On Becoming UnStarved… November 2, 2008

When I was starving, I looked out into the world and saw only food that I could not eat.  I fell asleep at night salivating, imagining I could almost taste the oranges that hung, juicy and plump, on trees my hungry fingers could not quite reach.  My long-empty stomach longed for sustenance. 

 

When I did find food, I ate greedily.  I gulped down drinks without tasting them.  I swallowed chunks without chewing them.  I never considered whether I really wanted whatever it was my mouth was full of.  I only thought about where I could find more, as I temporarily revelled in the relieved, full feeling of my tummy.

 

Love was my food and my heart was starving.  So was my mind and my mouth and my ego and the passenger seat in my car.  I was married and I had five lovers and yet I was always alone.  I had a big, impressive refrigerator, but it was almost always empty. 

 

My husband moved out of my house two months ago and things are better, massively better.  But of course, I am still struggling.  I struggle to learn how to live as though I am not starving.   I lived like a starving refugee for so long.  It’s hard to really believe that I will wake up tomorrow and find my refrigerator full of food.  Sleeping with Donny on our fist date was the act of a starving woman.

Baby, you don’t have to live like a REFUGEE.

♥♥♥

I have been seeing a lot of Donny lately.  Do you remember how I first described Donny to you?:

“Incredibly handsome, smart, quirky, ironic, good job, thoughtful, sweet, complementary, 31 (THIRTY-ONE!!!  A child by my normal standards),  considerate.  I sat through lunch, nervous, uncomfortable, not enjoying myself, and not connecting.  Afterward, he asked me if I wanted to go out with him on a real date, but he also said it seemed like I felt nervous, so he wasn’t sure whether or not I was in to him.” 

 

All of those adjectives I used to describe Donny were good, yet all of my reactions were bad.  Why was that? 

 

Do you remember how I described date number two, later that night?:

“51, brilliant, funny, a mess, slightly mentally ill, dirty hair, a little down-on-his-luck, sweet, nervous.  A writer, for God’s sake…The longer I sat with him, talking about Hepburn and Tracy, blow jobs and kissing, love and death and happiness, the more I thought maybe I wanted him.  But I don’t.  I don’t.  I don’t.  That is not what I want anymore for my life.  Even if it’s who I want, it’s not what I want.  Not anymore.” 

 

Packed with descriptors indicating Date Number Two was wrong for me, and yet full of yearning and hunger.  Starving.  Why? 

 

Because I am more comfortable starving than I am nourishing myself.   

 

Donny was available to me, in his heart, in his head, and in his body.  He was an all-you-can eat, twenty-four hour buffet, and he handed me a Free Admission ticket.  Because he liked me.  I didn’t know how to handle that. 

 

“You mean,” I asked him, “I can just come on in any time and eat and drink, and you’ve got soup, salad, bread, sandwiches, and chocolate dessert?!  A well-rounded meal?!  No comprendo,” I said. ”I don’t know how not to starve.”

♥♥♥

I just got off the phone with No-Nickname Mike.   About a week ago I told him everything.  How I’d had sex with Donny.  How it wasn’t good.  How I regretted betraying him.  How I like Donny now, more than I ever thought I would.  How Donny offers both Peanut Butter and Apples. 

 

No-Nickname Mike was fairly understanding.  He told me he wanted to continue with our master-slave sexual relationship, even with Donny in the unknowing picture.  I told him I needed to think about that.

 

The conclusion I came to was that I don’t want to live like a refugee anymore.  I want to become accustomed to nourishment.  I don’t want to see Mike anymore.   

 

When I told him, Mike went on the offensive.  He said I’d strung him along.  (Those were his words.)  That I’d been “flakey” and “selfish.”  I know.  I can see your face, Constance.  (Or, what I’ve always imagined is your face.)  It was unfair and unfortunate.  It was like he expected me to go on with our sexual relationship even though I didn’t want to anymore.  It’s crazy. 

 

But do you want to hear something even crazier?  The whole time Mike was telling me how bad I was and how he was right and I was wrong, I was masturbating.  It turned me on.  I know.  Weird.  And when we got off the phone I made myself come.  And then, of course, I felt very bad and mucho confused. 

 

I sat down at my computer.  There was a new e-mail from Donny.  (There is always a new e-mail from Donny.  We are in constant electronic communication.  I love it.)  I felt so bad that I just wrote “I need a hug” and pressed send.  I almost didn’t send it.  There was nothing snarky about it, or ironic, or funny.  It was just honest and emotional and needy.  And needy means I was hungry and I asked for food.  That’s new for me.  You know what happened?

 

Donny was on my IM in an instant.  He was sweet and concerned and he sent me this picture:

He came right over WITH A FLOWER FOR ME!  Unbelievable.  I told Donny I was feeling a bit peckish and he arrived with a feast.  I knew I’d made the right decision about Mike. 

♥♥♥

 

I’ve been studying meditation and Buddhism just a little recently.  (I know you’re pleased, Lankrypt.)  One of the most profound concepts that I’ve learned, in a nutshell, is this: all of life is suffering, and suffering is caused by craving. 

 

Over and over, I have organized my life so that I was craving or suffering or starving, but now I am ready to accept that nourishment, satisfaction, and happiness are possible.  I just need to decide that I want them. 

 

A bountiful feast is at my disposal.   I can wander the earth, begging for food, or I can just go home and set my table. 

 

I am trusting that there will be vegetables and bread and meats and even some chocolate.  It will be nurturing, rather than hedonistic and it will be delicious. 

 

Finally, my friends, my fellow seekers, my lurkers and commenters, first timers, and readers from way way back, I will save a seat for each of you. 

 

Much love,

A Woman