Post-Janet

So probably the most pressing thought on my mind right now is... my cell phone. Fucker died on me last night. I mean, granted, I did leave it submerged in icy water for about twenty minutes. On ACCIDENT. And how terrible is that? Here I am, on one of the most historical days in all of the world (gObama!), and I'm still cursing my piece-of-shit Samsung for falling apart on me. The old cell phone lasted me two years without complaint. Granted, it looked like a stapler, but it was simple. Easy. Uncomplaining. A little bit stupid. Much like some of the men I've been sleeping with.

Yesterday I had my twice-monthly therapy session with Janet (Janice?). Walking into the Milk Street Harvard Vanguard, I felt the same way I always feel when I go into therapy: slightly apprehensive, pissy, and certainnly not at all excited to "talk it out". Yet somehow, I always leave feeling the kind of satisfaction I feel when I take a huge coffee dump: like I've pushed something big out into the open.

So we sat down and she appraised me in that way of her and I started talking about the sex I've been having and how I'm worried that I might be doing it for the wrong reasons. I explained to her the responses I've gotten from my sister and my mother and how they're convinced that I'm having sex to fill this gaping hole (heh heh heh) of self-loathing that's eating me up inside.

As I sat there in the too-warm room, teasing this thought out, I came to the startling realization that I don't have a hole in me that needs fixing.

Cut to: this past summer, driving my sister to a party in Portland. My sister is asking me why I don't think I deserve to be happy, why I feel so much guilt when I'm with Trevor, why I seek approval from other men to make me feel beautiful. She asks about this empty, lonely, frightened place inside me that I'm filling up with other peoples' love. She asks me why I don't think I deserve Trevor's love.

Cut to: me back in Janet's office, realizing what a bunch of shit this all is.

The hole inside me, the emptiness inside me that I felt all this past summer and year wasn't coming from a place of self-loathing and hatred. Well, it was, but it all stemmed from the fact that I knew I didn't want to be with Trevor ultimately, but I couldn't face that reality. I wasn't seeking other men's approval because I don't think I deserve love, I was doing it because I subconsciously knew I didn't want to be in a relationship! I had my family telling me how great Trevor was, my sister telling me that all she ever wanted was a relationship like mine, and the guilt I felt was because I thought I should be in the relationship, but deep down I knew I didn't want the relationship.

My sister keeps telling me how negative it is, all this sex that I'm having to "fill up the hurt". But I'm not delusional, and I'm not in self-denial. I'm not having sex because I'm lonely and afraid, I'm having it because I fucking enjoy it! I haven't wanted to have sex with my boyfriend for a year and a half, and now finally, I'm wanting it and loving it.

I think a lot of people think I'm a lot lonelier and sadder than I am. But the truth is, I feel absolutely free. The second that guilt about my relationship with Trevor was lifted from my shoulders, that gnawing gaping space in the pit of my stomach went away. I'm doing precisely what I want... and for the right reasons.

I'm done... with justifying the choices I'm making. They are the right choices... for me.


Bring on the fucking, ya'll.