I hate people en masse. This might be a surprise to the people who don’t know me in the real world, but my close friends are nodding their heads in agreement. They don’t worry if they don’t hear from me in days, weeks, months, years….I hole up in my house and don’t poke out my nose if I have no reason to venture into the great outdoors. I am practically a hermit. Or rather, I was.
After my last serious depression post, something inside me broke–in a good way, I mean. It’s like when you have a fever and you get perilously close to dying, and then, the fever breaks. You sweat copiously, and then you are better. That’s pretty much how it worked for me. I was in the depths of despair, and then, it was gone.
I am not kidding myself in thinking that it will never return. I know it will. I just hope that it will be less intense and that I will be better equipped to deal with it.
Anyway, since that day, a weird thing has happened. I’ve changed. No, I am not suddenly some Pollyanna who sees the sunshine behind every cloud and can turn that frown upside down. I am not suddenly filled with love for my fellow (wo)men or anything New Agey-like that. I mean that a bit of the demon left me that day. I feel a bit more centered and calm. Weary as hell, of course, but not as agitated as before. Taiji is a big help (another shout out for Choolie!), and so is the breaking of the fever that I mentioned before.
In addition, as I have stated before, I have hit my sexual peak (oh boy, have I hit it), and I can’t deny that I feel like a walking hormone, and I am emitting phermones all over the damn place. I can tell that I am emitting them because I have had strangers (mostly men, but some women, too) responding strongly to me.
Now, to be fair, when I lived in the Bay Area, I got hit on all the time. However, that kind of behavior tapered off once I moved back to Minnesota. Partly, it’s because I sunk into a deep depression and walled off my sexuality for a long time. I was too afraid to let out my inner hedonist for fear that she would get hurt. I should have known that my inner hedonist has the constitutional fortitude of an ox. She has been hammering away at me, persistently reminding me that she lives.
For all my boldness online, I am quite reticent in certain situations in my life. My family is very religious and pretty traditional in many ways. Since I live in abject fear that my brother and/or sister-in-law will forbid me from seeing my niece and nephews, I keep my personality pretty much under wraps when I am around them. In addition, I still had lingering guilt about being a slut, so I tried not to let it show too much.
The last few weeks have made me see that life is too fucking short to get so caught up in what I should and shouldn’t do. I just bought a book called The Ethical Slut, and I plan on embracing my inner hedonist. I am a single grrl with no dependents and no obligations. There is no reason on earth I couldn’t have sex with a different person every night if I desire it–and believe me right now, I desire it. Oh, how I desire it.
See, the monogamy bit is the latest part of my preconceived persona to fall. I have been raised to believe in one man, one woman until death do we part thing. Again, I never imagined getting married, but I just accepted that I would some day. Go to college, meet the Man of My Dreams, fall In Love, and then Live Happily Ever After. Except, it never happened. The first man of my dreams turned out to be gay. The second man of my dreams turned out to a huge commitment-phobe who wasn’t ready to settle down–with me. The third man of my dreams turned out to be a straight woman who suggested that all people were somewhat bisexual.
And so on. In my last serious relationship, John (my ex’s pseudonym, remember), was polyamorous. Or, at least that was in theory. He liked the idea of going out with several women at one time. In reality, he was too much of a chicken-shit to do anything about it. By the end of our relationship, I was begging him to fuck someone, anyone, just so he could see if the reality would live up to the fantasy in his mind. He never did.
I was willing to have an open relationship because it’s what he wanted. Ironically, I came closer to cheating on him when our relationship was closed than he ever did. It was this really, really, really hot bartender in a Mission District bar, and we just hit it off like gangbusters. Plus, did I mention the hotness????? At the time, though, I was still wrapped up in being a good girl, so I didn’t do anything with the hot, hot, hot bartender. To this day, I regret it.
I used to say that one reason I didn’t think I’d ever get married is because I take the ‘to death do we part’ bit very seriously, and I couldn’t imagine ever saying that to anyone. Within a month of starting to date John (we were friends first), I knew that we wouldn’t last. In fact, I clearly remember making him promise he would remember me after we broke up. He laughed because he couldn’t imagine that we would ever break up, but I knew. I knew in my heart that we would not end up together.
It was strange. He and I never lived in the same city, in part because we each had lives elsewhere. When we were open, we talked about doing a threesome (with another woman). Even though he was the one who really wanted to try it, he wouldn’t do anything about it. So, I was the one who planned it for when he visited me in the Bay Area, but then he backed out. For all his dreams of being sexually adventurous, he had some fears he hadn’t worked out.
At the same time, though he couldn’t bear to live in the same city, he would ask me if I would marry him if he proposed. I never took him seriously because if the man could not live in the same city as I, how the hell could we get married? He was apparently serious, though, much to my bemusement. By the time I met him, I knew that I never wanted to marry. I had been very clear on that front as well as on the no-kids front.
So. After our relationship ended, I retreated. Once I emerged from my shell, I realized that I had to rethink my views on monogamy once again. I already knew that I didn’t want to live with someone; I had settled that during my last relationship as well. John would talk about moving in together once in a while, and I would be vehement in my negation of said idea. He would say, “Well, what if you had a room of you own?” I would say, “It’s not nearly enough.”
Fastforward to now. I don’t believe in love at first sight. I believe in lust and infatuation at first sight. I believe in powerful chemistry at first sight. I just don’t believe in love at first sight. In addition, I cannot see myself with one person for, say, fifteen years. Kiki has been with her hubby on and off since she was fifteen. They got married when she was twenty-four. She’s thirty-nine now. I can’t even comprehend what that would look like, let alone imagine me inhabiting that role.
In some ways, this seems like the hardest taboo of all to break–the tradition of monogamy. It is so drilled into our heads that to be one half of a whole is the ideal, it’s heresy to suggest anything different. It’s hard to even formulate an argument without sounding defensive. And, let’s face it, most people are going to automatically judge me as a slut if I have a harem of men and women who exist solely to sexually please me.
Er, sorry. I slipped into a fantasy for a minute. Please forgive.
Once again, I am going on and on, so I will wrap this up for now. I just want to say that I am not sure what to do with this newfound knowledge of mine. It’s hard to proceed when the rules I have always lived my life by are gone in a flash. Once the inhibition and guilt completely melt away, I have a hunch I’m in serious trouble.
I can’t wait.