Men love to tell me their shit. People, in general, will reveal private information to me pretty readily, but especially men.
I can fall quickly into easy conversation with almost anyone. For all of my talk of being ignored when I go out by myself, it's not entirely true. In the grocery store or out running errands, I talk with strangers all day long. While I can be a little shy in the beginning, I'm pretty loquacious once I'm comfortable.
But there seems to be something about me that just puts men at ease, to the point that they will share their deepest and darkest pretty quickly. I have more unexpected details of random men's deviant pasts and sexual proclivities than I could write about in a lifetime. (That doesn't mean it won't stop me from trying.)
It has kind of become a joke within the Castration Committee, that I can walk into a room of a hundred men and point them out, the fragile cats, and pinpoint their damage on sight. There's something about the way they carry themselves or a look in their eye; I just know who they are.
Something about me seems to strike a chord, like they're seeing a kindred spirit for the first time. I certainly have my own dramatic past, and I am more than willing to talk openly about it. Even without revealing my own intimacies, they pick up on some aspect of my personality that makes them feel comfortable enough to tell me all the ways in which their parents and exes failed them, to describe how they clawed their way to and from their own rock bottoms, or to whisper their most lurid desires into my newly-acquainted ear.
Maybe there's some pheromone that
I'm releasing constantly. Maybe they really can smell me in the
air. Maybe it's just that I am so damn
attracted to the fragile, skittish cat and that I'm seeking them out without
realizing it.
Because I am a non-traditionalist in so many ways, I tend to gravitate toward the fringes. I like strong personalities that lean toward the left. I may be on the hunt for a great alpha male, but he would never be a hardcore Republican corporate attorney. That may be perfectly fine for some people but not for me. I like intense and creative and non-conformist, because that's where I find the intellectual stimulation I need coupled with the passion I crave. Men like that, people like that, often come from dramatic and traumatic backgrounds, especially now that we're halfway through our lives.
Part of me loves being in that position, of being a safe place of comfort for someone to off-load some of their strife for a while. I am especially adept at filtering other people's energy and helping them carry what has become too much for them. In the end, it's their job and not mine to deal with that baggage in the long term; I can't keep it for them forever.
When it comes to men, though, I often find myself on the receiving end of sincere thanks, of hearing how I've changed and altered them and their perceptions of their worlds, how I've helped them deal with some shit so they could move on in a healthier way.
Seriously?
How the hell did I become someone else's catalyst? What is it about me that make me worth some time and a little effort, plus a hell of a lot of intensity, but not worth a longer-term relationship?
I want to be that safe haven for someone for more than a day or a week or a few months. I want to find that man who can share his heart and his life as easily as he shares his bed and his secrets. I want someone who is willing to stick it out, who doesn't say, "Thanks for helping me deal with my fucked up head. Have a nice life!"
There will always be issues with men like this. Even the most reformed of the fragile cats remain skittish to a degree. I'm the same way. Every so often, I'm still surprised by a memory or recognition of something from my past that collides brilliantly with my present. It scares the hell out of me when it happens.
What I need is someone who can be patient with me through that process, to continue to love me when I'm scared or angry or hurt, and not just because it's what feels right that day. I want someone who can face the worst of me and still love me the next morning. I expect myself to be able to love others with full openness and reciprocity; it is really too much to ask for the same?
Comments