For the past few days—probably because it’s been close to the anniversary of the dumpage—my ex has been on my mind.
Don’t worry, I’m OK, nothing drastic is about to happen nor is it in any way shape or form risky. What’s been on my mind are the things about me that probably would have gotten me out of the “relationship” even without the circumstances that there were.
For one: the sexual incompatibility
We weren’t exactly sexually compatible, and he just assumed we would be based off of things that he heard about me—and let’s face it, that’s kind of shitty. He’d heard about my writing and assumed off the bat that I would be some kind of hyper-sexed animal when, in reality, I could take it or leave it for…oh, most of the month. And he was a greedy little punk. So greedy that it the relationship started with—well, you know by now.
STOP MEANS STOP. NO MEANS NO.
After it was all said and done and I found out how he used to complain about my lack of desire (in a tone of “oh poor me,” of course) to mutual friends, I REALLY got disgusted with him. Well, more than usual.
I’m probably somewhere around grey-sexual, if I were to put a name to it. I don’t COMPLETELY not experience it, but it is so rare that I’ll sometimes
Then there’s my gender
And his issue with my attempts to explore it. There were many attempts, and there were attempts at talking, but he would shut me down at every attempt about it. And then there was this attempt at policing what I wore by stopping me from buying argyle socks. Seriously. Argyle socks. He bitched at me for wanting argyle socks. Said they would make me look like Ellen. At the same time he would try and manipulate my wardrobe to make me look more to-his-standards-femme—which wasn’t me. I just wasn’t allowed to figure things out for myself—which should have been my first warning, but I got into that relationship when I was getting out of another one and that one was coming from a deficit of touch…there’s something to be said for bad decisions.
After I got out of that thing I had time to figure out what was going on with myself, especially since there was no one telling me what was isn’t or is ‘proper’ for me to do and be.
He would have had suuuuuuch a problem with me being queer. He pretended to be so progressive but it was obvious there was a problem. I wasn’t allowed to explore in any way.
I’m free now, though. Free to be queer me.
That’s the other thing, the freedom
I never thought I’d enjoy it as much as I do. I find that I don’t care about what people think of me (well, as long as they don’t misgender me) as much as I used to. Now that I have the chance and space to be who and what I am, it’s a lot easier to just be than it used to be. It’s just so much easier, not having to worry whether I’m “enough” to one person.
I just have to be me. Me enough for me. And that’s freeing.