Frustrations & Tears concerning Zoharra
Hibiscus came into my room to let me know some mundane thing. Then he noticed my mood.
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"Are you okay?" he asked.
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"I'm moping," I said.
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"Why?" he asked.
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"Because of Zoharra. I feel so torn up about her. I keep thinking about her, but I can't bring myself to message her. What happened with Oryx feels like it is repeating itself because I don't have the guts to confront her," I said.
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"I was under the impression that Oryx wasn't confrontational," Hibiscus said.
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"That's true. Oryx is more like: 'Just notice that you're really attached to that. Just notice that you're triggered about me and how that impacts you. Just notice how your ego is wrapped up in that.' She's so impersonal most of the time that I have trouble feeling like I'm speaking to a human," I said.
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"More preachy-processy," Hibiscus said.
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"Yes," I agreed. "Whereas Zoharra isn't telling me to 'go process' or to 'just notice' things. She is making accusations that I have no idea how to respond to. She insults me, but then gets angry that I'm insulted. Or something like that."
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"So why . . ." Hibiscus paused. "I'm trying to figure out how to put it." He looked thoughtful.
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"So why am I bothering at all? What is in it for me?" I prompted.
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"No, but those are good questions. Well, actually, kind-of," he said. He suddenly became more present and looked right at me, sucking me into the moment and bringing me into my bedroom, my body, and my relationship with him. In that moment, we were more real. Attentive eyes on me, he asked: "What is it that you really want out of a relationship with Oryx, Zoharra or Metheus?"
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Something passed through me, head-to-toe, before I had a moment to even intellectualize the question. A moment later, I thought: True friendship. Tears sprung to my eyes and I said, "Something that doesn't exist." I felt myself bending over so that I was folded on the bed. Hibiscus bent over me, enfolding me in his arms. His touch was comforting, but I began to sit up as my snot threatened to leak all over my sheets.
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I reached for my roll of toilet paper and blew my nose a few times before I elaborated on what I had said. "I want real friendship," I said.
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"And what does that mean to you?" Hibiscus asked.
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"People who will really be there for me, and people who I can really be there for," I said. "People who can really teach me, and who can really learn from me. People who can really connect." Fresh tears made their way down my face. Hibiscus's touch was a reminder that I had a real friendship right there - with my husband. And what about with Paladin? Are both my husbands my real friends? Why does it always feel like I have one or the other, and so rarely does it really feel like I have both?
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Hibiscus waited for me to continue, his silence expectant, comforting, patient.
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"Most people either make me feel like shit or make me feel like I'm wasting my time. One or the other, or both. At least with Oryx, Metheus and Zoharra, even if they make me feel like shit, they don't make me feel like I'm wasting my time. At least I can learn from them and grow, even if I feel like it is one-sided. Even if they hurt me, at least I'm growing."
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I cried for a while longer while I clutched at Hibiscus, and then I looked up at him, "At least you have your needy-Nuria back. You're more comfortable with this version of me."
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Hibiscus chuckled. "It is true that I was uncomfortable with your seeming lack-of-use for me when you first returned from visiting Metheus and Zoharra, but I do want you to be happy."
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"And being needy doesn't really go with being happy," I said. "But that's what you want. Someone needy and happy." I smiled up at him, tears still in my eyes.
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He smiled back down at me from his position standing beside my bed. He was respecting my wish to not get on my bed with his clothes on. I knew he had been intending a shorter visit to me than this was turning out to be.
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"I do a pretty good job of pretending to be both though," I said.
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"Yes, you do. Which one is the pretending part? The happiness or the neediness?"
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"Usually the happiness," I said, noticing how my compulsive smile was there because I loved him, not because I felt genuinely happy. I couldn't stop smiling, but I was aware of the incongruence of it.
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"Why not switch?"
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"I've done the other. I was doing that a lot when we were overseas, actually."
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"Oh," Hibiscus said, looking both startled, pleased and a little afraid all at once. It reminded me of how I felt when he said he had e-mailed the woman from the local polyamory event we had gone to on Friday (December 2nd 2016).
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My response to that had been, "Maybe I'm just not comfortable with sharing. As a child, whenever I shared my toys, the other kids just broke them."
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Hibiscus laughed at that. It was meant to be funny, but it was also true. I was afraid of sharing. And other people really did show a knack for breaking things that I otherwise would have been able to make last.
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I brought the conversation back around: "I really want to work things out with Zoharra. I know that I'll feel better if I do. I spend a lot of time thinking of things I want to say to her." Things I want to scream at her, I mentally corrected myself. "I know I need to tackle this because it keeps coming up every time I feel melancholy and uninspired - like I have for much of today."
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"It is good to tackle the hard stuff, but if I were your personal trainer, I'd tell you to climb hills before you climb mountains."
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I gave him a wry, inquisitive look.
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"I mean," he said, "You need to have some compassion for yourself. You're afraid of tackling this. So only take it as far as you can. Stretch yourself, but don't strain yourself. Push yourself, but don't tear yourself up."
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I nodded. What do I do when it feels like a strain just to send her a small little message? I thought. And worse, what if there isn't any possibility of moving through this without getting on the phone with her? And what if she won't even speak to me anyway?
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I put my head in my heads, weary. "It would be so much easier if there wasn't a complete dismissal of all ego. Oryx, Metheus and Zoharra all have that in common - this sort of attitude of not caring about one's ego, only one's 'deeper self' - and they'll decide for you what your truest, deepest self is!" I growled. "It is insulting, but they don't care, because it is just my stupid ego that is insulted. It is egotistical to think they know what my deepest, truest self is in the first place, but in Oryx's case she'll go around declaring that she has no ego. How am I supposed to have any relationship with someone who disregards the things I find valuable and important? I want to be pushed, and I want to learn, but I don't want to be insulted without any apology or regard for my feelings."
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Hibiscus went on a small rant about Oryx which I'd heard before. He'd only met her once, in April, just before we went to the polyamory gathering. We'd spent a night at Rooster's house specifically so that Hibiscus, Paladin and I could spend time with Oryx. I'd been disappointed. She seemed locked in patterns, no longer on a fascinating trajectory of growth.
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I got out of my bed and pulled on my new insulated pants which I had bought in November while we had been overseas together. Hibiscus and I went downstairs together. I hadn't meditated on what I wanted to eat, which had been a guideline I was generally following as it seemed to result in a satisfying meal that didn't upset my body. This time, I was flustered, emotional, shocked by the cold of the unheated kitchen, and feeling resentful that Paladin wouldn't get out of bed and make a fire and the soup he'd promised me two days ago.
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"Maybe I'll just fry a plantain. I have not cooked in years. Gods, I haven't a clue what I'm doing," I said, holding the three plantains I'd bought on a lark.
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"Are you really thinking of doing that?" Hibiscus said, his hand on the door to the basement.
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"Yes," I said. "No. I don't know." I set the plantains on the counter beside the stove. "It's a terrible idea," I said.
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"It really is," Hibiscus agreed, opening the door and heading down the stairs.
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"And its a brilliant idea," I added, but I didn't think he heard me. If I can eat French Fries while I'm out, why not eat fried plantains in my home? I asked myself, searching for a frying pan and feeling hysterical. I wouldn't be doing this if Paladin would make me the soup he promised. I'd make the soup myself, but I'm afraid I'd mess it up. I don't really know how to make soup. I'm a raw food chef, not a cook.
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I found the frying pans in the oven after looking in a number of cabinets. The frying pan had some residue in it. I wiped it out with a paper-towel. I still remembered how to fry things in a cast-iron frying pan. It was what I'd grown up with. The first thing I'd ever learned to cook was an over-easy egg. I'd requested to be taught how to make that when I was around ten.
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I added a liberal amount of olive oil, put the lid on, and left the heat on high. I put the overhead vent on high. I opened a window a smidgen to allow fresh air to be sucked in. I went about peeling the plantain and slicing it. In the mean time, the olive oil reached its smoke point. I frowned and turned the burner off, not realizing that would happen so quickly. I pulled my neckwarmer off, put the hood of my hoodie up and then pulled the neckwarmer down over the hood which allowed it to stay in place over my nose and mouth.
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Then, I added the slices of plantain to the cast-iron frying pan. It was more enjoyable than I expected, although I barely felt like I was present for it. I was diligent, making sure nothing burned. I was quick and on top of it. It didn't seem like it had really been eight years since I had fried something, although I was pretty sure it really had been that long. Perhaps I had once made Paladin a blueberry pancake as a treat and a peace offering a few years back, in Snowland.
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When all the slices were done I quickly added a bunch of greens to a bowl with the plantain slices. I closed the window but left the vent on. I hurried through the stairwell drape, up the stairs and into my room. Ah, safe at last. I looked at the sliced, fried treat I'd made for myself. How novel to have fried myself something! How novel to eat plantains! Victory I could smell - and taste.
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After eating the delicious coupling of greens and fried plantain, I found myself returned to restless. I already feel like I want more food. What is wrong with me? I asked myself. And then I remembered Zoharra again. I sighed, feeling miserable but resigned to some sort of action. I wrote her, "I want to talk things out with you. Can we do that? How do you feel about that?"
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. . .
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And then I journaled. Heh.
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Please feel free to comment, but if you're someone who knows me in waking, face-to-face life, please remember to only use the code names from the journal when you refer to people. Thanks.
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~ Nuria