Sometimes it amazes and shames me how quickly progress
towards being the self-confident person I want to be can be stalled or
derailed. This writing is not an attempt
to garner compliments or reassurances from my friends. I know who loves me and who thinks I’m
fabulous and I adore you right back. No,
this writing is about sharing a bit of myself and renewed awareness.
Recently I was having a conversation with one of my
exes. I won’t say which one, but
sometimes I wonder why I still talk to him.
So do some of my friends. In
fact, until today, I hid the fact that we still talked from even my best
friend. I’ve outwardly lied about it, in
fact. If you’re hiding something,
chances are it’s a bad decision…but I digress.
So, the ex and I were talking about open relationships and
poly-models and various issues surrounding non-monogamy, when he said…with
perfect tactlessness and abrasion:
*”I only tried to fuck people that were prettier than you. If I fucked someone uglier, that would be
pretty bad”*
Let that sink in for a moment. Yea.
In the moment he said it, I gave him that “are you fucking kidding me”
look and told him it was a hurtful and fucked up thing to say. He quickly back pedaled and attempted to
explain what he meant. I guess I
understand what he was *attempting* to say, but…
You know sometimes in films, the cinematographer will use
the technique of opening with a wide, expansive shot of the sky, or space, and
then suddenly and quickly the frame will zoom more and more narrow until it’s
focused on a single person or building, children playing…or a train-wreck?
I brushed off his words, initially, but in the days
following my point of view shifted from this lofty, expansive acceptance (often
celebration) of this body of mine I’ve come to love (newfound appreciation for
my breasts, large and saggy, much too saggy for a woman who has not and will
not bear children; my fleshy parts, thick and curvy, I’d run my hands across
them and feel my own softness and warmth, the love that I exude from my skin;
my kinky hair; my “fat-girl” pussy…things only recently seen to me as beautiful
or valuable…)
My perspective shifted from this wide open space of
acceptance and celebration of my physical presence on this earth…to a narrowed
in close-up over every flaw and each patch of cellulite. My stomach had become a welcoming warm pillow
to rest your head, and was again reduced to that thing that “gets in the way”
when he’d try to tie me, or fuck me…My kinky hair was again too kinky. He had preferred it straight, unnatural. My breasts, “could be fixed, with surgery,
someday, ya’know.”
This ex, when we were together, had gotten in my head,
planted seeds of fucked up ideas…and watered a few that were already
there. I’ve been working tirelessly to
weed them out. But some roots grow deep,
as any gardener of souls or tubers will tell you. I’m tugging at this deep root and it’s
pulling up the good soil with it. I must
stop this erosion of good soil.
I was reminded why he’s my ex, and why my best friend always
sounded a little pissed when I did let it slip that we had talked. I recently learned about emotional masochism
and how to use it in play. The problem
is, *this* scene was poorly negotiated and I’m growing weary of it. Time to call red.
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