I can just imagine all of you, huddled around a computer screen, reading in unison about the gory non-details of my so called love life. It makes me laugh, really, to think of all of you, superimposing me and him (who you say is your friend) into every awkward episode that I catalog on this blog. That every detail about everything I say is somehow an invective against him.
I know what it looks like when you tell him when you see him, “Hey, did you read the blog today?”
You really shouldn’t do that. He’s a very unstable person.
This blog has always been the bane of my relationships. (Except for one – hey, gangsta boo, miss ya!) Which is strange because this blog predates most of my relationships, and most of my boyfriends already knew about the blog before they jumped into bed with me.
This blog is part of who I am and what I do, and for a man to tell me he loves me except he doesn’t love the part of me that puts this blog up on the Internet – well, that’s disingenuous love, isn’t it? That’s loving not me as a whole person but loving the parts of me that are convenient to be around. He probably loves the parts of me that has a car and works at a bar and gets hooked up at various restaurants around town. He probably also loves the part of me that is good at fucking, but what he doesn’t realize is that that’s the same part of me as where the blog comes from. He loves the part of me that needs him every day, all the time, constantly, desperately, but he doesn’t realize that’s the part of me that screams and cries in public and in an uncomfortable way whenever we’re fighting.
He loves me with my mask on. He has no idea who I really am.
Which is why he tells me I’m selfish. I’ve gotten that from men before in different forms: self serving, self invested. I don’t know why I should be insulted that someone thinks I’m selfish. I’m a single, independent woman who was to provide for herself, and I am willing to do whatever I want to ensure that I am happy because, well, no one else will. Selfishness is a survival mechanism, and it’s not mutually exclusive to altruism. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander, and I’m the goose in this scenario.
I would ask the rhetorical question: what am I supposed to give up in order to not be seen as selfish? But I already know the answer. I would have to give up this blog. Which isn’t searingly sexual in the least bit anymore, but it used to be, so it’s a threat.
But it’s not that the blog makes me selfish – it’s that the blog gives me a voice and it gives me power, two things that men don’t really find to be attractive qualities in women. In times like this, criticizing me for having a platform upon which to speak about things that effect me as a woman and may at times involve sexuality – sounds pretty fascist to me. Which a few years ago would have been a funny thing to say, but fascism is a real threat in our country these days. I do not support fascism.
I had shut the blog down following a traumatic incident with a partner. I decided to put it back up because I didn’t want someone else to intimidate me into not doing what I love doing most: writing.
So there he goes, another man upset by the things I said that weren’t about him on this blog. Fantastic. I cried about it because I loved him, but that’s okay because I’m not going to cry anymore.