Honesty That Doesn't Take a Genius in The Secret Writings of Eros: Book 3- Fallout, Pain, Acceptance, and Perseverance

So, this “revelation” or whatever isn’t going to be as profound as it could be because the “deep meaning” thing is pretty obvious.

That said… as I am writing honestly, I understand the urge to judge. The rush to rush to a space and shit all over what someone is writing. And I can’t stop you from doing that. But if it helps any- just know that I’m the kind of person who automatically judges myself and shits all over what I’m writing. It is an active exercise that takes concentration, effort, and energy for me to simply write, reflect, and let it sit. Even saying that, I can feel an almost uncontrollable urge to judge myself or qualify what I write due to internal criticism. SO I’ll try my best to just write and let the writing be what counts.

I am at a work conference this week. Previous work conferences were ever only shared with my boss and my now ex-wife. Doing the Spring Conference last year was… tough. I was very mindful of what I was doing to make sure I spent active time reading, taking myself out to dinner, doing some of the events that I’d done while I was married. Plus the attempt at self-guided cry therapy. Since then, I’ve done a shitload of more theater, gotten a different job, and moved to an entirely new town. This conference is the first time I’ve actually had co-workers along with me. So there’s lots of good things and social time and connecting… for what it’s worth. But it’s the same story as ever.

After dinner, I come back to the room at 8:00. I check my e-mail- empty. I check my text messages- none. I check my voice messages- none. I check my social media- quiet. Which is good. I’m not one of these 20-somethings that needs to be involved in six different text conversations at all times in order to keep my personal demons or anxieties at bay.

But… I do feel a genuine, deep down, deep in my soul longing for connection that isn’t there. It’s hard to sleep. It’s hard to just be here in the hotel room calmly and peaceful in mindfulness and shit. There’s just… that feeling. That want or need or… longing that lives in my chest. I want… intimacy. And yes, while it would certainly be nice to know what it is like to get kissed in the last 630 days (at a minimum) that isn’t the intimacy I’m talking about. Which… when I think about it… is something of a problem. The “intimacy” I had with my ex-wife? Well… there was sex… sometimes… and there was sharing nerdy activities… there was a mutual history.... and it was the most intimate relationship I’ve had in some ways. But it was full of just… awful things. I realized today how I went from “Expressing my emotions freely” to how I feel lately. Every time I tried to discuss a problem, a negative emotion, anything that challenged Nancy or might require change was responded to with her flying into a fit, screaming, and stomping off. So the “expressive” young man turned into the guy who can barely voice his emotions because the negative reinforcement fucking worked.

So, last night, I was struggling to sleep. Feeling just… isolated. Cold. A little emotionally scared. Maybe vulnerable. And it sounds pathetic but… I didn’t have anyone to text… anyone to talk to… anyone to engage with or connect to. And I realized that, in a lot of the really important ways, that wasn’t just because it was “late at night in Central Standard Time.” That when I woke up the next day, there still wouldn’t be anyone to text, anyone to talk to, anyone to engage with or connect to. Not really. Frankly, it’s why I write so much into Prosebox these days. It’s the closest thing I’ve got to connecting with other people these days.

So, as one does, I manufactured an emotion, an experience, a moment. I started reading some erotica. I had the TV on (Adult Swim) and started reading some First Person POV erotica. And it provided a distraction. But, as ever, I judge myself for that, too.
I’m a 38 year old man… at a work conference… jerking it to a sexy story I’m reading… because I’m lonely and missing the feeling of connection. So there’s the first layer of judgment… you’re a grown man on a work trip; doing this is pathetic. Then there was the second layer of judgment… you don’t like how you look at all and can’t trust most matches on dating apps… not like that isn’t supported by experience, every match on a dating app has either been a scam or a 58 year old woman with no education or occupation hoping that a short fat 38 year old attorney is the answer to her problems.... which… isn’t a great feeling. THEN I have the 3rd layer of judgment… there is actually a woman under 45 that is interested in me… but I can’t return that. I’m not interested in her. And it bothers me, honestly. I am not a man with options. Why should I be so picky? And, of course, the answer is obvious. It’s not that I’m picky; it’s that I am 38… I’ve had all sorts of relationships… and even just going through Nancy, Victoria, and Essen… I’ve learned that I don’t want to just… accept what is available. I want something that means something to me… that matters to me… that has attraction on a physical, emotional, and mental level. So, there’s that feedback loop. “If you’re not interested; don’t force it” leads to “But I don’t have other options” leads to “Then you’re going to have to keep pushing forward” and… the circular, unproductive discussion therein.

So for someone actively trying to not be so hard on myself or so judgmental; I’m not exactly doing great. It’s just… in some ways, I don’t feel like I’ve grown at all since I was 13. And then I wrote a whole paragraph about the other stuff, professional stuff, that is impacting all of that… but then I deleted it. Because it wasn’t even my own judgments flooding my head after writing that. It was all the criticisms I’ve gotten used to from other people since the divorce. Because remember.... despite the entire existence of humanity establishing that personal relationships and meaningful connections are not only important but so important that (true story) they are as correlated to healthy living and longevity as not smoking.... remember being unsuccessful with making friends, finding dates, or “getting over it” means there’s something deeply wrong with you.

I want to go to sleep. I want to wake up with the energy and engagedness to have “my life taken care of” whatever that means. I want to be at least a littlelike my Prosebox friends who have sexy flings, or budding relationships, or returning lovers, or… shit… even an awkward make out session or a MeetCute that ended after getting coffee because she had to jet off into the sunset never to be seen again.... I don’t know, man. I’m just… I’m tired of not having people close to me. I’m tired of additional years and years of celibacy and no touching. I admit… the years of no touching isn’t as bad when it isn’t part of a doomed marriage. But it still isn’t great. And the actual inspiration… the wanting intimacy and emotional closeness… that isn’t great or doing well either.