So, it has been 5 MONTHS!
(Well, over 5 months now, but who’s really counting…) I did the calculations and this is officially
the longest I have ever gone without sex since I started having it. It’s a whole new world… I don’t like it! I have moved past the point of wanting it for
the validation and into the world of wanting to have it for the physical
stimulation. Progress! (Maybe?)
So the holiday season has happened and I’ve been
relatively quiet since then. Here is the
quick catch-up:
- told my therapist about Art and here is the
non-verbatim version of how that went:
Me: …but
I didn’t sleep with him.
Therapist:
Why not?
Me (confused): Because I’m doing this whole
year off thing!
Therapist:
Wow! Good for you! I totally would have slept with him.
Me: ***head explodes***
It took all I had not to call him up at that instant and
say “I’ve made a huge mistake”, but the truth of the matter is that I didn’t
make a huge mistake. Yes, I had been attracted
to him for years. Yes, I would have
totally slept with him if it had been a year earlier. But, this year, I’m doing
things that are best for me. I’ve made a
commitment to this experiment and it is not worth sacrificing months of work (because
it has been work!) on an infatuation without substance (come July 29, he is
totally at the top of my list to celebrate the end of the year).
On that note, I have instituted a new loophole in the experiment
(oh, how easily I start to crack).
Loophole: if after 3 months of “hanging out” (I can’t say “dating” because
I’m also not supposed to be doing that… I’m so weak!), I can sleep with the
person, as long as there are no clothes removed during that 3 months. I figure at this point it puts me at 8 months
into this experiment if I were to start “hanging out” with someone now – which I
think is still quite the accomplishment (and unlikely to occur).
This did not come out of the recent events with Art, it came
out of an encounter with a gentleman that I will call TTC Man. TTC Man started talking to me on my way to
work one day. We had a lovely conversation
(he was essentially the male version of me – loved board games, volleyball,
reading, sci-fi & fantasy, scotch and cigars). As we parted he got my phone number and, to
my surprise, ACTUALLY asked me on a date!!!
This has never happened to me before (did I mention he was also tall and
handsome). My entire life I have done
the chasing, so I was completely flabbergasted!
I figured that this dalliance wouldn’t progress past breakfast (our first
date), but we went out a few times.
Everything was going really well and I found myself accidentally dating
someone (yes that is possible. I kept
expecting things to go south). This
required me to come up with a plan as to what would happen once the outings
progressed towards increased physical contact; so I came up with the 3 month
rule. Our dates were always very sexually
innocent, never even getting as far as hand-holding, so I figured I had time to
work this out.
Alas, contact with TTC Man has ceased. BUT… for the first time, Girl Brain didn’t go
all crazy-pants trying to figure out why.
I knew why. We just weren’t
really suited for each other. It was him
who stopped that contact, but I saw it coming.
The only part of me that was really interested in him was the part that
still clings to the fairy tale romance of the situation. A tall, handsome stranger feeling compelled
to chat me up on the subway… come on! I
can’t even write how romantic that would be if it had worked out, but it just
wasn’t right. For the first time I wasn’t
hung up about it or wondering “why doesn’t he like me?!” My thoughts were, “is he really right for
you?” A good sign.
I’ve also been away from therapy for a couple weeks, which
is starting to wear on me. The holidays and
New Year were a kind of a time void where I didn’t really feel I was existing
in the real world. I guess it was just
so out of my regular routine that I had a hard time keeping up with my regular
life activities. It wasn’t until this
week that I feel back on track. This
could also be because I had to work over most of the holidays and that sent all
my natural rhythms out of whack. Anyhoo,
I missed a scheduled therapy appointment last week and was heartbroken. I never miss therapy and since I was still in
time limbo, I needed some structure and my therapist to pull me back to reality. Oh well!
This week will be good. The
distance has given me time to reflect on the challenges I still need to address
in my life. As well, I have been questioning why I so easily slip off track of
achieving my goals with the slightest disruption to routine.
During the past few weeks, I have been asking “why?”. This is where “FEAR” creeps in. That word has taken over my blackboard of
things I need to address. It started to
consume me when a girlfriend, who is having troubles with her husband, asked me
the question I never want to answer: are you afraid you are going to be alone
forever? With a brave face, I came up
with something I hoped was consoling and confident, but the truth is – yes! I do fear that I will be alone forever. In fact, it is one of my greatest fears (that
and T-Rexs – but I think one of them is more likely than the other). I have been alone my entire life. I even choose relationships with men who are
emotionally unavailable, perpetuating the aloneness when I have a partner. This is a cycle stemming from growing up with
my mother.
In my last session, my therapist did a review of all the
issues I’ve tackled this year and praised me on my progress. In the list, she mentioned dealing with
feelings towards The Ex, my father & my mother. We didn’t have much time left, but as I
thought about it, I wanted to scream “I haven’t dealt with anything concerning
my mother!!!” I don’t talk to her anymore
(except one phone call on Christmas and if I see her at family events), but I
haven’t dealt with anything. All
that fear and anger is still bubbling inside somewhere and I am still a
prisoner to it – to fear. The fear the
years of abuse have rooted in me – the fear that is so woven into the core of
my being, I can’t even see it… until now.
I have often wondered why I stop striving when I begin to
succeed. I have long thought it is due
to “The Cinderella Complex” (I’ll get into this soon, I promise. Just reading the book right now). But, after spending a while reading about it,
I am discovering that though the results are similar, nothing in the book
strikes me as the cause of my lack of comfort with success. This made me look to other sources and what I
came back to was a book that I was using as research for one of my writing
projects last year – Surviving a
Borderline Parent by Kimberlee Roth & Freda B. Friedman. When I first picked up this book, I was astounded
by how much I related to it. It was like
they had written it about my life. I only
got a couple chapters in but then stopped reading. I thought “it is just for research and I have
taken all I can from it. Wrong! The real reason was that I was too scared to
face the information it had. I didn’t
want to confront the demons of growing up with a Borderline parent.
My mother has never been formally diagnosed with
Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) and for most of my life I had no
explanation for her behaviour or the treatment of her children. In public, she was sociable, kind and
generous – at home, she was a monster.
It wasn’t until I had a part-time job at Indigo Book Store in my late
20s when I was shelving a book called Stop
Walking On Eggshells that I even heard about BPD. The title intrigued me because this was
always how I felt when dealing with my mom – I was constantly walking on
eggshells, hoping that I didn’t do something to set her off (those children of
the 80s & 90s will remember a game called Don’t Wake the Dragon – same idea!). I read the back of the book that described
BPD and the behaviours of those who suffer from it and was dumbfounded. There was no question in my mind that this was
what afflicted my mother. I had never
seen anything that so accurately described her actions. For quite some time, that was all I was ready
to take on – but it was enough, there was a name for it and when I was ready, I
knew where to look for answers. I had a
name!
I have never yet been able to face the impact my mother
has had on my life. I am still that
fearful child cowering at the thought of retribution if I venture out of the
proscribed behaviour. Now, I have
reached the point where this fear is the only thing continually holding me back
from achieving the things I want in life and I’m done with it. I cannot become a full adult until I break
free. So, I’ve picked up that book again
(scary as it may be) and this year, I am kicking the shit out of fear! I’m done with being afraid. I can’t seem to move forward any further
until I do and I’ve come too far and worked too hard to stand still now! So, I’m sure you will be hearing much more
about this once I get back to therapy.
(SIDE NOTE: As I
was having all of these thoughts about confronting my issues with my mother, I
saw a girl on the subway reading Surviving
the Borderline Parent – quite random – and decided not to ignore the signs
the universe was giving me.)
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