Getting Closure

Tonight I've been feeling rather heroic in that I might have finally closed the door on this bullshit annoying crap with D. I don't even feel like using his name anymore because he shares the same name with someone who is much more spectacular than he is, so I'd rather not confuse the issue.

Generally speaking, feelings don't just turn off with a switch and my emotions are a testament to that fact. Just when I think I have a handle on something *BOOM* something happens and I am leaking emotions out from where I thought a door had closed. Tonight I did something that looks stupid on the surface, but in reality provided that kind of "closure" that people generally seek when a relationship ends; I read back over all of our emails, IMs and text messages - yes I kept them ALL.
But they actually turned out to be a blessing in disguise.

When you're in the middle of an argument and the emotions are running high, it's harder to get a larger perspective of things that are said.The upside of IM is that you have a transcript of all of it to review later when you're cooled down. As I read through Mr. Wonderful's messages, I realized what a complete and total TOOL he was. There were things he said to me that I am in AWE that I didn't hand him his ass and show him the door.

What this did for me, though, is show me that things were not the rose garden that I glamorized. Things never really are. We just dress our memories the way we would like them to be. I'm so glad I went back and opened up the reality of what actually WAS with him because it was moody, short-tempered, cynical, selfish and just plain rude sometimes. His moments of actual sincere kindness were hard to find. Maybe that's why I lived for them so much, because when they came they were like water to someone crawling through the desert.

At some point, I wrote a blog about difficult men, expounding on their merits. Now I realize that I was a total IDIOT. A difficult man is just DIFFICULT. Nothing more.

I think it's time to get honest with myself about D. and what exactly rocked me so hard about this guy. This is raw, so bear with me, but it needs exploration and exposition in order for me to just boot it's ugly ass out the door.

One of David's biggest fears was that I only wanted him for sex. He made the observation that we spent an AWFUL lot of time talking about sex, which we did. I made the observation that, for an aggressive, athletic, football-playing man, he was awfully prudish. That wasn't popular. But in reality, a large part of his fear was, in fact, true. I was totally enamored of his body, of his sex appeal, of the way he looked and unfortunately that was imbued with overwhelming desire that was decades old. I can still remember 16-year-old D., at six feet tall, wearing his football uniform. I claim no immunity from being swept away by the cliche, the hot-looking captain of the football team, straight-A student, and all-around nice guy. Yep, as a teenager he had it ALL. He could have had me at the drop of a hat, all he needed to do was say something.

In any case, piling all of that history on top of present-day insanity didn't do me any good at all in the "calming down" department. I could have possibly accompanied him on a "real" relationship, but part of me was still too hung up on fucking him, and part of me felt like I had won some sort of prize. That's sick, I know. I can only guess when there is that kind of longing and it happens in such a developmental stage of life, it becomes sort of a permanent feature of your life. It would explain why my heart did a little dance when I heard from him the first time. In fact, I don't think it was my heart that was dancing, I think the dancing was going on much lower down.

So I guess he WAS right. I wasn't really crazy about him after all, I just wanted to fuck him, and fuck him some more. And if we finished fucking, then I would be happy to fuck him again.

The unfortunate part of it is that I developed feelings for him. Strong ones. But how that all breaks down I have no idea, which feelings were sexual, which were loving. I don't know. All I know is I wasn't happy unless he was in my bed or I was in his. I enjoyed spending time with him, but really I just wanted to fuck him. And I wanted to retain the memory of having fucked him. He, in my mind, was always the one that got away. Sometimes I still close my eyes and hear my mind mutter, "I can't believe I fucked D." I had him so built up in my memory that I was in perpetual awe of him.

That's not love, that's raw, primal lust. D. was right, I wanted him so much because I was so attracted to him; unfortunately, I fell in love in the process. Lucky for me he was so nasty to me; it broke the spell he had me under. Maybe now that I no longer see him as exuding some golden glow, I will finally, finally be able to make an honest effort at moving forward.