[cw: self-harm discussion, past relationship abuse discussion]
Told Shann that I was going on an already-planned trip to catch up with some old buddies in the Valley, that I'd be back the following afternoon. Of course, the trip was actually to Benny's house. As soon as he closed the door behind us I hugged him as tight as I could and rocked. Thankfully he humored me, rubbed my back, kissed my head, leaned his chin against it. I'd never been more relieved to see him, to touch him, to breathe him in. Honestly, I was happily surprised I didn't start bawling. --I remember on tour when I told him I felt like I was drowning, how he said that he had me and wouldn't let me drown. Even more meaningful now.
We had a few drinks and I told him everything about Shann, including that I've had to fuck her. That it made me feel so dirty, so used (yet also terrible in another sense, not just used but uSING--), like such a liar and a whore, that I needed something real to wash it all away. We went to his bedroom to start on that; I got naked, stretched my body out on his bed-- then he saw my scabbed up shoulders. And then he saw the old scars on my thighs, like the shoulders prompted him to notice. Ugh, I still hear that "What the fuck is that, Julie?" and cringe and want to die.
--At first I went with my usual canned answer about being a crazy teenager and tried to move on, but that wasn't good enough here; everything on my shoulders was too fresh for that to be convincing. UGH. I was hoping so much that he'd never say anything. That I'd never have to say anything back. That it could remain my business. But I knew I'd have to say something, now, and couldn't think of a convincing lie to say on the spot (IS there one?), especially through the panic of being terrified he'd think of me as a monster or a freak or something too broken to ever love-- so I was pretty honest albeit vague: things happened to me, things were done to me, some of those things for a sustained period of time across months or years, and unless those things are done to you you can never quite know the pain of living with them and with the memory of them or even just the memory of the emotions you felt then (and likewise, I know there are pains he's endured I can never fully know, and ways he deals with it I may not understand). He asked me if I did all of it to myself, which I was fully honest about-- yes, over several years; I stopped doing anything to my legs after I moved out for college. Never even think about it unless something forces me to.
He lit a cigarette, shook his head. "G-d, you really are fucked up, man. Amazing. But fucked up." I shouldn't have been too upset at the assessment. It was honest. But it still made me so anxious I thought my heart was going to fly out of my mouth; made me even more sure he thought I was a broken-monster-freak. I added that I did the most recent stuff before I had the chance to talk to him about the entire Shann situation, when things seemed the most hopeless (mostly true). A little cigarette pause, a big sigh outward. He told me he sometimes wished he didn't care so much about me. He didn't know if he had everything I needed. I told him he'd already been so wonderful with me, and that being around him always made me able to try my hardest for anything. That doing everything for him and the crew had given me more confidence and a stronger sense of purpose than anything had in a long time. That we worked so well together, and that excited me so much. And: I knew I could do stupid things to myself. But everything we'd done with and for the crew made it so much easier for me to do better. I can feel like I'm panicking and fumbling in the dark, but things like that are such a bright light, and that he's the brightest light of them all. I told him I knew he wasn't sure love was worth it, but I wanted to do everything to make it worth it; that I'd been through enough pain to be afraid of love myself, but he made me believe in it. And-- we were holding each other at this point, and I wanted him so much, and I was equally afraid I was losing him, and I didn't know what I would do without him-- I told him he didn't have to be afraid of feeling the way he did for me, and he didn't have to be afraid of how much I feel for him, either. I held him a little tighter and told him-- let me love you.
What started out as a nerve-wracking maze through a minefield ended up with the most beautiful, loving sex I've ever had with him (so far). I finally got the courage to look into his eyes after I said my piece, and I saw the look in those eyes soften; he held and stroked my face and I knew that he loved me. I still wanted him to say it in words, but he made me wait for it. This waiting entailed him kissing and touching and feeling me so beautifully passionately that I could almost forget what I wanted most, and by the time he guided me on top of him and guided himself inside of me nothing else mattered anymore beyond what was happening in the moment. I missed being fucked by him so much; I missed how effortlessly good at it he was, how much it emptied all other thoughts in my head beyond how entirely I wanted to be his. And then-- when we were both close, hanging on just to feel as much of and from each other as we could-- he DID say it, and I said it back, and we were laying on our sides, gripping each other so tight, he was fucking me so deep, his voice as beautiful and sexy as ever in my ear but even more romantic, with such a wonderful wavering the closer he got, and all I could think the whole time, with every thrust, was "I love you". Cumming was SUCH a release, and I could tell it was for him too-- jesus christ every time I forget how perfect he is he reminds me with everything he has.
I stayed the night, slept with him (and really slept, too!), woke up beside him, and I told him, once we were both awake, that this feeling, right here with him, was worth anything I had to endure, and I wouldn't let anyone or anything take it away from us. We both knew I had to go back to Shann as soon as we had breakfast and cleaned up, and neither of us wanted me to go back. We made love again, nice and slow, and then after all was said and done, when I was on my way out the door, he put a hand on my shoulder and reminded me that he had me. And I did feel better, for awhile, even when I was back home. I could still feel how all of my body felt with and because of Benny. I was still his before anything. That makes things seem so much more endurable.
Once we fully succeed-- and I KNOW we will-- once Phil isn't something we have to worry about anymore, we can figure out what to do with Walter. And then (in a likely far more pleasant way), what to do with Shann.
PS: Lorenzo used to say that to try and put me in my place if I tried to get a little too much for myself: that I was his before I was anything. It's odd that I have fantasies of Ben saying those sorts of things or hitting me or making it hurt... and so awful, too. I know he hates the idea of being expected to be sexually aggressive/aggressively-dominant, and I'd never actually make him do any of it. It's not about him, it's just my stupid brain. G-d it makes me feel sick, really. I don't even know why I'm talking about it. It wasn't even like that this time around and I was (and am) so happy...
Hard to sleep again. Not surprising, I guess. Too much to think about. The more I'm around Shann the more I know I need to think of something. I thought it could wait 'til things were more settled with Benny and I, but if that's strategically sound in one way, it isn't emotionally sound at all. The thought itself, the urgency of it, presses up against my brain like a constant alarm going off, but that in itself sometimes (ironically) makes it harder to actually THINK. What the hell do I do. What the hell is this. There're times I'm still so angry at Walt for it all that it colors everything else, and that makes it hard to think, too. Like Shann was something that was forced to Happen to me. --And she WAS, in a way, but it's not like SHE knows that, and I keep having to remind myself of that so the ugliness around the whole situation doesn't leak through in how I act towards her.
She doesn't have the highest sex drive in the world, thankfully-- and still, that sounds like such a terrible thing to say "thankfully" to, but it's just how it is. It's not like I'm completely disgusted by it, or by her. It's just-- well, there's a reason I don't sleep with women, right? It's not that it's utterly disgusting, it's just kind of uncomfortable and a lot less automatically arousing. But anyway, it's not like she wants it every day or anything. Once a week, twice if she's having a rougher week. An hour or two out of hundreds: thinking about it like that makes it easier.
Nate came over to visit recently (much to Shann's chagrin-- she still doesn't trust him or like him; she says he belongs in a college frat). He was honest about the reason, too, or at least, I think he was, because of how embarrassed he was to admit it: he didn't know what to do with himself. He had his own friends, of course, but so many of them are also in the business, and right now, many of them were also busy with their own projects, tours, etc. He would hang with Jeff, and he has, but "Jeff, man... he's a nice guy and all, and he can be fun, too, but... I dunno. It's like he's tryin' too hard at it." I agreed with that with a laugh, and he gave me a strange look for a moment, added "I think I catch you tryin' too hard sometimes, yourself."
Ugh, I hope I didn't go even a little red at that. I felt it in my ears. I asked him what he meant and he just shrugged. We moved on soon after that anyhow. Everything feels like it's closing in on me again, and even worse than it did on the road. I mean, I do appreciate Nate visiting. I was honestly surprised at it; less surprised that he'd been hanging with Jeff. Thought he'd just stick with that. That's his new little friend, right? A lot less embarrassing than I am. So it was relieving to hear from him that they might not be as friendly as I thought. For awhile, Jeff being around also made the walls feel like they were closing in on me. I thought the best of everything I'd experienced with the band, when Greg was around, was long behind me. I thought, too, that everything I was doing with Benny would keep Nate upset with me. But he was fine, there. Friendly. We just talked awhile over some beers, walked around my (and now Shann's) garden, a little around my neighborhood. He plucked a magnolia from Lottie's tree and plopped it on my head with a guffaw. Part of me almost wondered if it would start raining.
When he left, he made it sound like he'd be back sooner rather than later. Poor Shann, ha! But truly, and again, surprisingly, a relief for me.
Of course Nathan can't ACTUALLY relax for too long. Then again, can I? Restless for our own reasons.
Anyway, he did come over again, and he brought one of his guitars with him (what I mean when I say he can't relax). Gave Shann an excuse to head out to hang with Anna, and I think that went well. Nate and I had some leftovers for lunch, after I insisted on it-- Shann still doesn't eat much, and I don't know what to do with that, or if I can do anything about it, but it meant there was plenty for Nate. Realized, while I was serving it all, that he'd never actually had my cooking before. He liked most of it, thankfully! Persian spicing can be a little odd if you're not used to it, so he was a good sport. He liked the rose cake he tried, though! "You made this shit with the flowers out there??", he asked. Ha! And pistachio flour and various other things, but yes! Shouldn't be surprised he has a sweet tooth.
He had a riff he wanted to try out on me, though, and he was antsy about that even through the rose cakes. At first, I was reluctant-- I wanted this time off to be time off, you know? For my voice, for my brain, for everything. But with Shann being around, it's not like it's much of a real vacation anymore anyway (and again, it makes me feel so awful to say...). So we sat in my living room and he played it for me. Too heavy at first, like a lot of his stuff has been lately. I told him that, too, and of course it wasn't something he wanted to hear. We went back and forth on it for awhile, increasingly snippy, and at some point I was so tired of trying to explain why it was too heavy for me that I just belted that frustration out musically. Nate looked at me with a wide-eyed EUREKA kind of look. "That's more LIKE IT, dude!! --Yo, d'you know any 'Sabbath?" G-d, he wasn't going to make me sing Iron Man, was he? I wondered it to myself, then decided to do a quick, joking Ozzy impression to illustrate how ridiculous the idea would be. Nate burst out laughing from it so hard he fell off the couch, and there was that night in the rain again.
Shann was back from her Anna visit before he could seriously get me to sing any heavy metal song. Maybe he'll get it out of me at some point! But not today, ha.
It's funny, in a sad way, how little I'm cut out for straight life. It's the most ill-fitting thing. There's a strange kind of vindication in that, too. Like, I'm trying. Aren't I? And I've tried earlier in my life, too. Before, that trying was for Mom. For Granddad. For a stupid, silly hope of my father coming back (one of many little magical fake promises I made to myself as a kid; if I do such and such then he'll come back). I eventually gave up in all those cases, and it made me feel so awful each time until I found La Rosa, until I met Cryssie. She was the one to teach me what I was wasn't wrong, just different, and she taught me that there could be a beauty in that difference. She brought that out of me.
Ugh, imagine if she saw me now. She'd be utterly, completely disgusted by me and I couldn't even defend myself. Haven't been back to La Rosa for awhile for that reason. The more public this relationship with Shann is, the less I'll want to go back there. To face them. Look in their faces. Their eyes. Ugh.
Anyway. I think I'm convincing enough for Shann, anyway. Even sex. Like, she cums. But all of it-- the sex, the "romance", all of it-- is still a stage play being acted out, a script being read from. I can fake that kind of romance easily for music; put myself in the shoes of a man who really would love a woman the way I love men. When it's this, it's... ugh. I'm trying not to drink too much. I don't think I am. Just a little. To make things easier. To make things feel comfortably fake-- I've given up, for now, on real. Comfortable for me, convincing for her. That's what matters in the short-term. In the long term... G-d, I still don't know. There's a fear there. I'll admit that. It's deep and it's bigger than I want it to be and it feels like it's chipping away at me. Everything has that toes-dangling-from-the-cliff feeling again and Ben so often isn't around to catch me. I love him, I know he loves me, and I have to remind myself that he does, that he's there for me in my heart even if he isn't always in person, or even on the phone. Some days are easier than others.
Things can't stay this way forever. That's a promise, a threat, a prayer.