This, a lyric in a song that plays randomly on my opening play list. I don’t know who the artist is, but I resonate with the sentiment. Less the brightness, more the dark.
After much deliberate consideration over the last few years, I have had to face the reality that my body is not something people want in the way I want them to. Despite being as GGG as I can be, as readily excited to try new things, as willing to give and bend and bow over end over end as much as I can — this is not appealing.
I’ve attempted to parse this reality. The most seemingly logical conclusion that I can come to is the more-than-slightly disheartening conclusion that it is, in fact, my identity that is the problem. (Am I shocked? I shouldn’t be.)
I have this theory that if I put on a pink frilly skirt and played by all the rules — I wouldn’t be quite so alone. If I grew my hair long, coiffed it up in the front, put on eyeliner and bright red lipstick, and picked one cis-hetero guy at a time — I’d be fine. If I released my other energies by indulging said one guy by talking being excited about the occasional fantasy of a threesome with some other lady said one guy chose — I’d have prospects.
Or not. Because there appears to be another issue. Even if I played the cis-hetero-monog role so hard core you never noticed, I’d have this problem: over-eagerness.
This seems to be more of a catch 22 than I ever anticipated. The age old “people want what they can’t have” definitely comes into play. So does the idea that being overly eager is a bad thing.
I’ve taken to this phrase: “Too much, too soon?”
I notice how often the answer is “yes.”
I’m genuinely confused. In a culture where eager and obvious consent is (supposedly) a sought after quality, shouldn’t this idea of “over eagerness” be moot? Shouldn’t we have gotten over this necessity to play coy and disinterested? Shouldn’t we be appreciative when people clearly communicate what people want?
My confusion leads me to the following conclusion: what I misread as interest was not. It was curiosity at my oddity. And people don’t love strangeness. They push it away because being too close to the other is uncomfortable. And despite how hard I tried to learn the secret codes and keys of communication and tried with all my might to put people at ease — it has begun to appear that I do the exact opposite.
I seem to inadvertently point out the things people don’t like about themselves, about culture, about reality. Discussion and open communication doesn’t help my case, but only furthers the distance between us. My gravity doesn’t draw you in, it pushes me — wandering planet — away. Into empty space. So I can be viewed through your telescope sometime in the past and marveled at.
A spacial circus freak behind the bars of a vacuum pressed against, not my chest or brain — but heart.
It’s a good thing I decided, rather than throw myself on that fire, to hone a craft. Because at least in the cold hollowness out here, I can keep my hands busy and my core warm. One day, possibly, someone will fall into me. We’ll spin and dance, and it will inevitably be temporary.
Or not. Possibly, with age, these road bumps will even out. Or, I’ll get better at sending out a more clear vibe and attracting a better tribe.
One can hope.
Until then, I write on. Imagine worlds and hearts that need one another. Meld together. Share, take, give and grow. Become beautifully graphed into one another. I was there once, for a brief while, and I can trace those scar lines like maps as much as I follow the observations of others’ behaviors. It is not a bad life.
Correction: it is good.
Occasionally lonely, but then — who isn’t?
This internal disconnect from everyone else is an infliction I suspect we homo sapiens sapiens tend to suffer from. Our current evolutionary lot. I will try to carry it with some grace. Of course, I will fail an awful amount. But, I aim to always pick back up. Find a tool. And carry on.