be paying for myself? Well, no. Once again, that doesn’t fit in this situation. Franklin knows I live a simple life on a modest income, he’d never expect me to overextend myself to make this all work.
I threw all of this at him hoping the obstacles would overwhelm him and he’d see I wasn’t worth it. I wanted him to see the truth of me, all the shortcomings, all the negatives, so that… so that what? So that I could get him to do the rejecting so I wouldn’t have to tell him I was afraid to meet? Yep. That’s it. If I can make it be about you and not about me, I don’t have to feel bad. It’s incredibly unfair. To compound matters, the more nervous I am the more I talk. It’s like throwing up a smokescreen. I’m quite practiced at all of this, quite accomplished at this particular flavor of self-sabotage. At least I see it now, and not just after the fact. I see it as I’m doing it. But that doesn’t stop me from doing it…
An intuitive person is always going to see through it, they’re going to see through to the truth of who I am. And Franklin is intuitive. And incredibly kind. And consistent and devoted. He’s got the goods, that one. When I took him to task for “ghosting” me, he took me to task for setting him up to forego meeting. He was right to call me on my shit. He gets it. I don’t know if it’s because he struggles with self-worth like I do, or if he’s just old enough and experienced enough to know this is what people do when they’re afraid. Either way, we were finally able to get to the heart of it. It took months. But finally, collaboratively, we pushed through the obstacles, real and imagined, to make a meeting happen.
Now. Let’s see if I can reign in my insecurity and have some fun!