Who am I now? I've learned a lot about what a relationship should be. Still learning, because, really, I've researched and thought a lot. I may finally be in a place where I could be in a relationship. I've started to notice what I miss about having someone else in my life.
I know I can live on my own. I know I'm an independent person, and I have a much better idea of my needs and think that I can communicate them better now than I could at nineteen. Of course I should be able to. Nineteen year old me and twenty two year old me do not want a visit from current me. Sixteen year old me and I are back on the same page. I think she'd probably listen to anything I had to tell her. I know she would tell me to stop being stupid and take an opportunity if one comes along, and that there is nothing left to be afraid of, because everything you thought might happen pretty much has- you got hurt, you had a lot of terrible sex, you made really bad choices and alienated everyone around you, again. It's like high school only with sex this time. Now that you know you actually like sex, don't worry about the rest of it, move on.
She's right. She's also kinda stupid, but she's sixteen. She knew her limitations and also knows that I don't have any I'm not creating for myself.
Last week, in a conversation with my ex husband about his future and his options. I think he's in a slightly better place than he was, or he's finally learned that I do not want to hear hopeless whining about things that are within his control if he'll just do something about it. So I ask, what was so bad about me that he had to go looking for sex?
And he's intensely uncomfortable with the conversation. He's completely inconsistent in his answers. I still don't know whether he lied most recently, or lied the other times I've tried to find out why he felt the need to do what he did. It turns out, it doesn't matter. It's enough to know that he's still not able to address the situation, "I can't believe we're having this conversation." "If we'd had it years ago," I say, "Things could have changed."
He thinks that, no, if we'd had the conversation, if he'd talked about what he needed and wanted, I would have left. Which does finally tell me what I needed to know- he never trusted me with his sexuality. He was happier believing that he needed me more than he needed to tell me the truth about what he needed.
That's for him to deal with someday. Even as he was saying it, I knew he didn't realise what he was telling me. Clearly, his sexuality is that big a weight on him, and I hope someday he figures out how to manage it.
It's nice to recognise that if I met his exact clone tomorrow, I'm not going to make that mistake again. Good to know.
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