What If

Recently I have struggled with the ‘What if’ factor when it comes to two, now thirty something year old men that have been a part of my life.  I know it has been triggered as a result of the uncertainty within my personal and professional life.  Only natural I suppose – I am the Queen of examining the grey matter in life.  Sometimes you can get caught up in the muck and it is better not too; but sometimes, I do believe we must lose ourselves in the muck in order to gain perspective and clarity.  It makes us better-rounded as human beings.

November 9, 2013 – my Senior Prom date got married.  July 26, 2014 – my best guy friend is getting married.  Two guys who I had crushes on, but nothing every came from our make out sessions.  Perhaps we were too young, too afraid of what it meant, in our search for clarity, our search for the definition of the blurry symbols.  All the signs were there for both of these guys to amount to something in my future – but none of them ever did.  Chalk it up to the time – 2003.  

Ah, 2003.  When cell phones were truly just coming on the scene and who had EVER heard of texting?  Weren’t we all just getting use to electronic mail and instant messenger via AOL?  Oh 2003, how long ago you seem.  I was 22 when I was graduated from Muhlenberg and while I don’t feel all that much older due to different choices and paths I have taken in my life since “the bubble” that is Muhlenberg, I do feel old.  I can feel the burning under my eyes at 12:15am, the dark circles growing; whereas 11 years ago, the night was like a Cat Stevens song, ‘Oh Very Young.’ 

To think we haven’t even touched on my sexuality and my mom’s interpretation of it.  The statement I am greeted with lately – and it is a statement that is the same every time my sexuality is discussed with mom (which is practically next to never), “You were picked on so much as a child that you finally found acceptance within this group, this lifestyle – that you continued to seek it and now you are scared because you realize it isn’t you.” The truth of the matter is, yes, I do have these feelings towards women and it is only a select handful; yes, I did find acceptance within the group – though I never truly felt comfortable fully identifying myself as lesbian; however, I was quick to identify as gay.  The ‘What if’ factor is something that truly rots within me – I looked at photos of John and his then fiancée on their wedding website the night before their wedding and felt, ‘That could have been us – we could be that happy.  We had that charisma.  We clicked.’  But we never pushed the envelope – chalk it up to fear or youth, we never did.  Who’s to say if our lives would have agreed to go on the same path – as I wanted to pursue a journalism profession and John a route that seemed to be designed for him by his father – law.

John and I clicked – and perhaps it was just our teenage years – but I don’t think it was.  We connected from the time we were 8, when we were strategizing how to beat our opponents in mixed doubles in a weekend round robin hosted by our tennis club; or the time we were 18 dancing at my final prom at Kent Place – we understood there was something there; or was in when we were 19, sitting across from my best friend and her now husband – with Yuenglings in our hands, nervously looking at each other as to how that night would end (in a long, very long hug); or was it when we were three months shy from our college graduations when we shared our first kiss.  Our first kiss that played out so simply, yet perfectly.  I could tell you every moment leading up to that kiss, and all that followed after for the night.  John was my best guy friend and losing touch with him was absolutely crushing.  I think what makes losing touch with him even harder, is the fact my mom saw John several times on Nantucket when she went to visit since he and I lost touch.  I cannot help but wonder if John ever asked her to say hello to me; or if she told him about me.  

Whatever it was that caused us to lose touch after we both finished our post-graduate work in Boston (John went to Law School at Suffolk – just blocks from Emerson, where I received my Master’s), I do regret it.  I regret the ease I felt with him, from his simple head tilt that gave me the impression, he truly was listening to me – which we never followed through on all the glances we exchanged. I regret never following through with statements he made about how I was his “mother’s favorite”.  But again, I was only 18 – how was I to know that this man would eventually vanish from my life?  I think the hardest part for me in dealing with the situation with John, is the fact, he didn’t meet his now wife until the end of 2011.  Only two years ago they met – though friends had been wanting to introduce them for a while – with no luck.  All that time until 2011, I could have had a chance with someone I still could see myself being very happy with (or can I?  Is it simply me longing to fill a void?  That is another writing in itself).  Then you would also have to factor in my lifestyle for work – I was committed to living and working in New York City; whereas John seemed to be completely focused on a life on Nantucket as a lawyer.  Attempts I made to find him, were met with no success – no LinkedIn, Facebook, Twitter.  John had simply vanished.  Needless to say, this was more than disappointing.

Of course with all this John talk, Ethan needs to be addressed as well.  Ethan is a very good friend of mine, one whom I have not been intimate with since 2004.  We met in college – first in passing when we were freshman.  At that time, Ethan was dating Annie, also known as Casper (the Friendly Ghost) – due to her very white hair and pale complexion.  I saw them a few times on campus – they were a relatively shy looking couple – seemingly always attached at the hip, with their hands stuck in each other’s back pockets; but they represented a cute first year couple.  It perhaps seemed as if they would be together forever; but that’s when senior year came around.  I had returned from a year abroad in Australia and had maintained only a select handful of friendships – not by choice, but by the fact most of my former friends felt I was being selfish by electing to spend an additional semester abroad, rather than come back and be at school.

September 12, 2002 – around 1 in the morning, was the day I officially met Ethan.  It was Ethan’s 21^st birthday.  Kristin and I had decided to go to Callahan’s for wings and beer before the PKT brothers decided to bring Ethan there for the last leg of his birthday pub crawl.  Kristin’s then boyfriend, Josh, was a PKT brother along with Ethan.  As we noshed on our 10 cent wings and guzzled our cheap Yuengelings – Kristin and I began to talk about the year ahead.  Senior year!?!  How did that happen to us?  Regardless, we were going to make the most of it.  And based on the new liver I had developed when I was over in Australia – I knew we were in for a great time.  With an additional gulp of the delicious amber fluid, we heard the mass stumble in.  The boys found us quite quickly and Ethan managed to stagger his way towards me and fall into the open space next to me.  He immediately slouched over in a drunken heap, but did not forget his manners, “I’m Ethan.  We’ve never met.  It’s my birthday you know.”  He extended his hand.

I hesitated with my hand as it was covered in wing sauce; I quickly reached for a napkin and shook his hand, “I know who you are, you used to date Casper.” I immediately cringed and began an internal dialogue.  ‘Was I supposed to say that?’ ‘Would that upset him?’  ‘How long had it been since they had broken up?’  

 
Kristin started laughing, as did all of Ethan’s fraternity brothers.  Ethan was quite drunk but he managed to ask, “Whoooo?” In a long drawl that almost sounded like a ghost blowing in the wind.  He cracked a smile and helped himself to one of my wings.  I ordered him a beer and so began our friendship, which was often mixed in with a few nights of make out sessions.

I liked Ethan a lot – talking with him was so easy.  He was very friendly and smart.  I liked spending time with him and when those night’s led to make out sessions, I felt comfortable letting him sleep over and share my twin sized bed in my hole of sized dorm room in East Hall.  I felt myself wanting more from him and one night, he went to kiss me and I hesitated.  I stepped back, but Ethan tried again – this time we hadn’t been drinking.  “What are we doing?”  I asked the dreaded question and it hung in the air like a big rain cloud.  The silence was brutal.  Ethan looked me with an anxious look, it was obvious that he hadn’t given it that much thought.  I refused to answer my own question; Ethan spoke quietly, “I see us as having fun, I don’t want anything serious right now.”  I could understand his reasoning – Annie had truly crushed him; we were in our final semester in college – the last thing we needed to do was to get serious.

“Yeah.”  I too spoke quietly.  I should’ve let it go at that, but I didn’t.  “Ethan, I don’t want to do this fun stuff anymore – I want something more from this.”  I had never heard myself say those words to anyone and it took me by surprise.

“I understand.  But I don’t want it.  I like you a lot but I can’t do serious right now.”  He was so polite, it was impossible not to appreciate his honesty.  I took a few steps over to my left and opened the door to my room.  I couldn’t look at him as Ethan walked out.  I wondered if I was doing the right thing.  I was scared but I knew I had to say what I said.  I think what also made it so difficult was the fact one night while we were fooling around (another sober night), Ethan said to me, “I want you to meet my parents at graduation.”  “Why?”  “Well, you know in case we ever get married.”  It was the most serious thing I had ever heard him say in the few months we had known each other.

I was stunned.  And when I look back at that now, perhaps Ethan was more serious about me than he was letting on.  Perhaps he was just concerned about having his heart broken again.  Understandably so.  Ethan was dating Jackie for 5 and a half years before he proposed to her.  It took them almost two years to decide on a date.  My mom says Ethan has a quiet sadness to him and she thinks it is rooted to the fact he is in love with me.  I am afraid to go the wedding – I don’t know how I will react.  I am also afraid of how I will react.  I will be the only single friend from college there and I don’t know if I can stomach listening to him exchange vows.  It doesn’t seem real.

Ethan and I went to our 10 year reunion together – to which we were approached by a couple of people, “Oh wow, so you guys finally started dating!”  We laughed nervously; though we had gone to several weddings and events together – this was different.  I am not entirely sure what made it different, but it was.  When we drove home, we talked a lot about it and the conversation went from joking to serious.  Ethan admitted that he did have feelings for me when we were going to the weddings together, that he didn’t want to act on them because of the fact I was “into girls” – and was afraid I had ruled him out forever.  I was stunned.  I think a part of me has always been curious about what would have happened if I had just kissed him again in the summer of 2006.  I told him that I liked him too, even with liking the girls, that there were feelings there – but I was too scared to act on them and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship.  I don’t remember much more of the conversation, as I was somewhat drunk.  

I am 33.  I am afraid of being alone in my personal life – I think that is why I stay home in New Jersey for long periods of time lately.  I am so very afraid of what lies ahead and while some days are better than others, most of the time, I am stuck in the grey and frozen in thoughts – or sometimes no thoughts at all. 

ALL SHOOK UP

It was hot.  It was the kind of hot that the air felt as if you were bathing in soup.  Thick beads of sweat fell down my brow, down my neck, around my chest.  A rhythmic beat mixed in with the oppressive heat made it slightly more tolerable.  I was alone with my thoughts, which weren’t that deep.  I felt my hips slowly roll, my head rock back and forth, my thick hair occasionally clung to my sweat drenched skin.  

The building was empty other than me.  It was a small room, with a bed in the back.  I was cleaning the floor with a broom.  I became freer with every hip roll, my arms got into the dance.  I wasn’t dancing like no one was watching, I was dancing as if someone were watching and I was performing.  Liberation.  

The song switched.  The guitar strummed the new tune’s first few chords.  They were slightly more intense in their beat, a drum entered.  My body moved, my head snapped back and forth with my hair flying every which way.  My back is to the door, when suddenly I feel something collide with me, I am startled but not afraid.  They are grinding their body into my backside, their arms are locked with mine.  I drop the broom. 

My hands are shaky and my knees are weak.  I can't seem to stand on my own two feet   Well, please don't ask me what's on my mind.  A little mixed up, but I'm feeling fine.  She touched my hand and what a chill I got.

I see her fingers reach for mine, I can feel her long hair meshed with mine, her breath is sweet.  She thrusts her hips into mine and I break free – I spin around to look into her eyes.  Piercing blue.  We begin a cat and mouse dance, two steps into each other, two steps away from each other.  Daring each other with seductive glances.  She is dressed in shorts that show off her beautifully tanned legs, her tank top is tight – accentuating her 34C chest.  She is tall – at least 5’9.  She smiles at me.  Her smile entices me, I motion with one finger to come towards me as I playfully back away.  She does not rush towards me, she prolongs the tease, I love it.  I can feel my sweat gathering between my thighs now – it’s becoming stronger with every motion, with every step she takes towards me.

We are like a mirror, our own reflection – yet my hips go one way, hers go the other.  We inch closer and her hands drop to the top of her shorts.  I can feel my breath tighten, I desperately try to moisten my throat.  The sweat pours down my neck and into my cleavage.  She gets closer, her hands still on the top of her shorts, our eyes are locked – zoned in.  We are going somewhere. 

The music pulses.  It is steady.  It thrusts.  I am steadying my breath with every step she takes closer to my aching body.  Inches between us, I can hear her swallow – she too is out of moisture.  I cannot take my eyes off her, though I can slightly see her fingers unlock her shorts.  I see the sweat pouring down her face, her hair is wet with sweat from our dance.  Her blue eyes leave mine and with a daring glance, she lures my eyes downward.  With one simple twist, her shorts open, revealing beautiful purple laced underwear.  She shimmies down her shorts with every thrust of the song and steps out of them.  She steps even closer to me.  My left arm reaches for her backside – come in a little closer I am thinking. 

She lets her long, perfect fingers reach for the top of my frayed jeans that slide on like butter.  Her smile has more than seduction, it has warmth, and it has kindness.  Once again, her eyes tumbled down and my hazel eyes follow.  Gently, steadily, she undoes my jeans.  Her hands feel so good on my skin as she pushes my jeans down my legs – my eyes follow her, all the way down.  I feel myself begin to lose control, my legs give off a slight tremble.  She responds to my tremble and as she finds her way back to my hips, she lets her fingers glide up the sides of my legs.  When she reaches my fingers, she lets her fingers lock with mine.  She pulls me in.  I can feel the wetness between our thighs.  She is, as I am, on fire.  Our lips purse and part.  Our heads tilt and our lips meet.  The other tango begins.  Slow, sweet and hot.

Her lips are like a volcano when that's hot…I'm all messed up My tongue gets tied when I try to speak…My inside's shaking like a leaf on a tree...There's only one cure for this body of mine…And that's to have that girl right here right now.

We don’t rush it.  With every slide of the guitar, our lips move.  Our hips grind, our fingers locked, our hair tangled together.  Our sweat combines.  We find ourselves tumbling backwards, towards the room.  While the music has silenced, we continue our dance and it will go on for hours.

Nightmare on 66th Street

It is a reoccurring nightmare that is only stopped by heavy drinking – as I tend to find myself dreamless on the drunken nights.  Sadly, I lived the nightmare, as it originated when in 5^th grade and I was 11.  

The Liberty Science Center is where it started.  Our class of 35 was headed on a big yellow school bus to Jersey City on a field trip.  Of course we were excited about getting away from school for the day; but there was an exhibit that our science teacher was particularly eager for us to explore.

The touch tunnel.  It’s an 80-foot darkened crawl space maze.  You rely on your sense of touch to get you through the labyrinth; sounds like quite the adventure for a bunch of 10 and 11 year olds.  I remember chatting with my friends about what it would be like to be temporarily blind; and I remember with every minute of the conversation going by, getting more and more nervous about this adventure.

Perhaps what made me so anxious about this journey was the fact it was mandatory for every one of us.  We were required to write about our experience in the tunnel.  I remember waiting on line with Marcy, Amy, Nicole and my other friends.  I had grown eerily silent but no one seemed to notice.  My mind was racing, the boys had raved about it – saying how much fun it was and it was easy.  Naturally, in hindsight 22 years later, I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them had been at least a little scared.  I looked behind me and saw there were 8 people from my class left.

As we inched closer to the start of the tunnel, I desperately tried to think of a way to get out of it; but I also tried to reassure myself – it wasn’t going to be all that bad, I was going to be following my friends and it would fine.  One thing I hadn’t noticed while standing on line is that you were staggered in your entrance time.  15 to 30 seconds separated each participant and you were encouraged to move past people if you caught up with them.  I had just read Lord of the Flies and to me, the touch tunnel reeked of survival of the fittest.  Leave the weak behind – serve yourself.  Now I was really screwed. 
I never really understood why I had such fears considering I was so fearless on the athletic field.  It wasn’t reckless abandon, it was controlled chaos as I bolted up and down the tennis courts, dominating opponents, some 4 to 5 years older than I.  

My time came up and within seconds I entered the tunnel on my hands and knees.  Slowly the light behind me trickled away and it struck me how very dark it was.  I was literally blind.  The 11-year old Lindsay didn’t curse, but I imagine it would sound something like this in 2013 – “Holy crap, this is fucking scary!”  I pressed on, relying on my sense of touch – felt the walls (which had various sensations – rocks, bars, feathers) – there were turns and twists – as expected.  I was making my way through at a reasonably good pace, when suddenly I froze.  I went from relatively confident to completely unsure.  I couldn’t move – my mind went blank.  One of my least favorite people in my class caught up with me and she began to ask me what was wrong.  I didn’t dare speak a word of my fear.  I couldn’t risk being made fun of.  As she made her way around me, she laughed in such a cruel way – that it took every ounce of strength for me not to cry.  I waited a few moments and allowed some silent tears to stream my flushed cheeks.

I could hear her ahead of me, spreading the word to the others, “Lindsay’s back there – stuck.  She is probably crying now.  She’s such a baby.”  A few of the other girls laughed and chimed in their two cents about my insecurities.  The gentle tears had now turned into a steady stream and yet, I could not move.  I tried to turn one way and it was the wrong way.  I didn’t know what to do.  One by one, I could feel my remaining classmates make their way past me.  When a few moments went by I heard a grown up say, “Hey, wasn’t there a red head that went in?  Hasn’t she made her way out yet?”  That caused me to cry even more.  Everyone but me was done and now the adults were wondering what was taking me so long. 
My friend Marcy spoke up, but quietly, “I think Lindsay got stuck in there, she was pretty quiet before we went in – could someone go in and find her?”  Marcy was my best friend and she later told me that she felt bad for not noticing how scared I was.  We were only 11, but at that time, Marcy felt like the wisest of adults. 
Shortly thereafter, one of the employees of the Liberty Science Center, found me.  I told them how I was embarrassed and they assured me that this was no big deal and that it happened all the time.  It was little consolation, as I had already convinced myself that I was the world’s biggest loser.  I remember them grabbing hold of my hand and leading me out of the tunnel and into the light.  My tears had washed away, but my facial expression oozed fear.  A rather large gathering of my classmates were standing at the exit, looking at me – whispering secretly to each other, giggling like the school girls they were.  I looked up at the employee who guided me out and managed a sheepish, “thank you” and I walked straight past the group and found Marcy.  Marcy immediately hugged me.
For the last month I have been reliving this nightmare in my sleep – except it’s a 33 year old Lindsay who is trapped inside the dark.  I keep turning in different directions to find my way out, but I can’t.  And it’s not an 80-foot maze – it’s endless.  There is no light.  It is suffocating and it is exhausting.

I lost my job just over 3 months ago and while it was somewhat relieving early on – it has now become a source of fear for me.  I am stuck.  I am crying on a regularly basis – almost daily.  The tears come out of the blue and they aren’t heightened by anything in particular – they just happen.  Today’s tears came just before I walked out the door to venture out to my favorite tea shop to write this piece.  15 minutes later I had my emotions gathered, my face refreshed and a somewhat real smile on my face.  

My job was draining and consuming – it is an industry that requires endless commitment and it certainly isn’t for everyone who thinks they want it as their profession.  I grew to realize this within the last year and a half of my tenure there.  I think part of me always realized it, but I was too afraid to acknowledge it.  I was noticing that one by one my favorite co-workers were leaving for the reasons of which I previously stated.  The difference between them and me?  I want to be in this business.  But lately, as my nightmare repeats itself almost nightly, I begin to wonder if I do have the passion for this industry.

I interviewed with a television program that was my dream job and found out last week they hired internally.  Needless to say, this was extremely crushing to me.  Internally?  It was only a matter of months ago that I was considered an internal employee at that organization.  I know the ropes of my previous company and that would only be of benefit to the new organization, which is a sister company to them.  I was on the phone with my father when I found out via e-mail.  I immediately began to cry and punch the floor.  I couldn’t understand how someone with such experience and incredible references could be overlooked.  I cried for a good 25 minutes and then hit the gym.  It was the first time the gym didn’t help my mood.
This time around there is no employee to find me and lead me to the light.  No one to hold my hand and help me find the way.  I do have the love and support of my family and my friends, but this is something I truly need to do alone.  I can listen to their advice and try to put it to action to loosen the chains; but it is I who must break free by believing in myself and my abilities.  I am a strong, competent woman and yet I feel so very weak; however, I don’t think I am all that weak, because of the fact I am able to acknowledge I am in pain and I want to rise above and find my way. 
It sounds as if I have it all figured out, doesn’t it?  Maybe I do.  But lately, I cannot motivate myself to do much of anything.  This is the most I’ve written in months.  I find myself sleeping in and hitting snooze more than I should.  I find myself eating poorly – on Monday I barely ate anything – I practically polished off a large bag of cheese puffs.  They provided me with such comfort, that with every puff that I crunched on, I found myself almost sighing in relief.  I tried to stop, using various methods (I tied up the bag and put them in the kitchen – I did this at least three times and not once did I succeed). 
I feel so uninspired – I don’t network nearly as much as I should and maybe that is a sign I am done with this industry; that I am over it.  Yet, with each defeatist thought, I am met with a response.  I am praised for my abilities and work ethic.  I had my pitch ideas and resume sent over to the Senior Producer of my other dream job, which is exactly what I would be doing at the job I lost out on.  I would be so excited to have that opportunity, I know for a fact my drive would be restored, I would be giving that position every ounce of excitement and energy I have on a daily basis.

Most of us go through life earning what we want – those of us who are fortunate, have things handed to us.  I haven’t had that luxury, but I would be lying if I told you my life has been difficult.  My parents worked hard to provide for my sister and me.  We went to great schools, took wonderful vacations, went to several performances (theatre, ballet, concerts – just to name a few) and participated in all sorts of activities.  

I am stuck in my mind and I want to change.  But my mind is flooded and it is not just with my career.  This reoccurring nightmare causes me to wake up suddenly in a full heaving breath panic.  I have to calm myself – but it takes some time.  I tend to gulp rather loudly and several times.  Within the blackened tunnel nightmare of career, comes money and love.  The money side of this nightmare is a twist – I am generally wandering around the streets, finding my way into places – and finding money lying around – free for the taking.  A $5 bill here, a wad of 20s at another place, and some places there are $100 bills.  I get almost titillated at the sight of the money.  I look around my surroundings to see if anyone is paying attention and more often than not, the people, if there are any around, are too wrapped up in their own world to notice.  Like a desperate homeless person, I scoop up the money and make my way out of the establishment.

I understand the significance of this part of the nightmare – that money is tight at this time in my life and I can’t be on unemployment forever.  I get it.  But it’s feeling of likening myself to a homeless person that I am most fearful of.  I know I won’t ever be homeless, as I have an apartment that I own with my parents.  Yet, with every week that goes by that I don’t have a steady income and I am unable to pay certain bills, the more I am draining my parents’ funds.  They have took on two of my bills because of the fact they realize I cannot pay them.  I hate this.  I hate relying on them – it makes me sick to my stomach that I am so helpless and taking their money.  I find myself crying about this on a regular basis as well.  They love me unconditionally and yet, I feel like an absolute failure.  Here I was, with a steady job, working hard – getting great reviews, making them proud and then to lose my job in such a sudden, shocking manner, I feel nothing but failure.

My parents have insisted to me that I have not let them down in their eyes; that they are disgusted the by way I was released; that I continue to make them proud.  If they only knew what I really did most of the days.  They would be sorely disappointed and furious with me.  Hell, I’m disappointed and furious with me.  I guess the most important thing is for me to tackle this slowly – Rome wasn’t built in a day.  I need to slowly chip away at the iceberg and break it down.  I cannot rush this, but I still need to hang onto my strength and believe in myself.

The money factor of the nightmare leads me to my love life.  My love life is crumbling and I am just as much to blame, as my girlfriend is.  Even writing the word girlfriend almost sounds forced.  My relationship with Jennifer is, in my mind, on its last legs – for now.  We have had a long journey since we first started dating on September 21, 2011.  Like the darkened labyrinth at the Liberty Science Center, we have had our fair share of twists and turns, falls and frustration.  We have taken three breaks in the two years we have dated – one of which I didn’t even know was happening until we talked about it.

October 2012.  I remember it all so vividly.  I was traveling every weekend for work and yet, I still had time for us.  It was week 6 in the NFL season and I was in Tampa.  I was able to fly out that Sunday night and I opted to take the car service to Jennifer’s apartment, rather than head to my apartment – I missed her and wanted to see her.  It was so nice to see her, especially given the intensity of the day (the Associate Director had screamed at me for a reason I have since blocked out).  I felt relaxed and my mind was at ease the moment the car pulled up to her apartment and I saw her greeting me at the door; when suddenly it was as if an hour-glass was flipped over and the mood shifted.

Jennifer immediately started complaining about something and I remember being filled with extreme annoyance.  She had not even asked me how my weekend was, how my game went.  Here it was 11 at night, I had worked non-stop all weekend and on and on Jennifer went, complaining about something – and dwelled on it.  I asked if we could continue the conversation in the morning and she huffed and puffed.  Needless to say that wasn’t a restful sleep.  The next morning the clouds of frustration still hung over her bed. 

All the daggers came out on Jennifer’s end. It was as if I were pinned to a dart board and she just kept flinging the darts at me.  The conversation was varied, but one thing seemed to be certain – Jennifer wasn’t certain.  She wasn’t certain she could picture her life with me as partners in life, as parents of the children we had talked about having.  She didn’t want to risk losing contact with her brother’s kids as a result of her coming out.  One would think, any logical person would walk away right there at that moment – but I didn’t.  Sometimes, I wish I had. 
We agreed to work on it.  To keep trying.  There was so much love there, we just felt we shouldn’t walk away.  I continued to travel every weekend for work; and of course, I kept the lines of communication open.  I called every Friday and Saturday night after dinner – normally getting her voicemail, but leaving a message every time.  Little did I know, that with every week, she was distancing herself further and further from us.  As it would turn out, Jennifer had started to date a guy named Norman.  They were together for roughly 4 months; though she insists it was only about two and half.  I say four because of the fact he made initial contact with her in October (and they first met in October) – exactly around the time of our conversation about her uncertainty of knowing whether or not she could spend the rest of her life with me.

Jennifer and Norman broke up on Valentine’s Day – of all days.  I had a terrific Valentine’s Day with myself.  I had ordered pizza from my favorite place on the Upper East Side, bought a bottle of red and watched the Godfather.  The reasons for their break up were numerous and it was apparent from our previous conversations about Norman that the relationship was getting strained for his lack of time for her, his bipolar – you get the picture.
Jennifer and I began to spend more time together in early March before the NCAA Tournament took over my life, once again the lines of communication seemed to be very positive.  She told me she still loved me and couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life without me.  I asked her if she wanted to be with me as girlfriends or as friends.  As girlfriends she said and the next few minutes were filled with us kissing ever so passionately.  We talked about going to her minister to help her come to terms with being gay and working on coming out to her family.

Then came April 25^th.  I had my evaluation at work and while I had had a somewhat rough NCAA Tournament – due to a horrible assignment (being stuck in Edit 73 for sometimes up to 38+ hours with no relief, no sleep), I felt confident.  I had had a great NFL season and was looking forward to talking about my ideas for my future with the company.  And then, I was blindsided.  I went in with my own offensive line, but I was met with a vicious hit.  I was released because my boss felt I wasn’t cut out for live television; and while I had had terrific reviews from my producer on the NFL crew, the reviews didn’t carry any weight because he had since left our company. 
Jennifer had been instant messaging me during the review, with words of support and I came back to my desk – shaken and crushed.  She asked me how it went and I told her that I had been released.  When I got to her apartment that night, I fell onto the ground, hysterically crying.  I couldn’t stop the awkward sounds that came from me.  I have never felt more vulnerable in my life.  I had only cried like this in front of my family.  Jennifer was supportive and loving.  As time went on, I had my good days and I had my bad days as one would expect.  Some days were really bad and I drank a lot.  I don’t think this necessarily a bad thing; but for Jennifer, it was.  Jennifer is not much of a drinker and doesn’t have much of a tolerance when it comes to drinking and dealing with people who do.  It is probably connected with the fact her mother is an addict (pain killers); but that does not mean that everyone who drinks more than a few beers has a problem. 
I was scared and frustrated about my job situation – I didn’t know how else to say it to her other than that.  I didn’t know how to let her in about my fears of what it meant for us and our future; that I was worried about our financial situation; the fact how we would struggle to raise a family, because we could barely provide for ourselves.  When she came down on me for drinking, I would get very angry with her.  I said my fair share of cruel things, most of which I don’t even remember.  Some of it involved our lack of intimacy other than her cuddling on me.  Over time, I did tell her about the financial fears I had and she spoke of my thoughts about how we both want children, but it just seemed impossible for us.  Yet, we still remained together.
Truth be told, I cannot remember the last time Jennifer and I made love.  The last time was inside her a few days before my birthday – but when I asked her to do things to me, she yawned and said she was too tired.  She immediately cuddled up next to me and asked me to hold her.  Jennifer is a very selfish lover and I understand part of it is her inexperience; but when she and I first got together, the sex was mind blowing – we were completely in sync, it was the sex I had been waiting for my whole life.  She rarely makes a move when it comes to intimacy – unless it involves cuddling – which always involves her curling up beside me; not once has she pulled me into an embrace while we lie on the couch; not once have I fallen into her arms in bed.  I can count only a handful of times that she has held me while we sleep.

September 15^th – Sharon came to town.  Sharon and I never fully reached the potential we had.  Sharon is much older than I and has a relatively complicated situation.  When we met she was married (has one child) – but it was a sexless marriage for the last 10 years; and had a fuck buddy in the city.  I met her along with the fuck buddy at Cubbyhole.  They wanted a threesome, I wanted only her.  We exchanged a few e-mails, fooled around a couple times she came to visit the fuck buddy; but mainly we spoke about our passions – cooking, Red Sox, good red wine, the Berkshires.  It was nice; but then Jennifer came into the picture and she elected to keep seeing fuck buddy.  I would occasionally hear from Sharon and we would write here and there.  Nothing would come from it – because I didn’t want anything and she knew I had a girlfriend.  

I told Jennifer the morning of the 15^th Sharon was in town and that we were going to have brunch.  I told Jennifer everything about Sharon early on in our dating – as we were talking about previous dating experiences.  Jennifer was off to work for the day and then had rehearsal later in the night.  She then came back with, “well, why don’t you just go have crazy sex with her while you are at it.”  I was stunned.  I had no idea where that came from.  In typical Jennifer fashion, she said this with about 15 minutes left for us to walk out the door.  “What are you talking about?”  Granted, I did (and still do) feel incredibly sexually frustrated when it came to Jennifer but I didn’t feel compelled to seek it elsewhere – though I had a proposition from an unlikely person and it was extremely difficult for me to turn it down.  

Our conversation was heavy from there – it was eerily similar to our conversation that October morning last year.  She spoke about how she didn’t know if she saw us being together forever, but hated the ideas of us not being in one another’s lives; that she did not like the idea of not being together, because that means I would more than likely find someone else to be with.  I silenced her with the most passionate kiss I could muster and as I pulled away, I asked her what she felt at that moment.  She said her whole body was on fire and that her mind was light.  I told her that she need to hold onto that.
Then she disappeared over the next few weeks – including forgetting my interview with my dream job.  I had to remind her of it.  I rarely reached out and if I am fully disclosing myself, this was a test.  I did this to see how she would reach out despite her busy schedule.  Even when I was working 14+ hour days at the US Open I still called her every night.  Not once did I receive a text or e-mail to thank me for the call; not once did she call me back or call me to say hi.  At one point during the US Open she told me she had booked a trip to Europe.  I was shocked – all this time I thought we were eventually going to do this trip; where was she getting the money to do this and so forth. 
We spent the night together the night before she left for her trip.  It was the first time we had seen each other in just over two weeks.  We talked (though our voices raised a few times) about what we were doing.  I told her that I need to work on opening up on my needs and wants from her better and I also encouraged her to try and open me up.  I know that sounds a bit ridiculous, but I would like now and then for her to be interested in my day, to bring me flowers or offer to pay for dinner.  I also told her that maybe we should work on being friends – that while her trip should be one of excitement and fun, she should also think about how she wants to be with me; how she truly feels about me.  I asked her if she liked and wanted to kiss me and her reply was difficult to hear.  “Sometimes.”  

I deserve to be with someone who wants to kiss me all the time – when you walk in my door, I want to be kissed.  I want to be asked how my day was.  When I make dinner, I want you to be gracious – not chastise me that it isn’t ready yet.  I want you to bring a bottle of wine, some cheese, or some dessert without me asking you to.  I want you to help me with the dishes at the end of the night, I want you to try and distract me from doing the dishes by kissing the crane of my neck – pulling me away for a dance in my apartment.  I want us to kiss goodnight and let our hands explore, while you pull me in and tell me you love me – and not ask me for a massage after all that I did that night.  It may seem slightly selfish, but sometimes I just can’t comprehend giving a massage after making dinner and cleaning up while you sleep on the couch.

I believe Jennifer and I have something, but it’s on life support.  I don’t know how much more I can give to this relationship at this time in my life.  I need her to hold me and I also need to ask her to hold me.  Jennifer says she too is struggling – but how much can you be struggling when you’ve had a steady job for 5 months (and even been promoted), you have two great acting gigs that are consistent, you are part of two improv teams and you are active in a church that loves you.  I get that it is her home life that is a wreck, but how can I be there for her when I don’t even have my thing together?  There comes a time, when I just can’t do it anymore.  I am literally drained and I need to be better at communicating this to her – but when I do, it is just an awkward feeling.  I don’t want to hurt her and when I have mentioned this in the past, I see how much it hurts her.  It is the worst feeling in the world.
When she returns from her international adventure, I have decided Jennifer is on a very short leash.  I will work on being better at opening up to her.  I know I deserve better, but I too, cannot imagine my life without Jennifer.  There is something between us that is something I have never experienced with anyone else; and perhaps that does not mean we should be together forever.  I am struggling so very much with these thoughts; now more than ever.  

As I conclude this writing, I am reminded of Russell Crowe’s Academy Award Best Actor speech for Gladiator in these trying times.  Russell said, “For anyone that is on the downside of advantage and relying purely on courage – it is possible.”

While I may have certain advantages in life, I am certainly struggling to see the light in this dark time.  It will get better and it will get easier.  I will continue to search, I will continue to fight and put an end to this reoccurring nightmare.