Some Conclusions (and, rather belatedly, a beginning)

So I’ve been doing some thinking about independence and freedom and relationships.

Shocking, I know.

Leaving Ben like I did, forcibly cutting him out of my life and feeling so much better for it, that was well and truly a first for me. I don’t let go easily. (Stop laughing. I’m allowed understatement.) Each time I walked away from Ryan, it wasn’t so much like pulling teeth as it was amputation without anesthesia. And letting Livvy go… well, that wasn’t so much my choice, and I don’t know if I could have made it if it had been. So where did the impulse come from to do something so completely foreign to me? Why is it so surprisingly easy and clear now that I’ve got just a little space? Oddly, I think it has to do with the time I spent with Ben.

I’ve always been terrified of just being myself. Eighteen months of therapy trying to figure out the whys, and as long as the list is at this point, I know I still don’t have it all sorted out. I’ve learned over the course of my life to let other people tell me who to be. Sadly, I’m still not even that good at it, but I just kept plugging away, always looking for someone new to validate and justify and reassure me that I’m something worthwhile and maybe even a little loveable. I did what I could to mold myself into what I thought they wanted me to be (which is a rather inexact art to say the least), and when the persona I created inevitably failed to satisfy, I got angry. Usually I could hold up appearances and keep pleasing until they were in deep enough I could convince myself they owed me something. You don’t love the me I created just for you? Well, then, you’re a hard-hearted bastard who wasn’t worth the time, and I hate you, and please tell me what I’m doing wrong so I can be better.

My god. This is a terribly unflattering picture I’m painting of myself. Honesty really isn’t kind.

So, I’ve gone on like this, picking people to get close to and molding myself to them as best I could. A shamefully large portion of my self image is based on what people have told me they liked about me, when I adopted those traits in the first place because I knew it would please that person. Fairly hollow, fragile little ego I’ve been building.

And here’s the thing: It didn’t work with Ben. I mean, sure, at first, it worked like a charm. I learned to talk like him, read his books, played his games, learned all about guitars and amps and pedals and a hundred other thing I hadn’t cared the least bit about before I met him. I gave up any semblance of control over my body or my sexuality in a way that continues to shame me every time I think about it. And it worked, but only for a little while. He lost interest in me remarkably quickly, but instead of pushing back or picking fights he just… Got distracted. It was like I was invisible. I’m the youngest in a family that fractured when I was fairly young, so I’m something of an expert at getting attention, even if it’s not always the kind I want. I learned more about his hobbies; he lost interest in them. I tried to get to know his friends; he stopped hanging out with them. I got desperate, resorted to the oldest and lowest attempt at grabbing a man’s attention: sex. It didn’t work. I picked fights; he stopped talking to me. I pouted and sulked; he stopped interacting at all. I tried every trick in my rather extensive repertoire, and not a one of them worked.

I was befuddled, felt helpless and worthless and alone in a way that I never had before. If he had rejected me outright I’d have had something to react to, some clue about how to better mold myself into what he wanted, but ignoring me like that turned out to be the most devastating thing a person could possibly have done to me. I spent the next year, give or take, locked in the worst depression I’d ever faced, and that’s saying something. I’m not sure exactly where I would have ended up if I hadn’t already been in therapy at the time, and I’m quite glad I didn’t have to find out.

But here’s the thing: I’m stubborn as all hell and loyal to the point of masochism, but I’m not stupid, and despite my rather stellar lack of a sense of self, I don't have a weak personality. Turns out, as willing as I am to shape myself to whoever’s around, I’m not at all willing to go without a self. Ben wouldn’t tell me who to be, didn’t seem to want me to be anyone, and somewhere in there I just started being myself out of spite. (Turns out he didn’t like that any better than the persona I created just for him.) And the funny thing? I really like the real me. Alot. Too much to let her go any time soon.

And you know how life just isn’t complete without irony, or some equally sadistic literary device? Yeah. There's this guy. And he’s intelligent, knowledgable, kind and just a little socially awkward, incredibly attractive, and he seems to think I’m the kind of girl he wants to get to know better. And, yeah, I can see already what he likes about me and what he’s not so thrilled about. And it is so tempting, would be so easy, and the sad fact is, I don’t really know how else to have a relationship.

Which is why this is Not. A. Relationship. And those of you who have been saying otherwise can just shut it.

This is just me and him spending time, while I get a better grip on who I am, hopefully giving him a chance to learn the same thing as I do. And we’ll just see how that goes.