A New Kind of Love

I remember the exact moment that I felt Mr. Jones had filled my heart and soul so deeply that there was no point in continuing fucking the Terminator or anyone else. Mr. Jones made every other man irrelevant with his dick and his heart.

I had spent a transformative weekend with Mr. Jones, being loved, cherished and taken care of in a way that I had never experienced before. Just being together is like a drug. We can curl up together on a sofa or a bed and inhale each other, and caress each other for hours — for days and barely need food, our contentment is so complete.

That weekend I realized how his love, friendship, and emotional support had sparked my dormant creativity. I was full of ideas and strategies for stalled projects and found solutions for problems that I hadn’t been able to figure out. I was stupidly surprised, and on my way home that weekend, I realized that it was Mr. Jones’s unconditional love and support — something I had never experienced – that had sparked my creativity. Love, a supportive environment, and complete acceptance had nurtured my creativity in a way that shocked me. Love, just love made so much possible. I had no idea. My heart turned over, and I cried.

There was no way I would meet the Terminator that week, as planned. Just the thought of it was like “what the hell am I doing?” I have no need or desire to see him — the depth and power of Mr. Jones’s love just canceled everything and everyone else out. I really didn’t want to see Terminator again and didn’t even plan a last meeting.

Of course. I would always remember the Terminator and his…assets. But it couldn’t compare, not even come close to what I have with Mr. Jones. There’s no contest.

But even I couldn’t quite believe I could give up the Cock of the Century so suddenly and completely. I waited. Two, almost three weeks. I was done. Yes, I was sentimental about him, could probably cry about him if  I put some effort into it, but I didn’t want to fuck him or be with him. I was head-over-heels in love, which was the last thing I wanted or expected when all this began. But it’s so sweet and so beautiful.

Image: by Alejandra Quiroz via Unsplash.com CC0

The Learning Part — Breakthrough: The End of Terminator

If you had told me that I would feel this way and be in this place a month ago, I would have laughed in disbelief. But here I am, happily announcing that I am done, yes DONE with the Terminator. It’s over. Ironic that this month marks a year since we first met. What a year.

No I haven’t told him yet, but I don’t expect a big drama about it. I think on some level we both knew it at our last meeting because we fucked each other with merciless savagery. And I say that with a smile on my face. But yes, I’m done. How? Why?  It’s not that I don’t enjoy fucking him, obviously I do. A lot. It’s just that my feelings for Mr. Jones have over-ridden everything else. Sex with the Terminator is of course amazing, but so is sex with Mr. Jones, and our emotional connection is intense. Being held by Mr. Jones is practically a religious experience. I feel deeply loved. Calm. Happy. Satisfied. And so Terminator has become unnecessary. Incredible but true.

I have waited to post about this because I wanted to be sure that I really felt this way and that I meant it, and I do. I expected a wave of  emotion and desire to rise up at some point and compel me to contact him, but nothing. I’m done. just like that, after all the angst and the tears. Two weeks have passed without a tryst, I don’t want one and I’m fine with it. And no one is more surprised than I am.

I am thankful for the passion that we’ve shared, and I am a little sentimental about ending things with someone whom I’ve shared such passionate intensity, but I have no regrets. I did surprise myself the decision. After my last weekend with Mr. Jones, I knew in my gut that I was done with Terminator. I am well-loved and in love.

I think Terminator and Mr. Jones. came into my life at the same time (within months), so that I could see clearly the unhealthy pattern I had of falling for men who are unavailable somehow inappropriate, and emotionally remote, contrasted with the very healthy and beautiful thing that is real love, real acceptance, real devotion. I knew something important was happening with Mr. Jones from the moment I met him.

I needed that time with both of them to learn from them as well as from my reactions to them.  My intense immediate feelings for Terminator were partly oxytocin and partly my usual unhealthy pattern. What a difference this slow burn with Mr. Jones has been. Every day it becomes more meaningful and intense. The best way I can describe it is that Mr. Jones is inside my heart. That’s how it feels. He is with me always. He has been un-waveringly devoted, kind as well as passionate and wonderful in every way.

Now I see that its important that I walk away from Terminator willingly, not when my six months are up, but because I’m ready to give him up and turn away from my destructive pattern and accept real love and devotion into my life.

Obviously, this outcome is not what I envisioned when I started this blog, but I knew I was working something out with the sexual exploration. The last thing on my mind was settling down with anybody, and the whole idea of a “relationship” gave me hives. Been there, done that, over it.  I wanted to fuck who I wanted, when I wanted and live my life. What’s wrong with that? Nothing at all.

But love. WARNING: Cliché Approaching:  Love changes everything.  Mr. Jones’s love is something I feel in every cell in my body, and my love for him is something that I’ve never experienced. Quiet, profound and intense. I realized I had no desire or intention to see Terminator or anyone else. Game over.

So is Mr. Jones “The One?” I know that it would take something/one extraordinary to make me give up my precious freedom at this point in my life. Sometimes extraordinary things last and sometimes they don’t, but they are always wonderful. So I’m enjoying it, nurturing it and taking it one day at a time.
Image: Photo by Alejandra Quiroz via unsplash CCO

Darkness Descends

I mentioned my history of depression way back when I started this blog and have referred to it a couple of times since then, but I haven’t gotten into it because I haven’t been depressed or on medication since 2011 or the end of 2010, I don’t quite recall.

 At the beginning of the year I still felt great; like a race car read to roll. Full of energy and optimism, I resolved to accomplish a lot and I did. I started dating and fucking again; I started working out again and lost 30 pounds; and professionally I accomplished several goals that I hadn’t had the stamina or focus to tackle before. I felt renewed and reborn. I was especially happy because I had been off medication for quite some time.

I told Mr. Jones fairly quickly about my diagnosis and history with medication, because he needed to know and I needed to make sure he was ok with it. He understood and is fine with it. Around the middle of December, I started feeling…different. I knew immediately that it was coming back and I was infuriated (how could I be depressed? I was getting laid and falling in love!) and went into denial. I waited, hoping that I was mistaken and that my ennui and sadness were caused by the weather or something. At some point I recall talking to Mr. Jones and telling him that I felt funny and that I would probably end up going to the doctor and get back on the meds. We discussed it a bit and he said he supported me in whatever I needed to do to feel healthy.

In the Shadows

By the end of the year, I had stopped working out, stopped writing, stopped reading. The only time I was happy was when I was with Mr. Jones or the Terminator.  But I realized I was truly in love with Mr. Jones. ate one night when I woke up to go to the bathroom and he popped into my head, along with all the warm fuzzy feelings, and the certainty that it was serious, and what that meant and then… I had a full-blown panic attack. My heart started racing, I started sweating and trembling, my brain was going a mile a minute, until I caught it and stopped myself. I took deep breaths, calmed myself, and splashed cold water on my face until I eventually calmed down. Then I laughed about it. If the thought of true love gave me panic attacks, I was more emotionally fucked up than I imagined.

Late one night I woke up to go to the bathroom and Mr. Jones popped into my thoughts, along with all the warm fuzzy feelings, the certainty that it was serious, and what that meant and then… I had a full-blown panic attack. My heart started racing, I started sweating and trembling, my brain was going a mile a minute and my thoughts were speeding out of control. Then I caught it. “Get a grip, woman,” I told myself. I took deep breaths, calmed myself, and splashed cold water on my face until I eventually calmed down. Then I laughed about it. If the thought of true love gave me panic attacks, I was more emotionally fucked up than I imagined.

Finally last month I got back on medication, and I felt a slight improvement immediately, but the drug has to accumulate in your body before an appreciable improvement happens. I am improving but it is sloooow. I hate the wait.

When I mentioned all this to my best friend, she asked me what triggered the descent (there is usually a trigger). I thought and thought, but couldn’t come up with anything. A few days later, when I decided to clean out my email inboxes and get organized for working again, I discovered that I stopped working and doing research around the time of my last tryst with the Terminator. Then it all became clear.

At that December meeting with Terminator I told him about Mr. Jones and that it would be our last time together. Deep down, I had wanted him to fight for me, to tell me he loved me and wanted me exclusively; to claim me and ask for a relationship.

I had wanted him to act on the emotions that his body conveyed to me in the throes of passion. I wanted this even though I love Mr. Jones, and even though I know Terminator is in no way monogamous. It was completely unreasonable, but that is how I felt. And of course, he didn’t say anything of the kind. So I was hit with the reality that we were over (or soon would be). And letting him go (emotionally) sent me over the edge.

When I realized this, it made perfect sense. It was a pattern. My entire life, whenever a relationship ended I fall into a deep, deep depression. It stems from my father’s abandonment, an event that scarred me so deeply that here I am, forty years after the fact, suffering. I am always falling hard for the guy who can’t or won’t love me the way I deserve, like my father. On some level it seems that I’ve been hoping to change the ending to that story and have the unavailable guy (and all of them were) open his heart and love me the way that I’ve always wanted to be loved; to finally heal that wound and erase the rejection that my father scorched into my soul. It has taken me all this time to realize emotionally that all this time I’ve been falling for the same type of man in the hopes that this time he will choose me, stay with me, love me. I’ve been a broken record for 40 years…but how beautiful, how fortunate that I’ve finally figured it out, and am breaking the pattern.

I’m letting it go, to love the man does love me deeply and is proving it every day and in every way.

I’m fully ready to do that now. And I will be lighting a candle with the tattered remains of my Catholicism, to the patron saint of broken-hearted little girls.

Image: original source unknown. I do not own image or copyright.

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