Wednesday, Feb. 25, 2004 - 6:50 p.m.
Cost of the War in Iraq
WARNING!!!! if you know me personally, you may read my diary, but if you do, you take the chance of hearing things you don't want to know, misunderstanding what I've written and being hurt by it. If you are unsure if it is ok to read, save yourself and me the grief and heartache, and ask first!!! Please note that this is a DIARY, ie my subjective feelings, hearsay, suppositions, and outpourings of ranting of the moment. It does not represent objective news, the whole of what I think of a topic or someone, or even a thought-out representation of any of the above. Keep that in mind. Thanks. * Here is a Diary Etiquette Read Me.
A Letter To OB
An entry for ob.
Ob, you are right. I am lovable. That is the dark fears of the bottom of my soul, not what I know is true. And yes, you did not "convince yourself that what you felt seemed like love" or whatever you said... you indeed did love me. And perhaps still do.
And I loved you. Very much. Enough to want you to move here to Canada to be with me. Or to travel and spend half my time or more in San Fran to be with you.
We loved and trusted each other. That is where you got your ob moniker from. Not because you were suppressing disgust, but because you felt so at ease with me you let me in the way you let almost no one in. How many times did I hear from you "you know me!!"
We shared fun times... thus you calling me your fun friend. My nickname was not "drama queen". Not at all. We were calm and relaxed together. You fell asleep on my shoulder, we read books quietly in cafés and on the BART. We took photos and laughed and danced. We conspired in fun outfits together against the het geeks hitting on us and the religious kooks at the end of your street.
I drove you to work and quietly worked at your home to your music all day. I shopped to buy food to make dinner. I picked you up at work, we ate, watched tv, rented videos that we both loved, and made love in a myriad of ways. I encouraged you to get training and helped you with corncob, reading letters out loud in "her accent" to you. I expressed concern that your Ma'am didnt call you often, that you would miss her. I was supportive until you started saying you wanted out, you weren't happy. That goes for the Mme, the job, moving etc.
We inspired each other. You loved how I stood up for things, and you always said "you are right you know, don't apologize, don't say you are sorry" when I apologized that I had ranted or gotten angry at an unjust stupid situation. That was not creating false acceptance. That was not only true acceptance, that was admiration. I thank you for it. It helps me to accept myself, and find other people who like ME, not put up with me. Only after you had moved and there was a conflict between your pulls to your new home with your roomate/Ma'am group that you started to separate from me, and put me down.
I know how you look when you are disgusted or upset or unhappy or conflicted. Sometimes I didnt know what you were conflicted about, but it was visible in how you held yourself, your face, your fluctuating statements, your fidgeting fingers. You cannot throw things at me now and have me believe that you just barely tolerated me all those months.
You had a "safeword" because I noticed, myself, your loss of words when I went on about something I was passionate about... and laughed and said "really, I am like a preacher in church who has a theme for the day... he doesnt expect the audience to say anything except 'amen'..." so you could say "amen" when you were at a loss for words... and I would know I was "preaching"... and I would stop. And you said it, and I took note and changed tone. It was suggested by me, like a good Top would notice that the bottom needed a safeword for something when it got intense. The existence of a safeword indicates a healthy situation where both have honest communication and a way to change directions if either becomes uncomfortable. This is exactly the opposite from having a situation where you are stuck in something you cannot get out of, where the other person is not noticing how you feel, not caring, not modifying their behaviour, or giving you tools to communicate. We had an incredibly healthy relationship for speaking our truths. Except when you were afraid that telling me the truth would lose me. Ie not telling me you had decided to chose your Ma'am and go to San Fran after Xmas.
That was more an indication of you wanting to KEEP me as well as anything else you wanted to do in your life, rather than a fear of confrontation. If you had said "goodbye I don't want to see you anymore" there wouldnt have been confrontation, there would have been me staying home in Montreal instead of continuing to be in your life... ie you "suppressed the truth" at times due to a fear of loss, not a fear of confrontation. When I am noticing I am ranting, and say "oh, sorry, I was ranting, I'm sorry, I apologize", which is what I did over and over, it would be actually NONconfrontational to agree with me and go, "yeah, you were ranting, I accept your apology".On the other hand to tell me NOT to apologize, that I was right, was actually disagreeing with me. No, you were not afraid of confrontation with me, you were with the people you look up to and are afraid of.
That Friday night at your place with your Ma'am it WAS fear of confrontation since there would've been a disobeying of sorts of your Ma'am's directives, confronting what she was asserting, and a possible fight between me and her.
Note what a drama queen I was. I kept my mouth shut, went away and cried alone.
I spent a day, and then three days, then a week, then ten days, then fourteen days visiting you. Not because I was drama and you disliked me. If that had been so, I simply wouldnt have been there. I had to travel a long way and a long time to be in your space, on your invite. You werent stuck with me, like a wife in an abusive marriage, whose husband is in the house, and she has to keep the peace. No, you actively wanted me there. Before I even got home you sent me emails that you missed me. That you cared deeply about me. That you were trying to get me to stay in your life. I have phone messages from day one. Emails. Ecards. Because it was mutual love, admiration and attraction. Relaxed fun and letting down our boundaries and borders. Support and love. At work, in social situations, in restaurants, at home, in bed, in Detroit, in Montreal, when you moved to San Fran.
I was the one you talked to about your fears and dislikes and disappointments, while you were trying to impress the others. The one who knew you kicked things when you got stressed in the morning, who offered to organise your closet for you to make that easier, who knew you stressed when you made a mistake and gave you a time limit for stressing. Who knew you walk alone at night and are sad and lonely, instead of the happy face you put on for others. Who knew you resented being on call when you tiled the bathroom, and that you wanted someone to touch your body.
I have always cared how you feel, and wanted to make you feel safe, listened to, and loved. I think I did a good job. Near the end, once you had stood me up once, and said you were "negotiating" and wanted to win back my love and my collar one moment, then making exclusive rules with someone whom you told me yourself didnt make you happy the next moment, I got pretty fed up and frustrated, and that came out as shouting. Not surprising after your fluctuating confusion since Dec. But when you said "don't shout" I stopped shouting and apologized. I did the best I could in a crazy back and forth push and pull situation.
But I could never be the dictating domme to look up to that you seem to need now. Also I cannot be one of three if it means I am pushed out and punished by those others when they are greedy or jealous. I will not be disrespected so that you can lay yourself in adoration at the feet of others. I have never used you, or your creativity to advance myself with others, and I expect the same from you.
Even at the end, when I called for your birthday for instance, I did not want you to feel bad and good at the same time so only said happy birthday. When I called about the photos I was sending your Mom, it was to tell you so you didnt find out from her. YOU didnt ask me not to send things, *I* asked you how you felt. That was a nicety on my part, not something I needed to do. I shouldve just sent them. I have noticed that you have not asked me (except for the post-nasty-Christmas email) about anything you have done. You just do it.
And I called back your mom immediately to say I wasnt sending the packages. I still have not sent them... they are on top of the set of drawers next to my computer... I can see them now. I did send her a book and a card, as I told her I would when she was disappointed that I wasnt sending the pile of photos. That is only fair, and has nothing to do with you. I also sent her two photos I took myself. I don't think that is exactly a sin, nor disrespecting what you said about the pile of photos. I am sorry that you had to write me a nasty "don't contact me" on Christmas. It wasnt very nice for the first contact you made to me since fucking me around.
I really wish you had sent my stuff back. That you hadnt uploaded those pics when I barely knew you. You know, I don't think people care that much if you DONT send them, if you spent hours putting it together with the intention to send them. Ask how many people would like on their wedding night to find out that on their wedding day their fiancee had actually written a love letter to someone else, with a proposal and ring and all, but "DIDNT SEND IT"... uh duh. Or if you discovered that an employee of yours had taken photos of all the paperwork, with an indexed letter written up to the competitor, right after you fired him for theft. Would you really not care that he had never actually sent the photos and letter, or would you see it as yes, you fired him for theft, but even the first month on the job he was planning to use his employee's access to betray your enterprise?? Think about it. Think about how you would feel if you found in my drawer, a sex fantasy letter together with naked photos of you topless I had spent hours putting together for someone else I had the hots for, and then stood you up for once you had accepted my invite to Montreal. Would you really be ok with that? Or might you not feel incredibly betrayed and angry. I would like to add that uploading something to a server like Geocities IS no longer private, such as uploading to your computer's harddrive, and contravened both my legal right to privacy (since the photos were taken during private sex in a home, and not for publication for instance), AND their usage guidelines. They could very well see that that page was not linked to the rest of your website, as well as they would be able to see your stats as to whether others had seen it or not, and they still saw fit to immediately stop your service. I guess if I am a drama queen, so is the management of Geocities. I expected they would just warn you. They were obviously disturbed enough by contravention of their policies to take down the whole site rather than tell me to chill. I am sorry that you see nothing wrong with your actions when I trusted you implicitly, and instead attack me for my reaction.
Finally, about forwarding something nonpublic from your website to your roommate and those two dommes. First, if you came across something indicating I might take my life, I would hope the hell you would pass it on to the three people in my life who were closest to me. The worst that would happen if I gave a false alarm, is that you are angry at me. The worst that would happen if it were not, and I had done nothing, is that you are dead. I think it is pretty clear to me, that the choice is obvious. Caring enough about someone to call an alarm to help them is not drama, offing yourself is. Who would deal with it if someone killed themself? Their roommate and loved ones. And don't think it doesnt happen. My brother's dead. My friend's sister is dead. Sugaslice knows a guy who was found by his roommate this past weekend, hanging from his bunkbed in university residence. He's dead.
When someone is owned, and write that their body is owned by that owner... who should know if they are thinking of offing themselves and their body? I would think, their owner. The one that they write at the top of their list who is important to them, to whom they have handed themselves over in trust. I believe I alerted the correct people. If you cannot tell your dommes about your emotional state when you are self-destructive, your relationship with them is a farce. I am not sorry that I was concerned that since 1) you had lost me, 2) you had quarrelled with H before fest and 3) you would leave corncob at fest and thus be alone with almost no friends on getting home, when confronted with a hint you had been not just depressed, but suicidally so and keeping it a secret in the previous year, that I alerted the three people who needed to know. Esp. since I was no longer there to leave you poems and upbeat reassuring messages. BTW, if you don't want people to look at your things, you should put them someplace you have not given out passwords to, you should label fantasies to dommes that and not the names of mutual friends, not share your personal letters so that I think it is ok to read letters to said people, and not say you have nothing to hide, it's ok to look at any photos, etc in your drawers. I can understand you feel violated, but certainly less than I do. And I am glad you are still alive. Let it be known that even people who are so angry they won't speak to you care that much.
I am sorry that it didnt work out. I am sorry that you were not happier with your move, and hope you are doing better now. I understand you must go through being angry at me.
But your anger is misplaced, and your revising our relationship and our love is incomprehensible. I am the hurt party here, not you. You owe me an apology. Maybe one day I will get it.
In the meantime, I hope you are doing well. I am doing very well. I thoroughly enjoyed my trip to San Francisco, I am proud of myself, I am doing good work, and having social successes. I am going through the last bits of breakup heartbreak, and will spend some time alone until I feel strong within myself again. Which will happen, as it always has.
I am fine with you reading my diary if it helps you. I am not responsible if it doesnt, since you have come here of your own free will, and can at any time stop reading or not come back. I have never sent you a mean email or other contact since Sept, nor imposed my anger upon your space. The anger is there, and the hurt, and if you come here to read it, it is only the truth.
As Sleepyzoe wrote me, I have never put you down or insulted you in my diary. I have mostly spoken of the things I loved and missed. Of my pain and sadness and anger. I have written the facts of what you did, not attacked how you spoke, or walked, how you looked, your body shape, your personality or your personal habits. And I don't intend to.
Even the "comment about the ass" you "cannot believe"... it is just a fact. They always say, check out if it is envy or jealousy. See if you are upset at someone for something you would like to do or have... and then see if you can do or get it yourself. I can be a good Top. I can perform. But even if I did great burlesque, it would not be "cutting edge" like H's... since she is doing something that hasn't been done... which is making fat women feel sexy and good about flaunting it. I cannot do that without being fat. And I will never allow my ass to get large enough to be called fat. H naturally has incredibly wide hips. She doesnt have to eat all day to get that way. She just is. And she has accepted it, and celebrated it and used it, working hard to build something that helps other people. I admire her for that, but I cannot do that. I would dislike my own body, hate carrying all that weight, hate how I looked in the clothes, my feet would hurt more than they do now, and my knees and heart would just give up... no. I dislike being overweight, and I would imagine I would hate being fat enough to be a fat burlesque dancer. And so I will not ever allow myself to get so fat. That is just me. Not an insult to you, to her, or to anyone fat. Just a fact.
And yes, I was happy to see that I had more googles. I don't think that is stupid. I got those googles from my hard work, not from for instance, having been hit by a car and thus been in the news. That is the other fact of my statement. I fail to see how comparing the two numbers of googles is anything to say "I cannot believe" about... it really is a quite natural thing to do after breaking up with someone... to try to feel good against the accomplishments and talents of the ex's preferred one. Very very normal, thanks. Not a reason to call me names.
I hope you get what you need in life. Like I said, I had an incredible wonderful year with you. Any tears that came were from fear of you moving away and losing you... obviously a very valid fear.
We had fun, and love, sharing and excitement, support and giggling, and sex and vices. I will continue to think of the good times and the amazing time in Detroit with you. The hookah and the Ganeshes, the Marys and the crosses. HD and the Bead Hut, the portobello mushroom bake, and the smoke in the stained-glass windows. The guns in the steam, the wigs at work as mystery shopper, Holly Hobby in the produce section, and going to church. Holding your hand, and your blue toenails when we went kayaking. Listening to mass at St-Josephs here in Montreal, and rushing around to find you clove cigarettes. Drinking buttershots and eating guacamole. Looking through recipe books for vegetarian recipes while you slept. Blue lights in your bedroom. White tiles in the bath. Making photo albums for you and going out to take photos for a surprise while you were gone. All the great restaurants you took me to. Finding Middle Eastern food at Ramadan. You doing my fingernails at the airport while we had a Corona. Waking you up in your tent that first time at fest. Dancing with you at Day Stage on that Sunday, having you tell me I made you laugh more than anyone at fest that year. The first time you told me how you feel about flooring. Making me squirt across the room. Cutting my back with white gown and candles. How our bodies fit together when we slept. The first time you asked if you could take your clothes off. Drinking wine at Fisherman's wharf and watching the kids taking pics. Drinking Durian tapiocca. The messages from you on my machine about going to IKEA for the first time, and hoping for a goodnight tuckin.
We had an amazing incredible time. The memories are amazing. I have all your presents, the box you made for my birthday, the treasure chest, the photos from the foot of my bed. The albums from our cross country trip. The memories of driving down that scary slope into Austin texas. You standing with me, and us just together. Feeling loved and spoiled. And I will have a very hard time finding someone whom I love so ever much as you.
Hugs and tears.
Get well soon.
"Good people are good because they've come to wisdom through failure."
All courtesy of SquirrelX
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Goodbye Michael. May your next life be kinder to you. - Thursday, Jun. 25, 2009
*inspired by Chaosdaily