rock the boat

DSCN2184So, here I am, Sam, writing a journal entry here on my WordPress like any other ordinary time — except this time I’m not single.  I’m in a relationship: unavailable, taken, involved, surrendered.  The value of this information is mainly due to the fact that I haven’t been in a “conventional” relationship since I was about 18 years old, which only lasted a couple of months, I think.  That was a bad experience and I always reflected upon it negatively because the guy was a negative person — because I never understood what was his purpose in my life!?  He was just awful.  But, that’s so irrelevant now.  This has been a natural process for me so far.  It’s so much of what I wanted and more.  I am not the hopeless romantic type, but I guess I do have the Carrie Bradshaw of Kansas City in me —  navigating the dating scene with analysis, calculations, and calibrations, ultimately where I treat interactions like life lessons that flow and flux, and the end result ends up written in a journal or written on a personal blog.  Expressed in some way.  Expressing the experience becomes more important than having the experience: than letting it occur, happen in space and time.

Being single, therefore, alone, has conditioned me to be an observer: to observe everything I do and everything everyone else does.  To observe my interactions before experiencing them on my own.  Observation became the key element to how I perceived the world and lived my life — and while I feel intelligent and more worldly with this behavior — the detriments of it are severe, cold, and relentless.  Calculating the world around me and turning it into a game derived from fantasy and delusions trapped me in a mental space with no forward momentum: just observing time and space instead of being inside of it and letting it become livable — my life now has life, I feel reawakened.  Invigorated to explore it more than I’ve ever explored my isolation and analyses that render me to how I define myself, and how I continuously retrieve my sense of self.

Being that this is new to me, it’s still definitely  a matter that occurred with its own timing, and I know the truth of this.  His name is Dominic and he’s a tad older than me, but not by too much.  It feels like we’re similar ages, at least, so I never think of it.  I met him unexpectedly and found myself really intrigued by him.  I am selective.  I am beyond picky, I am beyond choosy or any other synonym you can attribute to my selection process in potential partners.


Like many people, especially guys of my age & demographic, I have ongoing, perpetual intimacy issues — I am comfortable with monogamous relationships, I am just such an extremist when it comes to individuality.  I do not like when couples become the same thing as an entity — I’ve just seen that as time goes on, people easily lose their sense of self in their relationships.  Sense of self is vital — critical — imperative.  I do not believe you obtain your sense of self through your vocation to identify yourself completely with another person.  I already tend to over-identify with everyone around me, so I hang on tightly to my fundamental beliefs.  I value autonomy — to govern oneself.  I value solitude — to solidify oneself in a private setting.  Sometimes, I even value the practice of self-involvement so that a person is capable of understanding their placement in the world with their ability to process and internalize their perception of reality.

I am not a late bloomer, but I am definitely not experienced with stuff I’ve witnessed my entire life.  My parents are still married, they are not divorced.  It’s a rare matter.  They’ve had previous failed marriages, but found each other in their thirties, and decided to have me — and the three of us make a tripod structure of a decent, small family.  My parents value the things that I do: privacy, autonomy, sense of self, self-reliance, and other behaviors that avoid co-dependence and potential loss of self-preservation.  I am lucky to not have a belief system, religious or political, forced upon me to identify with.  I am very, very different from them — but I highly value the essential, fundamental aspects that I grew up with.  I’m partly a product of my environment, but mostly a product from myself.  Both concepts are entirely possible.  At least, that’s what I choose to believe.

So far I do not feel swallowed up in this with him.  It’s complicated, yet also quite simple.  I do not allow myself to analyze the relationship, I do not try to analyze him.  That’s typically my first action in these situations — but I feel that’s not a behavior I want to explore any longer.  Sometimes, I think I remained single for so long because I do not really like my own behavior.  I don’t like how uncomfortable, standoffish, and despondent I can be most of the time — but mostly I don’t like how I’m too hard to know.  I’m layered with sensitivity and anxieties — I have one foot in the present moment and another foot in the brief lapse of time that just occurred, which my brain will begin to fixate on.  Being too internal like this effects the ability to relate to me because I am already so disconnected.  I can be self-involved, yet I believe that I ultimately thrive in empathy. I find a balance between myself, my interpersonal happenings, and my reality which serves as a place for me to both project and interpret with my sensory mechanisms — all for myself, which I respond to only if I allow it.

Basically, I have a protective shell that is condemned to many as my “shyness.”  I struggle to let myself feel some things that are emotional — whether it be pleasure or pain — and if I allow it to get to a place where I react to it.  Most of the time I am disaffected by my surroundings.  Pettiness, drama, immaturity, lack of intelligence, and constant low socioeconomic environments make me just shut down and I just feel nothing but irritation, which is exhausting.  I become limber, numb at times — disgusted with the stupid stuff that I’m forced to associate with and somehow accept it as a part of my life, when I really don’t want to.  It makes me sound like a snob, but I choose wisely in regard to what sort of interaction I participate in.  I do not waste my energy on someone badmouthing me or whatever, because it’s just another reminder of how dumb everything is.  So.  When I uncover something authentic that causes affect upon me — sometimes against my objective will — I really become intrigued by it, and I let it happen.  I simplify things by letting in the good, the positive.  Otherwise, I work hard to reject everything else.

I’ve never said “I love you” to a guy before.  Never even had the urge to do so.  Casual sex is how I learned to function in a detached, tender, sad, and disaffected manner in which it feels socially acceptable, therefore social rules become what I abide by: I don’t abide by my own rules governed by my autonomy.  I realize this now.  I realize there’s more beneath the surface of what I’ve been trying to crack for so long.

When I said this to him it felt so raw and true that it made me realize that life is about that exact thing — what is raw and true, so much to the point it makes you physically react.  I became so emotional with my delivery of this, because it came straight from my gut, and everywhere behind and beneath my heart.  My intentions with that saying was wholehearted — like a drop of elixir of my pure, true self.  No more could I hold back anything any longer — love conquers all inhibitions and sees through all of the bullshit we’re so conditioned to live within.  Honesty at times can feel dangerous.  I felt like saying that was dangerous — because it is.  There’s a reason why I’ve waited almost 24 years now to ever experience that physical emotion, the inertia of its impact, the unyielding nature of its validity.

I am not a sap, I am actually quite an objectivist at heart — not entire an Ayn Rand convert but some of her tactics feel naturally acquired in my lifetime — and therefore I pretty much view with my eyes an objective lens; and my objectivity cannot be compromised because it feels so right, so accurate — versus operating & functioning solely & only on my basic feelings and distorted perception of the moment.  Basically, I try to  not fuck it up.  I try to see the moment through an objective clarity — and then I let it in.  It’s analysis, I guess.  I don’t analyse what was communicated between my boyfriend and myself.

I don’t analyse him, nor our interaction, nor what occurs behind closed doors, or in all private moments.  I treasure all of it for that place behind and under my throbbing heart, and ultimately, to my gut — where I feel everything there is to possibly feel.  And now I’ve felt this.  And so far, everything is just fine.  I’m still here, I’m still myself, I am still a separate being from my relationship.  I could never be intertwined & coaxed into an entity with someone because no one would be able to handle the handful that I am — so, there would be no desire for that.

Space, breathing space, head space, body space, emotional space — all of the space is necessary, not meaningless or even perhaps selfish.  The space I’m describing is like negative space that draws the contour lines that make up the figure: it’s necessary space that creates the structure.  Negative space, in art (painting, drawing, charcoal, etc) is noticing this space in an image and how it functions inverted — is critical when understanding the full image, the big picture, the grand scheme of things.  So, I am lucky to embark on a self-selected relationship that is built upon importance space that provides us structure and also keeps us at a perfect distance that allows us to be individuals — to be separate but sharing the same image.

That way, if the image gets broken, it can be mended  to fold back onto myself, and the line structure changes to support the image of myself that I project.  Stability comes from within yourself — I’ve learned this the hard way with my struggles with bipolar disorder.  Balance is something that can be extremely difficult to establish, sometimes you’re so far off course that it’s going to take some major remodeling to get it back the way it was, and that takes time.  Lately I’ve learned that for myself: major things like balance take time.  I’m not going to get balance right away.  I wouldn’t know what to do with it!  I’m so accustomed to being in an uncomfortable, unbalanced state that I just do my best to navigate in whatever condition I’m in.

My mood no longer controls everything.  It controls a lot, but not everything.  I am not in charge — my insides are in charge.  Not entirely the insides I love so much in my skull — the the insides that I call my guts, my inner-workings, my intuition below and above my belly.  My heart beat generates a blood-jet of life that works hard every waking moment.  These places are protected, sacred, safe.  Places that exist within myself — no matter what.  I cannot share these places with anyone, but they will tag along for the ride.  The ride: because I just ride, ride, just ride.  I just ride.  With everything I can carry.  Weight distributed in all proper places.  Calibrating into a state of balance, a state of stability.  Not an immediate reaction or interaction.  Just something that happens.  Involuntarily. Like breathing, and breathing in my own space, shared in the same bed in a sun-lit bedroom of a Thursday morning.


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