OK, I was wrong. I didn't need to worry about not being touched for very long. I've just been poked and prodded by my gynaecologist. Not quite the experience I was dreaming of... No candles, no Marvin Gaye.
I also got thinking. How could I ever allow myself to be touched again? I'm so busy being a little Bob the Builder and putting up walls around me to make sure that no-one will ever get through; that no-one will ever have the chance to hurt me like this again. All this just paints a very bleak picture of my future. Love constitutes such a huge chunk of the life I dreamed of having.
I also got thinking. How could I ever allow myself to be touched again? I'm so busy being a little Bob the Builder and putting up walls around me to make sure that no-one will ever get through; that no-one will ever have the chance to hurt me like this again. All this just paints a very bleak picture of my future. Love constitutes such a huge chunk of the life I dreamed of having.
But the thing is: once you give somebody a chance, you let your guard down. And while I do believe that's the only way to build a relationship; to give it your 100%... it also leaves you so vulnerable; so open. You take that stupid advice of "just being yourself" and expose yourself in all your raw imperfectness and risk the other person not liking what he sees and walking away. Which kind of renders the whole "it's not you, it's me" conversation rather meaningless. OF COURSE IT'S YOU!
And it's bloody hard work being me. For some reason finding my place in this world has turned out to be a lot more challenging than what it seems to be for others. I've always been searching for something. When I was 9, I wanted to become a Jehova's witness. Even that whole "no birthdays"- policy didn't put me off. Then, at 14, I found Hare Krishnas and wanted to join them. And the love of orange has stuck with me, though these days it manifests itself through love of anything that comes in a Hermés carrier bag...At some point I wanted to be a native American. Just imagine the agony of a 13-year old, growing up in a small northern town halfway across the world from the nearest bison, having to come in terms with the impossibility of that venture. The I found the Greek Orthodox church. While I loved the elaborate spread after every Easter night mass, I just wasn't convinced the actual hero of the whole celebration was really for me. In hindsight... a 30- something, tall, dark, handsome Jew... AND STILL SINGLE! What's there not to love?
And it's bloody hard work being me. For some reason finding my place in this world has turned out to be a lot more challenging than what it seems to be for others. I've always been searching for something. When I was 9, I wanted to become a Jehova's witness. Even that whole "no birthdays"- policy didn't put me off. Then, at 14, I found Hare Krishnas and wanted to join them. And the love of orange has stuck with me, though these days it manifests itself through love of anything that comes in a Hermés carrier bag...At some point I wanted to be a native American. Just imagine the agony of a 13-year old, growing up in a small northern town halfway across the world from the nearest bison, having to come in terms with the impossibility of that venture. The I found the Greek Orthodox church. While I loved the elaborate spread after every Easter night mass, I just wasn't convinced the actual hero of the whole celebration was really for me. In hindsight... a 30- something, tall, dark, handsome Jew... AND STILL SINGLE! What's there not to love?
I've worked hard at finding my place. I've worked hard at everything else in my life too. I've tried to find a job. I've tried to learn French. I've tried to understand that by not eating cheese I'm missing out one of the great pleasures in life. But the fact is that there are only two things I've really put myself out there for. Anorexia and love.
Considering I now seem to lack the necessary will power to quit smoking, moaning, comfort eating and excessive spending it never ceases to amaze me how committed I was to losing all that weight and keeping it off. Mind you, it was a full-time job that left no time for friends or enjoying the life. Nothing could come between me and those numbers on the scale that magically kept getting smaller and smaller.
The only thing I've pursued with similar gusto has been love. Though now that I look back... the record doesn't seem too great.
I have given it my 100%, yes, but...was it worth it? I've moved countries, I've joined religions, I've quit religions... all for a man. I've believed; I've been ready and willing. Budget management is clearly not my forte but even I can see that something might be seriously wrong with this account settlement. Yes, I can look back and know that I did everything I could, but did I do it all for the right reasons? Was it really about me loving them so much... or about me not loving myself enough?
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