Fetters

Monday, Feb. 12, 2007 @ 12:46 a.m.

Why does it bother me so much to think that he might be having sex with someone else?

At this point, there's nothing wrong with it... we've broken up, and he can do whatever the damn hell he wants. Hell, he already took that liberty when we were still together by cheating on me. It'll be 4 weeks tomorrow since he dropped that bomb. I've started to pick up the pieces and force myself to move on. I've gone out, I've reconnected with a few friends that I lost touch with because of him, and I've begun to see that it's not the end of the world just because I'm alone once more.

So why does it still bother me?

Just when I thought I'd made yet another breakthrough this past weekend. I knew that he was going to be out and about in West Hollywood this weekend. Louis asked me if I wanted to hang out and grab a drink on Friday, and I said no... because I was afraid that I would run into him and see him sticking his tongue down some guy's throat. The same thought entered my mind on Saturday night... I wanted to go out to be around people, but was afraid I might run into him.

But at around 11pm, it hit me... why should I be the one sneaking around him? Why should I be the one staying home on a weekend because I'm worried I might run into him? He doesn't own West Hollywood. If I feel like going out, then I very damn well have the right to, and should not have to worry about him feeling awkward should our paths cross. He's out there running about. If he's not even considerate of these things, why the hell should I be? Isn't he the bad guy for breaking my heart even after I've given my entire life to him? If anyone should have the right to go out and not sneak around, it should be me, dammit!

So at 11:30pm, even though it was drizzling and rather late, I went out. Just because I could. Louis wasn't at Motherlode, but a few other familiar faces were, so I just had a couple of drinks and chatted with them. Towards the end of the evening, I met a guy whom I swear is a dead ringer for a younger Josh Weston, a gay porn star (Don't worry, there's nothing obscene in that link). He flirted with me a little, which I must admit felt great. It assured me that just because French Fitch screwed me over doesn't mean that nobody else will ever be attracted to me again. But at the same time, while we were talking, I just could not help but feel guilty... even though I was doing nothing to feel guilty over.

After the bar closed, I offered to drive Mr. Weston home since it was now raining quite a bit, and he only lived a few blocks away. Just before he got out of my car, he grabbed me by my jacket and kissed me. At first, I didn't resist because it had been quite a while since I've had intimate contact with anyone (and was quite honestly craving it). But after a while, the debris from my 4-week-old breakup started pouring down on me, and I got a major guilt attack once again. Even worse, the thought "French Fitch could be screwing someone right at this moment" entered my head, and I think I suffered a slight panic attack (which I hid very well). We said our goodbyes, he left, and I drove home with a remorseful feeling... even though I had no idea what I was remorseful about.

I certainly hope the scar that French Fitch had inflicted on me will not haunt me forever. There I was, meeting a cute and intelligent guy who seemed to be quite into me, and I let the shackles of my broken relationship anchor me down. I know that I did the right thing yesterday by not letting things go any further than kissing. It is way too soon for me to get involved with anybody, and it would certainly be unfair for me to drag other innocent people into my bumpy recovery. But I just hope that I have not developed a phobia that would trigger a panic attack everytime I get intimate with someone in the future.

Although... it makes me a bit mad to think about why I'm reacting this way when French Fitch seems to be completely unphased.

As for Mr. Weston... I only wish we'd not met yesterday, but a couple of months from now or something. He was very nice and really cute.

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