The Consequences of Falling

The rain is falling as if the sky is shedding tears in sweet companionship.  I'd call a girlfriend except I know I couldn't talk.  I can cry though.  It seems as if that's all I can do.  I can't sleep.  I laid awake all night, the tears flowing silently until the uncontrollable sobbing would erupt.

A couple of weeks ago I found a lump in my breast and it was quite sore so I made an appointment for a Well Women Health Exam.  I wasn't too worried about it but having it checked out seemed the prudent thing to do.  I've been feeling extra vulnerable in my body lately.  Fucking menopause.   My daughter had a cancer tumor in her leg.  A friend died of prostate cancer.  The appointment was early this morning.  After crying all night with no sleep, I walked into the clinic like a zombie, where they hit me with a slew of paperwork that needed updating. As soon as I sat down to work on the stack of papers they called me back to the exam room with a quick stop at the scales for a weight in.  As if that wasn't enough to make me feel like shit, I was told to strip naked and given two small pieces of rough paper to protect my modesty.   I couldn't even figure how to unfold the damn paper covers  and that got me crying again before my health care practitioner made it back into the room.  Bereft of any ability to cope with her professional incompetencies,  within a few minutes I had her running out the door for backup protection from the crazy lady. When she returned, I was fully dressed except for my bra.  In the end I pulled off my top and allowed her to do a breast exam (I already had enough negative body issues going on that I was bound and determined to forego cutting off my nose to spite my face.) But I declined her offers for other medical interventions including their mental health services.  Fucking bitch.

Lover Who Is My Lover is no longer my lover so I'm confused as to how to refer to him here.  I already have one Lover Who Is Not My Lover.  Maybe I should call him Lover Who Is Not My Lover Too, or Lover Who Is Not My Lover Two.  I am not a Well Woman, that's for sure.  My heart is broken.  Not really looking forward to dealing with this lost.  Fuck.  For the last few days I've been listening to k.d. lang's song, The Consequences of Falling, obviously preparing myself for this, and every line speaks to my experience and what I have been dreading.  "...if I'm alone with this, I don't think I can face the consequences of falling.  As it turns out, I am definitely alone in this,  LWINMLT, is not in love with me.  Well, to be more exact, he is no longer sexually attracted to me.  Wow, typing that sentence sent a pang through my heart.  I've been dealing with the not in love part pretty well up until this point.  You know, just letting what is be what it is, accepting the sweet love that is there and not making up too many stories about the rest.  But I really don't think I can face his new disclosure.

are you breathing
what i'm breathing
are your wishes
the same as mine
are you needing
what i'm needing
i'm waiting for a sign
my hands tremble
my heart aches
is it you calling
if i'm alone in this
i don't think i can face
the consequences of falling
are you thinking
what i'm thinking
does your pulse
quicken like mine
are you dreaming
what i'm dreaming
i can't read your mind
one step towards you
two steps back
feels like i'm crawling
if i'm alone in this
i don't think i can face
the consequences of fallin

Well, those questions are answered.  He is not breathing what I'm breathing.  He is not needing what I'm needing.  His pulse does not quicken like mine.  Fuck.  I got my sign.  I don't have to try and read his mind.  I'm alone in this and I don't think I can face the consequences of falling in love with this man.

In case you've never had the man you love tell you that he isn't sexually attracted to you, I can share with you first hand that it feels really shitty. Damn, talk about a body slam.  As if I haven't been slamming my own body enough as it is.  I'll be 57 years old in one week and I gotta tell you, I've been in a wretched place with my body image and this whole menopausal pack on the fat phase.  Slam dunk K.  You know where to hit a girl where it hurts.

Not that I blame him.  I mean, what was the poor man to do?  If he's not sexually attracted to me anymore, what else is there for him to do but tell me?  He obviously didn't relish disclosing this little (huge) piece of information to me and it was a truth I was not happy to hear.  But the truth is, I'm not sexually attracted to my own self right now.  I'm quite aware that I'd be more physically attractive if I were holding less fat on my body.  But you want love to see beyond that.  I'm fairly full of self loathing.  And now to add to that, my feelings are hurt.  My ego is bruised and busted.

I told him I never trusted "us".  I guess I've always held some trepidation.  I definitely hold some post traumatic stress from when he contemplated breaking it off with me two years ago.  How could I fully trust my relationship with a man who never told me that he was in love with me? At the same time, our friendship was deep and I had grown to trust his love for me and I was holding big appreciation for his presence in my life.   I hold confusion about the difference between "loving" and being "in love" with someone anyway so I just accepted his love for what it was, without needing to put a label on it.   He is kind.  He is truthful.  He is a good man.  A sweet lover.  I had let go of many of my attachments about how I needed to be in relationship with him and I was simply allowing myself to be happy and content.  Comfortable.  Mostly.  But I suppose that I was secretly hoping that he had fallen in love with me and would come around, sooner or later to figuring that out.  I feel like a fool.  When he told me that he wanted to have a "candid" talk, I knew, in one way or another, what was coming.  Although after my immediate tachycardia I told myself not to jump to conclusions.  I imagined a number of different possible topics.  Maybe he even wanted to tell me that he was in love with me, that he was "dreaming what I'm dreaming".  I didn't imagine hearing his words telling me that he was no longer sexually attracted to me.  I've never had a man tell me that before.  It stings.

It's weird, as k.d. says, "one step towards you, two steps back, feels like I'm crawling".  K was a wonderful lover to me in many ways and I'm feeling pretty fucking devastated to lose this aspect of our relationship.  To face this reality, that he isn't physically attracted to me, doesn't want to make love with me,  doesn't want to fuck me.  WTF am I suppose to do with this information?  It makes me angry too.  My sexuality is a huge piece of my identity.  Who and what I am.  Jesus fucking Christ.  Talk about the ultimate rejection.  God fucking damnit.  And the truth is that I constantly held myself back from him sexually too.  It was obvious that he didn't desire me as much as I desired him and I chalked it up to a difference in our libidos, and the fact that he holds his sexuality differently than I hold mine which is always in the forefront.  His is more compartmentalized.   I was always hungry for him but I learned to control my cravings, waiting for him to make the first move, always stepping back, never wanting to pressure him.  I consistently felt like I was crawling in our relationship.  And the crawling wasn't bad.  I wasn't complaining.  And I'm not complaining now, about how it was.  I accepted him for who he was, how he was.  Instead of wanting more, I practiced wanting what he gave me and I was pretty much satisfied with that.  But I don't know how to begin being satisfied with this.  I am complaining about this.

And I never got to get my tramp stamp tattoo and surprise him with it when he took me from behind and fucked me.  He told me that's how he wanted to discover it.  I waited too long.

I've always said that we fall in love with who we fall in love with, and then we create a relationship from there.  Our lovers are real people, acting out their own karma, living their lives and trying to get their needs met to the best of their abilities, just like we are.  When we love another, we have the choice of either loving the real person or loving a fantasy, a made up story that we create in our mind about who and what that person is and how they will meet our needs and make us happy.   But real people don't always come through for us the way our fantasies do.  They improv in the roles and scripts we make up for them.  I'm so let down.  I invested so much of heart and body to this man and he never fully claimed me in my totality.  I knew that.  And I knew not to trust that he wouldn't do what he just did.  Why am I so insistent on falling in love with unavailable men?

I'm alone in this and I don't think I can face the consequences of falling...

Fuck.