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Who has Twig become, do you think?

January 10, 2014

I need to give this some serious thought, and apparently I can no longer think without typing, knowing I’ll edit eventually. Another freaking addiction, I guess.

Right now, I need to set this up into basic gender binary opposition. Eventually, I can sort out the commonalities along a gender continuum.

When I fall in love with guys, I fall in love with artists: painters, musicians, actors, comedians, writers, designers, sculptors. Always.

When I fall in love with girls, I fall in love with pragmatists and activists: teachers, lawyers, executives, non-profit organizers, union leaders. Without fail.

The men are rarely, if ever, entirely stable. They often have behavior or psychological disorders: Asperger Syndrome, Bipolar Disorder, Narcissistic Personality Disorder, Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder. They tend not to have licenses or stable jobs. Many of them drink too much alcohol and/or do too many drugs. They are cynical. Paranoid. Often effeminate. They are awkward. Or maybe that’s just me always making things awkward. They are always extremely talented at what they do. They tend to be emotionally abusive, sometimes in very explicit ways. They make me paranoid. And depressed. I lose myself.

Maybe I just need a break from guys for a while.

But the problem is that the woman are…not like me at heart. I have never been lost as a result of a woman I have loved. Well, maybe when I was in high school, but the same could be true for the guys back then. Women do not inherently make me feel either safe or afraid, but both emotions come in extreme when they do. But they usually develop into deep platonic friendships rather than romantic relationships.

I feel compelled to say:
I have been afraid to live my life as myself, in all my extremes. I have refused to test my boundaries. I have cowered in argument after argument, convinced that I’m not being enough to love. But I have never let myself just exist as myself, and let a partner take it or leave it. I have never been a good partner, deep down, because I have never given “myself.” It’s not to say I haven’t given. I give, I care, I love a lot. But I always keep myself closed off. It’s become such a force of habit that I am lost even now that I am alone, behind closed doors.

I need to explain what I want and need, and what I can’t or won’t have. This is where things have to go.

I have to tuck the herd into bed for the night first, though. They’re turning in early, which means they will function as effective alarm clocks for me tomorrow as they walk across my face or try to yet again disengage the child locks on the refrigerator. That is a thing that happens in my life. But I always tell it like it’s someone else’s. I don’t even own what’s mine. I guess I don’t own myself.

It’s time for that to change.

I started writing this for TAC, unbelievably. and Dog Star Star Child, DSSC, who has never been given a name previously. I talk to them because they are far away. And I have known them for the better part of two decades. But this has nothing to do with them. Or maybe it does, tangentially. I don’t know. I have to go think about this now.

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