My most recent ex-girlfriend, we’ll call her Diane, recently announced she is “dating a boy.” I received this message over text, and the medium seemed perfect. I had time to confront my initial reaction: betrayal. I hate this reaction, but we all have our dark sides. I am el sensitivo.
First, this reaction reflects a colossal hypocrisy on my part. I had previously avoided telling Diane about my continued involvement with the lovely I call “exception man.” I’ve written about this sort of reverse closet—the shame of feeling mostly gay and dealing with self-inflicted guilt when a person of the opposite sex, um, makes in-roads. So who am I to feel betrayed, to revoke her sensible shoes and no men save Justin Timberlake membership card?
Second, my reaction smacks of something else…fear? Diane has not dated a man in 14 years. I’m still young enough that such a time span is breathtaking. I haven’t even been out that long! How does one really know and live their sexuality? Why do I care so much about this question? I admire many friends who just, to borrow from Rilke, live such questions. Their love and/or sex seem less fraught. Of course, those same friends likely admire my willingness to share my identity with everyone, a gay 7-11 if you will.
So what exactly am I afraid of? I know my guilt around exception man reflects a sense that he deserves so much more than the true affection of a lesbian. Maybe it’s a basic fear of hurting people? In the case of Diane however, I think it’s something more. I’ve blogged about the transference of shame when my ex Sylvia would edit me out of her life to her parents. The loss of solidarity I feel certainly has a note of shame. The kicker is deeper though. I’m afraid of being alone. This is progress. Say what? Well, I used to be afraid that I would settle, settle for a poor bloke who couldn’t possibly know the love of which I am capable. Living in the NE has taught me this: I would rather be alone. I would rather marry my profession. I would rather seek the solace of kinship.
As friend Miranda always says, I need more information (before strategizing). This is the way I operate; I over-analyze to the point of absurdity. I do this immediately. So I stopped. I dropped. I rolled. I called Diane. I no longer feel betrayed. To say more would betray her confidence, but I am happy for her and happy for the opportunity to examine my own prejudices. Please feel free to chat with me about this in comments, in-person, or via e-mail. I would love nothing more than to spur conversations from these posts.
Chasing Jessica 
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