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December 24, 2019

Rejection is weight lifting for my soul

Last night the Man I’m falling in love with rejected my sexual advances – again. What keeps me coming back? I don’t take it personally.

The pain felt like a jab to my heart and I cried my eyes out, but I let go of another layer of false consciousness and woke up more myself than I was the day before.

My friend Elie is impervious to my flirtations and earnest sexual advances. I find this intriguing, endearing, and frustrating. I am finishing up a self imposed blackout from sex and dating, so he’s really the perfect friend, and I’ve certainly relied as much on his self control as I have on mine in the last few months.

We have evolved together into a relationship that, while not absent of sexual tension and attraction, is rooted in our hearts. We work together, play together. My favorite is parallel play (before Elie, I thought this only applied to masturbation). I feel joyfully content when he sits on my couch scrolling and snoozing while I bake. It feels like a home I’ve never known, a movie that I watched and wanted to be in.

Last night we had an Ikea adventure, friends help friends practice prudence in Ikea. He picked me up after work. He is tired and hungry and I am bouncing off the walls, we are opposite energies.I made some effort to contain myself as I am on the verge of being a spaz. I had been wiping away thoughts of pressing my body up against his for most of the day, and now sitting next to him in the car, I struggle to restrain myself. This restraining of myself is a regular part of my relationship with Elie, sometimes it’s easy and I barely notice.

This was not one of those times.

We make our way into Ikea, him gliding along in his laid back way, me feeling a little like a bouncing Tigger. “Can I go into the As-is?” I ask in my slightly demure, childish way.

I double over with laughter at the look on his face.

He looks as if I’ve just asked him to shovel a pile of shit. I cherish these moments when I get on his nerves or he annoys me. I don’t take it personally when I bother him and I don’t love him any less when he gets on my nerves. I’m comforted  and relieved to know that my affection and even enamouration is not idealized. I love him for who he is, as he is.

We go through the Ikea maze and put things in the cart, take things out of the cart. I let him drive the stupid Ikea cart because he’s the guy and I like not having to be in control all the time. I have enough relationships in my life where I am the authority and the one in control. We hold hands and I like that, I love to be physically close to him, even just holding hands, I feel like I’m climbing into a big tree that is solid, safe and warm.

We get back to my house and I’m still wide awake and buzzing with energy. Elie heads for the couch, He’s so tempting to see him reclining on the couch with his feet up, just inviting me to come jump into his lap. I love the way he takes up the space. I am able to resist climbing on top of him only  long enough to make and eat dinner.

I go to him, and climb and right up, he is so much bigger than me, it’s easy to fit right on him, I push my body into his, filled with sensual desire to touch and be touched. He barely responds, but I can’t help myself, now that I’m this close to him and allowing the pleasure of desire to flow, I want more. I press into him, kissing him on his face, sliding my face along his, nuzzling into his neck, seeking any flesh to flesh contact I can find. I want to be careful to not push too hard into this intimate space, respecting his boundaries, I waiver on an imaginary line.

I feel a little pathetic and desperate, like a puppy left out in the cold, at the way I feel I am holding so much back while he’s barely affected at what feels like me throwing myself at him.

I make a move to get up, it only takes a slight pull of his hands to get me to stay. I know he’s conflicted and distracted. I know he’s attracted to me and has a desire to be close to me, but I don’t think he’s ready for what I have to offer.I finally decide that I must get up for my own sanity.I go in the other room, feeling slightly frustrated, thinking I should probably get him to leave so I can eat ice cream, watch TV and masturbate.

He calls from the other room “what are you doing?” his way of wanting me to come back. . I go sit next to him. I am filled to my edges with the wanting and don’t want to resist anymore, in a moment I’m on top of him again, this time more urgent, suppressing a wimper of desperation. This desperation of desire to be as close to him as possible. I feel overwhelmed with the craving, needing, wanting to feel my skin next to his. The only thought I hear in my head is please. I press my forehead into his, willing my overwhelming energy into him. I’m sure I have enough energy for both of us. I want him to feel as good as I do at this moment and  if he did, I would get what I want – which is more. This desire is not for penetration, it’s for the Love that I feel for this man to be expressed, to merge with him.

Still, barely a response from him. He is not taking my excess energy and I’m not going to get what I want. There’s a little voice inside my head that thinks “fuck me or get out”. This  is the voice of my addiction, the part that always wants more and now. Rejection wakes this little beast up, and she prepares to tantrum. This little beast is not any part of Truth or Love in this situation. I take notice of her, and remember that I am responsible for my behavior and happiness. I get up, to move away from this man who does not want me in this moment.I  practice Asana and Pranayama to circulate and release the excess energy in my body. I go outside to clear my head. Moving and breathing are my medicine, my solution.

When I come back to him, he explains why he’s not responding. We are sitting in the dark, he doesn’t open his eyes or look at me as he shares with me some things that are going on with him physically and emotionally that make him unable to be present with my current need. I am torn in my head between compassion and rage. The little beast on the verge of a tantrum squeezing her fists, face turning red and steam coming out of her ears is listening along with my true self. I feel little guilty for my selfish desires. I wonder if I’m trying to use him for sex, but I quickly dismiss this thought. I’ve had plenty of opportunity recently for sex and dating and just have not been interested because I am so into this Man who is right in front of me and doesn’t want me.

He finally looks me in the eye ands says “you understand?” I can only nod as the boulder of rejection and disappointment lays into my chest. I hold back tears as I comfort the little beast who is now kicking and pounding her fists on the inside of my heart. She doesn’t know the difference between rage and disappointment.

He hugs me goodbye and I struggle to be in the embrace, not wanting to be too close, because it hurts a little now, not comforting. I know intellectually that this rejection is  not personal, but it feels very personal. I know intellectually that his behavior is about him, my self centeredness makes me believe it’s about me. My self-centeredness creates the  belief that if I was better (insert anything different than what I am – younger, brunette, funnier, deeper, cooler, etc) he would want me and I would get what I want.

“Are you ok?” he asks, standing at the door. I nod again, biting my lip to hold back the tears. I know if I cry, he will want to stay and comfort me.

“I’m feeling you are not ok” of course he does, because that’s who is.

I don’t want him to stay. I want him to go. I want to be alone and cry, not from shame or embarrassment, but because this part of the journey is for me alone. Journeying into Truth is a personal, sometimes lonely, path, much of it must be travelled alone, and this night I know is one of those times.

I squeak out “I’m ok”, and I am. I’m always ok. I’ve survived a lot in my life and a little disappointment is not going to kill me or break me.

He leaves and I sit on my couch in the dark and cry. I have a little fantasy that he will come back and passionately kiss me and strip my clothes off. I laugh at the silliness of it and grateful to be amused by my own ridiculous mind and life.

I do not eat ice cream or watch TV.

Instead I notice. Peeling away the feeling that he rejected me. I notice the weight of rejection in my chest, I notice the stab of disappointment in my belly. I notice my thoughts moving toward escaping into someone else, trying to run away from this uncomfortable experience. I consider masturbating, but at this stage of menopause and after a lifetime of masturbating, it’s become only about the orgasm and a little boring. My desire for Elie is not about the orgasm, it’s the longing for flesh connection, the  exchange of pleasure.

I write and remind myself that it’s ok to not always get what I want. In fact many times I have gotten everything I wanted, then had to pray for removal of those people, situations or things.

I am on a spiritual journey of awakening to Truth. This rejection peels off a layer of false identity; a long held belief that my value was solely my ability to attract sex. It’s sticky, resistant, and it hurts, this rejection and simultaneous awakening, like peeling a band aid that’s been on too long. This wound must be exposed to heal; it must breathe and ooze and weep, it’s ugly and hard to look at.

This old lie, this outdated belief dies in the light of exposure and I am healed.

I go to bed, grateful for another layer of illusion gone. I wake full of love for life, ready to continue my Journey into Truth.

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