I was listening to Marc Maron's WTF podcast with Alison Brie the other morning. She was talking about her time studying at CalArts, telling him that the rules were, at that school, that you could be naked anytime and any place, with the exception of the cafeteria. It was funny to hear her talk about walking around in just tennis shoes to make her friends laugh, but it also sounded like my personal nightmare. Being around a bunch of people who just don't care and can be naked anywhere there isn't food being served sounds completely foreign and weird and not at all comfortable. I don't even like being naked when I am by myself. I kind of wish I could just give myself a break and be naked, all of the time or even just some of the time, without feeling like someone is watching me and doesn't like the view. I want to be half as confident as this guy:
I don't know if I have body dysmorphia or if I'm just brutally honest with myself or what, but I'm still struggling with what I see when I take my clothes off.
One of the things I was looking forward to, when I finally got my own place and didn't have to consider how I might be accidentally making anyone else uncomfortable, was just being naked all the time. I couldn't get naked whenever I wanted, for obvious reasons, when Gino and I had roommates, but even when we just lived together as a couple, if I was naked, I kind of ended up having to explain why I was naked. When I moved in here and didn't have to explain anything to anyone, I did just walk around in various states of undress pretty much any time I was home, but then I started to be such a girl about it and realized that I'm not comfortable being naked. I made a joke, this past summer, when I was still heavily embittered about my failed marriage, that Gino only saw me naked a handful of times in seven years. The way I told it made it sound like I never let him see me naked, but what I actually meant was that he didn't really look at me anymore. That was true to some extent, although I was, as I tend to do, exaggerating. We got naked a lot, but he stopped seeing me when I was naked, I think, a few years ago. He would try to make me feel better about my weight gain, and how my body was just wrong in so many ways, but it was a struggle, I could tell. He would put his hands on my hips and say, "See? It's working," meaning that my constant exercising and other attempts to shrink myself down were showing, but there was an edge to his voice when he said it.
The overall impression I got from Gino telling me it was working was, "It's working a little".
It was sweet of him, and he was trying, but it must be hard to be married to someone who just continues to expand year after year. I didn't live up to my marriage vows, which were to always be the girl he fell in love with. The girl he fell in love with had curves, but also had a concave stomach, and he didn't need to craft forgiving compliments for her. She was fine, if a little underfed. He didn't have to try at all. And then I got my post-marriage body and everything changed. I understand that my excess fat grossed him out, and I didn't help matters by being so self-conscious. If I had more confidence, I could have said, "So what? You know I'm working on it and it's taking a while, but it's not like I weigh 200 pounds. Get over it," but instead, my attitude was just, "Sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry sorry."
I like my body well enough, but it's like a friend I enjoy spending time with but don't need to see all the time. I keep coming back to this place where I wish I could just say fuck it and stop apologizing for it, but I'm just not there. I haven't, truth be told, gotten naked with a lot of people. I don't just mean that I haven't had sex with a ton of people. Whenever I see women just trying on clothes with each other in movies, or going into saunas naked together without a care, I just think, "Who does that?"
I was talking to my best friend about why we, humans that is, even try to find someone to get naked with. We get something from the knowing, I think, that another person will see us naked and not run away screaming, or laugh, or both. I'm not sure she arrived at the same conclusion as me, but she doesn't have body-consciousness issues like I do, and besides, she is gorgeous and would be crazy to have them. Of course, she says the same thing to me, so there you have it.
I don't usually give myself challenges, but this week I'm trying to just be naked whenever I can. If I'm home and I don't have anywhere else to be, I'm naked. The only way I'm going to accept the way I look and learn to like it is to just force myself to deal with it all the time. Maybe if I can manage to do that, the next time I am naked with someone, I won't be waiting for them to demand that I put clothes on again. It's a silly goal, but it's something I have been really struggling with and I don't know how else to address it. So, for a little while, if you don't see me, I'm probably going to be nude.
Sunday, May 19, 2013
Saturday, May 11, 2013
I Stand No Chance Of Growing Up
Someone challenged me this week on why I'm doing this at all when I asked their permission to write about them in this blog. This is the first time I have ever asked, or offered to change someone's name, which doesn't make me look like such a good person, and I didn't get the response from him that I was hoping for.The long and short of it was that he didn't want me to write about him, and I was not my most mature self in dealing with his answer. It bothered me because in the course of the conversation he asked me, point-blank, why I needed to write about this when the whole point of starting this blog was to work through my emotions as they pertain to my divorce. If this has nothing to do with my divorce, and there are no emotions to work through, he reasoned, why am I even writing about it? I tried to counter that I am always honest, and something else about how I share everything, and he had no problem making me feel like that argument was hollow. In his estimation, I was just bragging, and he didn't want his name associated with my bullshit.
I had to concede to his point because he was right, to a degree, but it left me feeling kind of despondent. Saying that there are no emotions associated is an unfair assumption. There are always emotions surrounding sex, and I don't want to be the kind of person who thinks there aren't. There is a reason we don't just fuck ourselves all the time. You can't french yourself and you can't spoon yourself. Plus, I may have started this project as a way to work through my failed marriage, but I do write about other things. I have other things to work out that have nothing to do with my divorce.
I was bothered by his harsh assessments enough that I couldn't sleep at all that night.This is actually one of the many reasons why I like this person so much. Sometimes, you like someone not because they are always nice to you and they make you feel like the best person in the world, but because they aren't always nice and, occasionally, make you feel like the worst person in the world. It's a hard pill to swallow when you realize that someone sees right through you, and what they see isn't good.
The question of why I do this continued to bother me all day, leading to me question myself on whether or not it even matters. I'm the only blogger in my area, it seems, who isn't writing about being a parent, the arts, or local history, and all I can think is that what I'm writing just doesn't matter. It made sense and helped, when I started, in a similar way to how it helps when I just think out loud, but now it's mostly just about me bumbling through a bunch of bullshit and talking in circles about boys, and it seems less and less relevant. I'm stuck- I'm stuck in this cycle of caring when I shouldn't care and then talking my way around it to make it seem important. I'm growing, but I am still not a grownup.
This is going to keep coming up if I'm going to keep writing this stupid blog. Someone pointed out that I had to know it would come up eventually, because I made the choice, early on, to not change names or hide anyone's identity. I asked for this other person's permission because I wanted him to be okay with it, but he wasn't, so now I'm dealing with my reaction to that. I had to ask, though. I've never asked for anyone's okay before, because with those people, at that point at least, I didn't care. When I started this blog, I didn't think my ex and I would ever be friends again so I didn't care if his feelings were hurt. I can't conduct myself that way anymore, it has become clear, because to do so would mean risking losing a friend. I was fortunate enough already that my ex doesn't mind being written about and that the only other person I have written about doesn't read it, or is just too cool to tell me if it bothers him. As for my other friends, they haven't said anything or asked me to change their names. My sister did take issue with something I wrote about her, so I edited it to make it a little less harsh because, truthfully, what I said wasn't really fair. I can't lose any of the friends I have because I'm not very good at making new ones, and I like the ones I have, especially this one, who I am so fond of. Nothing is worth risking any of my friends never wanting to speak to me again.
He knew I had written him into my novel and seemed like he did not have a problem with that, but that might have more to do with the likelihood that no one will every read it, so it's not a threat to his privacy, and in any event, it's a work of fiction. I don't know, and somehow, the things my friends say that usually placate me are not working. I can't tell myself that I could have just written about it without asking. That argument doesn't stick because I keep coming back to asking myself why I need to do this at all. It doesn't matter and it's not helping anyone other than myself and the fact that I will just keep doing it regardless says something very specific about me. I have always been this way. I would put on a show even if no one was paying attention, and I'm still doing it, but now instead of singing songs from The Little Mermaid, I'm talking about my personal life. The only thing I can manage to not care about, most of the time, is the fact that no one cares. In the meantime, I will be more aware of what I'm writing and who might be affected by it. I also am starting to accept that I don't need to blog about every single thing that happens to me. Some things are meant to be private. Private and secret are not the same thing, just like being honest and sharing too much are not the same thing. Little by little I'm getting it.
I had to concede to his point because he was right, to a degree, but it left me feeling kind of despondent. Saying that there are no emotions associated is an unfair assumption. There are always emotions surrounding sex, and I don't want to be the kind of person who thinks there aren't. There is a reason we don't just fuck ourselves all the time. You can't french yourself and you can't spoon yourself. Plus, I may have started this project as a way to work through my failed marriage, but I do write about other things. I have other things to work out that have nothing to do with my divorce.
I was bothered by his harsh assessments enough that I couldn't sleep at all that night.This is actually one of the many reasons why I like this person so much. Sometimes, you like someone not because they are always nice to you and they make you feel like the best person in the world, but because they aren't always nice and, occasionally, make you feel like the worst person in the world. It's a hard pill to swallow when you realize that someone sees right through you, and what they see isn't good.
The question of why I do this continued to bother me all day, leading to me question myself on whether or not it even matters. I'm the only blogger in my area, it seems, who isn't writing about being a parent, the arts, or local history, and all I can think is that what I'm writing just doesn't matter. It made sense and helped, when I started, in a similar way to how it helps when I just think out loud, but now it's mostly just about me bumbling through a bunch of bullshit and talking in circles about boys, and it seems less and less relevant. I'm stuck- I'm stuck in this cycle of caring when I shouldn't care and then talking my way around it to make it seem important. I'm growing, but I am still not a grownup.
This is going to keep coming up if I'm going to keep writing this stupid blog. Someone pointed out that I had to know it would come up eventually, because I made the choice, early on, to not change names or hide anyone's identity. I asked for this other person's permission because I wanted him to be okay with it, but he wasn't, so now I'm dealing with my reaction to that. I had to ask, though. I've never asked for anyone's okay before, because with those people, at that point at least, I didn't care. When I started this blog, I didn't think my ex and I would ever be friends again so I didn't care if his feelings were hurt. I can't conduct myself that way anymore, it has become clear, because to do so would mean risking losing a friend. I was fortunate enough already that my ex doesn't mind being written about and that the only other person I have written about doesn't read it, or is just too cool to tell me if it bothers him. As for my other friends, they haven't said anything or asked me to change their names. My sister did take issue with something I wrote about her, so I edited it to make it a little less harsh because, truthfully, what I said wasn't really fair. I can't lose any of the friends I have because I'm not very good at making new ones, and I like the ones I have, especially this one, who I am so fond of. Nothing is worth risking any of my friends never wanting to speak to me again.
He knew I had written him into my novel and seemed like he did not have a problem with that, but that might have more to do with the likelihood that no one will every read it, so it's not a threat to his privacy, and in any event, it's a work of fiction. I don't know, and somehow, the things my friends say that usually placate me are not working. I can't tell myself that I could have just written about it without asking. That argument doesn't stick because I keep coming back to asking myself why I need to do this at all. It doesn't matter and it's not helping anyone other than myself and the fact that I will just keep doing it regardless says something very specific about me. I have always been this way. I would put on a show even if no one was paying attention, and I'm still doing it, but now instead of singing songs from The Little Mermaid, I'm talking about my personal life. The only thing I can manage to not care about, most of the time, is the fact that no one cares. In the meantime, I will be more aware of what I'm writing and who might be affected by it. I also am starting to accept that I don't need to blog about every single thing that happens to me. Some things are meant to be private. Private and secret are not the same thing, just like being honest and sharing too much are not the same thing. Little by little I'm getting it.
Thursday, May 2, 2013
Final Anniversary
May used to be my favorite month. April always seems like it's going to be warm enough, sunny enough, but it never is. It's usually rainy and chilly, only when it isn't (still) snowing, and even when it is sunny, it's that kind of sunny weather where people in the Northeast say, "Well, at least the sun is out!" and hug the winter coat they are still wearing around their bodies to block the freezing cold. In May we finally get the weather we deserve after such a shitty season. May used to be my favorite month, but now, and probably for a while, it is going to be The Month My Marriage Ended. I'm coming up on the 23rd, which is, if memory serves, the date that my husband finally came clean and told me that this thing we had been trying so hard to keep going was dead. I remember very clearly that it was on a Wednesday, and that week, just three days before, I had posted on Facebook, "What we got on our hands here is a dead shark," referring, of course, to our relationship. I knew the end was coming, I just, I suppose, never really expected that the end would actually come. I thought we would keep avoiding it, dancing around it, that we'd both be too chickenshit to actually say out loud that we were married, but that this was no longer a marriage.
He used to make fun of me for celebrating both of our anniversaries after we got married- the anniversary of when we got together, which was July 1st, and our wedding anniversary on April 19th. He would tease me for being sentimental, for wanting to mark the occasion of when we became a couple and I would take it, and not argue, because I knew it was silly. Last summer, July 1st came and went, and I was too busy being depressed to even notice. Now, July 1st is just another day, and April 19th is just another day. I texted him on what would have been our fifth anniversary with, "Happy non-iversary, weirdo" and the next day, he shot one back, "Yeah, happy non-iversary weirdo".
This approaching day is the final "anniversary" we will have. The day our divorce becomes official and we are irreversibly not married anymore won't matter. We stopped being married over a year ago, so receiving a judgment stating the same from a judge won't have any effect on how I feel about it. That's why I'm not in a hurry to get it over and done with. At this point, because we are so copacetic with each other and neither of us "needs" a divorce so we can marry someone else or leave the country or, I don't know, something else interesting, I could honestly give a shit.
Nearly a full year has gone by since he let the cat out of the bag, and of course I've changed since then. Losing your first real, big love has to change you, or else it wasn't worth your time. I'm already seeing that I am a little more cautious than I used to be. I used to take more risks. Of course, this caution came about more from being involved with someone else than it did from my ex asking me for a divorce. Right after we broke up, I was so obviously desperate and needy, I might as well have had a target on my back. It was stupid and typical and I still don't like myself much because of it. It taught me something, though, which is that just because a man shows up at the right time, and quotes a Hall and Oates song and really seems to like going down on you, that does not mean anything more than that he showed up at the right time and knows one line from a song and has had a lot of practice doing that one specific thing and is just showing off.
I'm interested in someone right now, which is fun for the moment, and reassuring because that has not happened in a while. The rules are different, though. I used to just go running after boys, practically screaming, "I like you! I LIKE you! I like YOU!" but I can't do that anymore. Now, if I am interested in someone, it comes with a caveat attached. Before I can even allow myself the luxury of thinking this guy is cute and funny, my subconscious smacks me back down to Earth and says, "Okay, now let's find out what the catch is."
It's not that I think I'm only attracted to weirdos or that if I like him, there must be something wrong with him because I'm just so hopeless (Cathy comic, Sex and the City, blah blah blah shoes). I'm just assuming that there is a catch, based on my recent history, and I am also preparing myself for that moment when I learn, either directly from him or through a third party, what the deal-breaker is. I have a strong aversion to being humiliated, as do most people. I was humiliated by my marriage failing and I was humiliated by the fact that Mike was splitting his time between two girls and I was not the better of the two. Humiliation can stiffen your spine, which is good, but I think my spine is stiff enough as it is and I would like to not put the cart before the horse before I know what, or rather, who, I'm dealing with here. I know it's inevitable that I will do something stupid and make an ass of myself eventually, because that's just how I roll, but I guess I'm just trying to not make such an ass of myself in such a spectacular way. I think that's an achievable goal.
He used to make fun of me for celebrating both of our anniversaries after we got married- the anniversary of when we got together, which was July 1st, and our wedding anniversary on April 19th. He would tease me for being sentimental, for wanting to mark the occasion of when we became a couple and I would take it, and not argue, because I knew it was silly. Last summer, July 1st came and went, and I was too busy being depressed to even notice. Now, July 1st is just another day, and April 19th is just another day. I texted him on what would have been our fifth anniversary with, "Happy non-iversary, weirdo" and the next day, he shot one back, "Yeah, happy non-iversary weirdo".
This approaching day is the final "anniversary" we will have. The day our divorce becomes official and we are irreversibly not married anymore won't matter. We stopped being married over a year ago, so receiving a judgment stating the same from a judge won't have any effect on how I feel about it. That's why I'm not in a hurry to get it over and done with. At this point, because we are so copacetic with each other and neither of us "needs" a divorce so we can marry someone else or leave the country or, I don't know, something else interesting, I could honestly give a shit.
Nearly a full year has gone by since he let the cat out of the bag, and of course I've changed since then. Losing your first real, big love has to change you, or else it wasn't worth your time. I'm already seeing that I am a little more cautious than I used to be. I used to take more risks. Of course, this caution came about more from being involved with someone else than it did from my ex asking me for a divorce. Right after we broke up, I was so obviously desperate and needy, I might as well have had a target on my back. It was stupid and typical and I still don't like myself much because of it. It taught me something, though, which is that just because a man shows up at the right time, and quotes a Hall and Oates song and really seems to like going down on you, that does not mean anything more than that he showed up at the right time and knows one line from a song and has had a lot of practice doing that one specific thing and is just showing off.
I'm interested in someone right now, which is fun for the moment, and reassuring because that has not happened in a while. The rules are different, though. I used to just go running after boys, practically screaming, "I like you! I LIKE you! I like YOU!" but I can't do that anymore. Now, if I am interested in someone, it comes with a caveat attached. Before I can even allow myself the luxury of thinking this guy is cute and funny, my subconscious smacks me back down to Earth and says, "Okay, now let's find out what the catch is."
It's not that I think I'm only attracted to weirdos or that if I like him, there must be something wrong with him because I'm just so hopeless (Cathy comic, Sex and the City, blah blah blah shoes). I'm just assuming that there is a catch, based on my recent history, and I am also preparing myself for that moment when I learn, either directly from him or through a third party, what the deal-breaker is. I have a strong aversion to being humiliated, as do most people. I was humiliated by my marriage failing and I was humiliated by the fact that Mike was splitting his time between two girls and I was not the better of the two. Humiliation can stiffen your spine, which is good, but I think my spine is stiff enough as it is and I would like to not put the cart before the horse before I know what, or rather, who, I'm dealing with here. I know it's inevitable that I will do something stupid and make an ass of myself eventually, because that's just how I roll, but I guess I'm just trying to not make such an ass of myself in such a spectacular way. I think that's an achievable goal.
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