The Shameful Monkey Dance

I got the call last night; I didn't get the role. I was actually surprised by this, as I was pretty sure I was going to get cast. Its okay that I didn't; I really thought the play was bad and the director couldn't even get two people with the same name straight, which made me slightly nervous. It was, however, a bit of a blow to the 'ol ego. Today I am feeling much better about the whole thing and on my way to Manhattan Theatre Source to sign up for this week's Estrogenius auditions (they have four weeks of the festival and four weeks of auditions corresponding with each week of the festival). Last night, however, was a different story.

Theoretically, at least in my lush mind, the best medicine for a bruised ego is to surround yourself with a huge table of wacky loud artists and drink away your imagined shame. This works especially well when there are $4 mohitos all night. This, however, ceases to be a good solution when you are deposited on your doorstep by a taxicab that your gay boyfriend paid for, with gigantic bags of fresh veggies in tow that seem doubled in size by the very extreme effort it takes to keep your fingers grasped around the handles. It becomes an even worse solution when you then sit on the stoop and realize that you have a cell phone in your hand and an overwhleming longing to use it.

I tried vainly to keep from dialing his number. I called Mr. Saucy Funnybuns to make sure he had gotten home safely (although we shared a cab and I saw him go inside), but he was drunk as well and had to be up early in the morning. I called Orphannie and left what I'm sure is a mostly unintelligble gurgle about how I was trying not to call Mr. Emotionally Unavailable. I called My Little Vidipookikins, but she was probably nestled in with her new boyfriend and didn;t pick up. And then I did it. I did it knowingly too...I took his number off of speed dial, so I had to look it up, which takes a bit of time when you can't really focus on what you're reading. It was thankfully busy.

Were I a smart monkey, I would have left it at that.

But no, I felt compelled to give it one more try. I was having such a hard time abstaining from calling, at least to say that it hurt too much to talk. I think I knew I could do this and hide behind the flimsy excuse of alcohol; on some level, I was cognizant that the alcohol was merely a tiny push that sent me into a full speed gallop. It was permission to do what I knew I should not but wanted so desperately to do.

The phone rang on the second try, and he picked up almost immediately. I identified myself, and he sounded so excited to hear my voice. I told him that I was only calling to say that the reason I hadn't been calling him back was because it was too hard. He said he thought it might be, and had felt selfish for calling. I told him that he was.

This began what was to be the general tone of our conversation, and this I am infinitely proud of. I continually held him accountable and reminded him that I was a human being, with feelings, who is hurting. I continually reminded him that what he claims to be able to give is not enough. I continually let him know that I have been deeply hurt by him, and I would not let him forget that.

It killed me to hear his voice. He genuinely misses me; there was no question about that. He even said so several times, to which I responded "That's really great to know, and I miss the hell out of you too, but it changes nothing. And it deosn't mean you love me." He said "I like you very very much and in my range of emotion, that's probably the highest you can get." and I replied, "Well my emotional range is considerably bigger than yours, extending infinitely in either direction. And I deserve someone who can give me more than just the middle range." He also said at one point that he felt badly about my having fallen so hard for him; that he had tried to be as painfully honest as he possibly could. I told him "That's not honesty, Mr. EU; that's defining the terms and boundaries of the relationship. Honesty is saying this is how I feel, and I'm scared shitless of being hurt." He also said that he had thought about looking for my blog; I told him he probably didn't want to read it. He said "We can't ever get back together because your friends all poabbly hate me now." and I responded "We can't ever get back together because you are unwilling or incapable of giving me what I need."

He was more honest and willing to talk about feelings and what happened in a relatively vulnerable way, which was of course such a very tempting hope trap. And the shutter to his higher self, as Lady Charon calls it, was invitingly open. But I know that it does not stay open. I know that he is not where I want and need him to be. I brought up something he said when we had our heartbreaking ending; I had asked him "So this isn't ever going to go anywhere is it?" And he replied, "No, it isn't. Not unless I get a lot more mature and I don't think that's going to hapen anytime soon. I was a lot more mauture ten years ago, and I'm just not ready to be back there again." Only I misquoted him and said that he had said "I don't want to be back there again." He said "I said that? That doesn't sound like something I'd say." I restated it changing my error, and he said "Now that's more like something I'd say. I guess the best way to describe it is its like little baby steps. I'm taking them, but it takes time to get there."

I understand that. I understand that very well. That is something which actually makes total sense to me, having been there before. He's working at it, but isn't where I need him to be. It doesn't mean I will or should wait around for him; but I get it, and its nice to know he's actually working on it. I told him that even if he called tomorrow and said he was willing to commit and that he loved me that I couldn't go back to him, because he hadn't done the work he needs to do on himself to be able to be in a loving relationship. Hell, I'm just starting my own self examination, who even knows if I'm there yet. He seemd to agree with that. So we're in total agreement that basically the situation sucks and there's just no getting around it. We miss eachother, we'd like to be able to be together, but we can't because our needs just don't mesh right now. That fucking eats my insides with razor sharp teeth.

But I am proud of myself. I held my ground, despite a longing so real it was physically palpable. I proved that I will not go back; yes, the longing, the want, the desperate painful need is still there and still as puissant as ever. But I had my chance to run back into his arms and instead I found myself saying these truths that I must invariably own somewhere deep inside the remainders of my shredded guts. I therefore will say, before the flood of well intentioned admonishing begins, that it was not a bad thing that I called. As Lady Charon said today, I held my finger to the flame and did not get burned. Instead, I proved to myself that I had indeed made a commitment to honor myself that I had every intention of keeping, despite the extreme difficulty.

Towards the end of the conversation, he changed the subject from that of feelings, and began to talk in general about life and ask about mine. This went on for about 5 minutes, and then I said "Mr. EU, I think I want to stop talking to you now. This is too hard." and just like that, I ended the conversation. He told me it was really wonderful to hear my voice, even though that was selfish of him. He said "Talk to you soon. Maybe?" and I said "Maybe one day we can talk and it won't be painful. I hope so. That's the goal here, but that's not right now." And we hung up.

I thankfully was supposed to see Lady Charon today anyway, and it was very helpful in seeing the positive aspects of the conversation (ie my newfound strength in regards to this situation), as well as hammering home the fact that hope is a moot point, he was essentially telling me that nothing had changed. She mentioned something interesting in that he fights to protect himself from falling in love and being hurt again just as vehemtly as I fight to protect myself from ever being or feeling violated again. We are both extremely fierce boudaried warriors that turn everything into a battle of self protection. And we reached an impass.

I then returned to the sdj and hid behind my ipod (courtesy of the wonderful Mr. Artsy Hotpants) all day and have just been letting myself sit with the torrential rains of emotional extremes, letting them flow as they will. I think this will take a long time to get over; far longer than I would have thought. But I held my ground. It hurts and the wounds are bleeding profusely, but the sutures held and I will heal from the inside out.

It is moments like yesterday and today that I really miss my big brother. I have realized that he was always the one I turned to, even at a very young age, and even when he abused that trust. He was always the one who could make me feel safe and secure and always the only one I could really count on. I have been desperately searching since for that same security; I have it to a certain degree with old friends, especially Orphannie who has rescused me from many a self dug ditch. But I am perpetually searching for a safe harbor, and unwilling to trust enough to drop anchor anywhere. I want someone to hold my hand and protect me from all that I should have been protected from much earlier in life. I want someone to assure me that those traumas will never happen again. I want to be protected from any future traumas or even minor scrapes and aches and pains. I am tired. I am still fighting and still know that I am okay and will always be okay, but I am very very tired.

I definitely veered a sharp left at the end there, but I'm leaving it in, as it is all interconnected. But being so tired and needing to go to the theatre and its already 9:00, I am going to block the electrical impulses being sent from my spewing brain to my frantically flying fingers and leave you on that unfortunately very sad sounding note. If it were on a musical instrument, it would definitely be a haunting clarinet solo. However, I'm sure things pick up in the next movement, and there is a surprise clash of cymbals just around the corner.