Rose has been home more, up late, using my computer, watching me when I'm using it. These things are true, and yet they're not the Truth. Not the whole truth anyhow...
These facts have made it easy for me to avoid writing, to avoid reading. They've provided the convenient excuse for what I already want to do.
I don't want to talk about sex. I don't want to read about it, to write about it, to think about it. I don't want to see images that make me think of sex. I don't want to know about other people's sex or sexuality. I certainly don't want to be reminded of my own sexuality.
If I don't think about it, maybe it will go away. Right?
But now Rose has gone away. I've got the house to myself for three days. My excuse removed, I still don't want to write, read, talk, think, or even know about sex.
I want to deny it all — who I am, what I know, what I want, everything. But I know where that road leads, and I'm determined not to go there again. So instead, I'm sitting here in the dark, at his desk, wearing his boxers.
I miss him.
I fell for him without noticing. I had locked my feelings away where I couldn't get at them. They went on existing nonetheless.
I'm choosing not to let that happen again. As much as I want to withdraw from the world, from life, from myself, that's simply not a healthy path. It means losing myself.
He's not the one for me. I know that. The truth is, though, I just don't believe there will ever be anybody for me. There won't be anybody to grow old with. There won't be anybody to have or to hold. The warm body next to me in bed will have four feet.
This works both ways. It's not merely that I think nobody would want to be with me, it's also that I don't believe there is anybody I could want to be with for the rest of my life. I don't think I can be that for anybody, and I don't think anybody can be that for me.
If I decide that I simply can't stand to go without sex any longer, then my only choice will be to jump from one meaningless, impersonal encounter to the next.
I have no doubt that there are people who would have sex with me. But, honestly, I don't believe that anybody will ever want to be with me.
It's late. I'm tired. The holidays are always difficult for people who are single. I'm upset because his loss is still fresh. Blah blah blah.
I don't know. For whatever reason, this is how I'm feeling right now. These aren't pretty thoughts. They may not even be entirely rational thoughts. But they're real tonight.
And so, in an act of willful determination, I choose to publish them.
Who knows... Maybe I'll feel better getting this all off my chest.