Fear of Abandonment and Sex
One of my favorite sex bloggers speaks of the fear of abandonment. She’s a strong woman, mother, and like a fierce lioness I would imagine. Yet, behind the image she portrays there’s someone much softer beneath all that. There is a woman looking to connect and be with someone.
I don’t care to be with anyone.
Now, I know what you’re thinking is ‘yeah right, yes you do because all women get attached. All women want it. It being something more.’
I’m the one who abandons.
I have a multitude of guy friends by now. Some try to poke the bear, literally, trying to see if there is a pulse behind my metal exterior. This robotic persona of calmness, unattached, unemotional unending. Sometimes I let them poke a little and my face is like the sky without clouds. Other times maybe something stirs, but it’s conflicted with my brain processing it.
Touch equates bad, but I love it, yet I hate it. Massage me and I might purr slightly if the right spots are hit. If they aren’t hit kindly keep your paws off me. I push past comfort zones and hear an endless sound of nothingness greeting my inbox. My friends are those who text periodically, and contact me rarely. I feel like I should be spun through a loop fretting about what they think about me.
The last time I saw him did I reveal too much behind the curtain? Did they see the wizard orchestrating this vapid coolness?
But, I don’t care. A part of my brain may deliberate a little but I’m burnt up with feeling attached to anything. The most important people ever in my life, my family, are held at such a far distance they don’t even touch me. We are solar systems away from each other, I rely on no one yet I seem to have everyone clambering to be my friend.
They never see past the walls I have up. I’m not even sure if I can cry anymore because I’ve wasted so much of myself on this one person who has seen more of me than anyone. And, they took advantage of it for so long that I’m shut down. I don’t want to share anything with anyone.
I want to be free. I need it just like a creature needs oxygen to be breathe. I feel like I’ve been breathing in carbon dioxide for way too long.
I’ve told myself over and over again that this is enough for me to starve myself of breath. Something so essential in a living creature that anyone else would be dead by now without it. I live on scraps of existence, affection, touch, affirmation, all of this for so long. I know how to live without the essentials so I’m scared to be reintroduced into what it means to have them.
Distance feels safe. It feels like a comforting blanket to wrap myself up in at night that won’t become threadbare and torn.
I’m aware I haven’t seen some of my closer guy friends for weeks and this doesn’t bother me in the least. Even though I’m unfeeling in such a way I also feel so intensely about how proud I am of myself. That I’m putting myself out there, going to experience new things, saying yes to new people so often.
I have never been what I am right now. It’s terrifying, wonderful, disconcerting, and so much more wrapped up in one. I’m prepared and horrendously afraid of taking a step in my life where I’ve never been before. I may end up risking everything that has made me comfortable, secure, and without worry.
It’s me jumping without a net in place to catch me and hoping my brain doesn’t splatter on reality’s ground.
I read this blogger’s writing and I do wonder what’s wrong with me. I question where my feminineness is. I used to care, fret myself into a worry ball of stress about losing people. I just counted the days until they were going to figure out I’m fucked up and they’d get out before being charged admission. I’m a circus show act where it’s free to watch until you realize that I’m actually not an act.
This is me. This is who I am, I am twisted, and gone through experiences you’d never imagine or wish to happen. I am a constant jester cheering people up and on. A clown with a mask painted to hide the scars deeply etched into her cheeks.
Sometimes I think to myself that I like the silence of people not contacting me. And that isn’t right because receiving a text, email, does touch the non-existent heart I have. Because I don’t think I’m worth enough for people to become invested in me. I think I’m a cheap game to entertain someone for a short while until they get bored and move on.
And, once they move on it doesn’t surprise me. Maybe that’s how I conquered my fear of abandonment. Secretly I want to be alone because then I don’t have to worry about hearing the door close when someone leaves my sideshow act of life.