I think I’m ready to be honest with myself about Paul. I mean I always was? But now more? I mean, also, everyday is different?
Lots of question marks.
But obviously, its hard because he hit me. And I miss him. And I think I loved him.
But I was very confused and scared, and typically myself. I was overwhelmed.
None of those are excuses for what he did. He ruined our fun. He took it there. He took it to its darkest possible place. I mean, second or third darkest, because there are types of violence, and violence can be deadly.
Things I can see more clearly now are my own obsession, the ideas, and projections I created. I have nearly always been in chaos mode where he was concerned.
Aside from my initial attraction and desire, which were just very simple and sudden facts, every action and communication I ever made was a direct response to the chaos inside myself. All attempts to satisfy a need when I could not ignore or silence myself within.
Mine was a chaos of desire that broke free constantly in any quiet moment it could find, or sunlight daydream in solitude. A chaos that I could not contain, of impossibly layered wants for myself – deeper than flesh, deeper still than any single definable emotion.
All I can remember of the first time I saw him, and every single time I saw him before I spoke to him, is that I wanted him. I just watched him and my want grew.
I didn’t know how to make it happen, until one day I just went up to him and started, propelled by the directionless chaos of my own desire.
And so everything from the first time I spoke to him to the very last night I stayed there has always been the result of my chaotic desire and an enveloping need in me to have that desire reflected back exactly, to have my chaos validated, my love justified.
I’m at the place where I can finally face my need, and describe and claim it as my own – unequivocally, undeniable, non-negotiable.
The origins of my desire, its forceful requirement to be compensated and matched are also now clear to me. Those are private and I’ve no inclination to reveal them to anyone, except an equally aware and chaotic future lover. Should he not exist, the basis for the passions which consume me can most safely be explored in my creativity.
Another thing I can see clearly now is that part of my desire for Paul was an ego-based ambition. I admired him, almost jealously, but mostly with a pure drive to emulate his apparent confidence and material success.
He’s a self-made man. His stories of entrepreneurship and independence fed me with knowledge. His cool demeanor, his calm magnetism, his airy philosophy, his stubborn dedication to his schedule, his determination to get precisely what he wanted are all traits a younger and inexperienced version of myself yearned to possess.
I was hot ink, eager to pour myself over his metal plate and cover every single centimeter of its engraving, to be soon pressed onto a freshly baked blank patch of the future.
I don’t believe I have ever admired or respected another man more in my life. I hung onto his every word, every single time he spoke. I wanted his attention, his affection, encouragement, praise, pride, and of course his desire.
Now, it’s so easy to see how my ambition and lust blinded me to reality. I had tunnel vision for an imaginary non-destination. There was nowhere to go. It was just a tunnel of my own insatiability. I don’t think the affair could have gone anywhere, besides its own circles or it’s own dramatic demise.
It was only ever highly combustible chaos. I never stood at chance at controlling it, and he never had the inclination to steer.
Apart from my obvious disappointment and hurt, and now that they’ve been endured and processed, at the very least I can say I learned so much more about MYSELF than I’d ever been given from any other affair. And it’s perhaps only because of the disappointment, drama, and pain, that I was able face these truths.
That wasn’t easy, or fun, but I can’t say I’m ungrateful for any of it. I had to learn these things at some point. I had to learn the consequences of unmanaged chaos, of wild surrender, of my own delusions.
Tell me what you think before we both die