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Old 11-09-2011, 09:02 AM   #1
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Default Secret Self

Turns out this is a bit long so it is posted in parts. It is an extension of 'You Need Me' which a few of you have read.


She was lonely. She had to admit it. She had been so good alone for so many years. She was now overcome with a sense of restlessness. She did not really know where the restlessness came from. It had to be loneliness, didn’t it?

She had lived all over the country and parts of Europe and South America. Having been the daughter of a military man, she had no choice. Sometimes it had been good. More often than not, it had been painful and lonely. Stepping in to the middle of a classroom in the middle of a school year had never been easy. The kids in the classroom already having made their circle of friends, or in many cases having grown up together. There was not often room for the “new kid”. There was never any room for the quiet, awkward, unattractive girl who was so obviously uncomfortable in the dresses her mother made her wear. She was never able to find her place.

While loneliness was certainly not new to her, being lonely as an adult was. This time she would not have the benefit of military orders to offer a glimmer of hope. The hope that came each and every time her father was transferred. The hope that maybe the next stop would find her able to find someone who would like her, accept her. Someone who would actually take the time to see her and give her a chance to be a friend. No, she was on her own in the world. She was responsible for her own happiness and while most wrongly viewed her as a happy sort, she knew what lie within her. What had always lain within her. It was not their fault they did not know her. She hid herself away not letting others in. She found this was most comfortable for her. Who and what she was not being something she found herself able or wanting to share. Now, due to a life of her own making, she struggled to fight the internal war that brewed within her. A war that pitted her fierce independence, with her desire to surrender that independence, to one she would love, and to one who would be loved by her.

It wasn’t as though she had never been loved. She had been quite lucky in love actually. Having had two somewhat long term relationships was better than what some are ever to have. She knew that. Was it incredibly selfish this did not offer her solace? Had she had her chances?

She had moved to very small town Kentucky only a few years ago. She had been estranged from her father for over thirty years and hoped to repair that relationship. The estrangement came when in her first year of college she fell in love with the girl down the hall of her dormitory. She innocently proclaimed this love to her father. When he looked right at her and said to her “you are the major disappointment in my life” it was too much. This was the same father that led her to believe she could talk with him about anything. What she failed to realize was talking to him about anything was not the same as being accepted for anything. She was asked to leave their little town, their family, and not return until she was over this “phase”. She was heartbroken. She found it unbearable to be a “daddy’s girl” without a daddy. It never occurred to her the father who had once been so proud of her, would turn her away. It made sense when she thought about it. He was a big fish in a little pond. He had the family reputation to consider. He had to consider the happiness and acceptance of his wife and remaining daughters. His daughter being a lesbian would embarrass the family. This was Kentucky where just being a Democrat was fodder for social suicide. A daughter that deviated so far from societal normality just would not do. She did not blame him. He did what he felt was best for the family he loved. She had always had an independent streak. She would be fine. She would miss them, but she understood completely the need for her to leave. The need for her to vanish as if she never existed. She not only understood, she left.

She and her girl moved across the state border to Missouri. It was her first love and all consuming. She was young and not at all sure how to deal with the feelings she was experiencing. She found herself agonizing at not being able to feel free to love as she felt love should be. It was tormenting. They could not hold hands. They could not be together when in public. They could tell no one. She was not sure why they could not do these things but it is just the way it was. How could she be so in love and so ashamed to be in love all at the same time?

She was kind, gentle, and thoughtful but also young and emotionally ill-prepared to love. The happiness of the girl, her first and only concern. She would do anything to make the girl happy. She longed to protect her and make everything right for the girl. Yet, she was also jealous of everyone and silently angry and morose. She wrongly blamed the girl for the loss of her family. She drank too much and when she drank, she was not always nice. The girl did not seem to love her as she loved the girl. The girl seemed to have something to prove to others when they were out in public. She would flirt unabashedly with men. Countless times taking off with them, leaving her to search for the girl, only to find her in the arms of these men, giving away the intimacies that were supposed to be hers. She lashed out at the girl often. She was hurt and the relationship was lop-sided and toxic. She said things she would like to have been able to take back. Once uttered, words can not be taken back. They hang there, forever to resonate in our heads and our hearts. The girl eventually moved back to her home in Illinois, leaving her destroyed and alone. She cried so, so often thinking about the girl and at times could not bring herself to get out of bed. The girl would come to visit some weekends but it was never enough. She was without the girl, without her family. She was no longer living. She simply existed and was not at all sure why she bothered to do that.

The girl showed up at her door one morning. The girl asked for forgiveness. The girl telling her she did not want to be without her. The girl telling her she loved her and wanted to be with her. She and the girl talked about what they needed from one another to make things work, both agreeing they could ,and would, be able to fulfill those needs. Deciding they needed to be somewhere that their love might be more acceptable, they packed the car, taking off for California. This is something they never should have done, but they were young, they were stupid, they were in search of something.

They landed in the desert of eastern California. Taking menial jobs at a grocery store and a fast food restaurant, they were able to find a small, dingy apartment over top of the Western Union office. They made friends with the girl’s male co-workers. They drank too much and again the girl flirted with the men they ran around with. The girl decided it was in their best interest to tell everyone they were sisters. They looked nothing alike. The girl was dark with dark hair and dark eyes. She was fair with blue eyes and blonde hair. If anyone suspected they were not truly sisters, they never mentioned it.

The girl went missing one day. She searched for her but could not find her. She instead, found a note on her pillow. The girl was gone. The girl had run off with her boss. The note said they were in love, and she was pregnant. The note said she had never loved her and was sorry for that. The note said the girl and the boss had left town and would not be back. The note wished her well. The year and a half they spent together warranting nothing more than a note telling her she was never loved by the girl. At least the girl apologized for not loving her, although somehow it did not make it better.

She should have known. She should have seen it coming. She knew the girl had never cared for her the way she had cared for the girl. She knew she was not happy with the girl, nor the girl with her. She knew for her the girl their time together was an introduction to who and what she was. She knew for her the girl it was the “phase” her father wished her to overcome. She knew that while not very good at it, she had loved the girl. It was her fault the girl could not love her. She was not enough, had never been enough, would never be enough. Her heart was broken and she vowed never to allow herself to be vulnerable again. She would never allow herself to love again. It was much too painful to let someone see you, know you, only to turn you away. She knew she did not deserve to be loved. It gave her a strange sense of relief to know this about herself. It made understanding easier.

She began to roam. She drank her way across the country and back several times. She did odd jobs to pay for gas, food and alcohol. She chopped wood, broke horses, shoveled manure, trained dogs, painted barns, fences, and houses, as well as a wealth of other chores. She played guitar and sang in taverns and bars. She slept with many women along the way. Spending only a night with them, gone even before they woke in the morning, not caring if it made them feel used or hurt. She did not wish to hurt them. She just could not risk staying around and being forced to talk about who she was. She did not want them to realize she was unworthy and incapable of anything more. She was ashamed there was nothing to her, nothing worth knowing.

She eventually found her way to South Florida. She talked her way into a pretty good job with a construction company. She was the office manager and found she was really very good at the job. She was organized, liked making decisions, excelled at troubleshooting the everyday mishaps of the industry, and was trusted by her employer. She discovered the gay community and it was not long before she met a woman.

It had been a couple of years since her ill-fated relationship with the girl and her heart was well healed from the loss. The woman was playing pool. She was not good but was having a great time slapping the balls around even though very few ever found their destination. She watched the woman for hours. She was popular and seemed to be without a partner. She overheard her discussing her birthday with another and mentally latched on to the date.

She bought the woman a drink telling the bartender when the drink was delivered the woman was only to be told the drink was from November 10th to January 23rd, their birthdays. She watched from afar as the drink was delivered and the message was relayed. She watched as the woman looked around, trying to see who might be watching in an attempt to discover from where the drink had come. The woman did not know her. Had never seen her and therefore it did not even register with the woman it might have come from her. She watched as the woman ventured from person to person, having much fun as she tackled her mission, asking everyone their birthdays. When her drink had been drained, she bought the woman another, sending with it the message, “you are getting warmer“. The woman had now exhausted almost every option in the bar. It was getting late and only a few remained to be questioned. The woman came to stand next to her. They watched the pool game as they stood in silence. The woman turned to her. She looked right at her smiled and said “of course, it was you wasn’t it?”. Nodding, she came clean, knowing this meant the game was over. Hoping a new game was to begin. The woman asked why. She told her it was because the woman made her feel good to watch her. It made her feel good to have had the woman get so involved in trying to track down the sender of the drink. She told the woman she wanted to know her. They stood there talking, she and the woman. She was frightened she liked the woman. She was more frightened the woman seemed to like her. She tried not to remember how it felt to be rejected and unloved. She tried to end the conversation because she knew she had nothing to offer the woman. The woman asked her, almost begged her, not to leave. She told the woman she had to go and walked out. The woman followed her out asking her to take her with her. The woman said she was not going to let her go anywhere without her. They were to spend many years together.

They built a life together. They bought a house on the water. They had lots of friends and loved each other deeply. They drank way too much, stayed out way too late, and dabbled in drugs and were very sexually adventurous, with each other as well as others. She was happy. They were happy. One day, for no apparent reason she stopped drinking. Once sober, she found she had no tolerance for drunks. The woman was still drinking every day, and she found she did not have much tolerance for the woman either. She pleaded with the woman to stop drinking. The woman tried but was either unable or unwilling to leave that part of her life behind. She sent the woman to rehab, three times. Three times the woman failed. She left the woman she had loved so and never looked back.

She moved just a little north. Still in South Florida but far enough away she did not run in to the woman. She changed jobs. She became a project manager for a very large residential builder. She made six figures when salary and bonuses were all told. She joined a softball team, a pool league, and once again began singing and playing the guitar in a tavern a couple of nights a week. She could not have been that bad as she had a following and she seemed to be able to pack the place on the nights she played. She discovered she had a small talent for songwriting. Her songs often brought others to tears. She was able to convey all her hurt, loss, and disappointment through them without having people know they came from her soul. When asked about those songs that so moved them, they were told they were simply songs she had learned along the way. She was able to express all that she was without letting others know her. It was liberating for her and something she had never been able to do with her limited conversational skills. She had always fallen apart when asked to talk about what moved her, what she felt, what she had lived through. Her songs were her secret self and she needed them. They told all she could not.

It was during this time in her life she figured out who she truly was and of what she was truly capable. She found she was not completely unworthy of happiness. She found she was strong and intense. She was giving, kind, genuine, and of quiet and gentle demeanor. She possessed a great capacity for self-awareness and healed. This time she was not healing from lost love, but life, and while still a painful healing, it was a welcome one. It was a very good time and she was certain it could never be better. It was after a softball game, celebrating an all too infrequent win, she saw her.

She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I was struck by her the moment I saw her and heard her speak. She was talking with a group of women and although I was too far away to determine what she was actually saying, when she opened her mouth to speak, she may as well have been speaking only to me. I could hear the mellifluous timbre of her voice even from across the room, and suddenly no other sound existed., no one else existed, just her. When she laughed her head tilted back slightly. Her long dark hair seemingly ruffled by some imaginary wind. Her eyes crinkling at the corners. Her smile was infectious, and although I knew nothing of her conversation, I found myself smiling along with her.

She was tall and slim and as I studied the movement of her hands, all I could think of was my need to hold them, to have them touching me. It was the strangest thing. I truly believe I loved her without knowing a thing about her. I was not at all certain she would accept my invitation, In fact, had I not lost complete control of my senses, I might have never approached her. I am sure it must have crossed my mind that just the richness of her voice and the grace of her hands, valued more than my worth. But rather, I did not even give that a thought. I was compelled, driven by something other than myself, to talk with her...to know her.

(Continued)
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Old 11-09-2011, 09:03 AM   #2
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Default Secret Self (Continued)

I have often tried to recall the moment I went bursting into the middle of that circle of women. Standing there in front of her. Ill-prepared, and as if lost and lovesick, certain all life would leave me were I not to at least try to make her see me. Yet I can not. I do not remember walking over although I know I must have done so. It was as though I just materialized there. Aching to reach out to her, longing to brush the hair from her brow, grateful just to be close enough to feel her essence wash over me. And at the risk of being rejected, rebuffed, and ridiculed, I spoke to her. I had no idea what I was to say, but when I spoke, I looked directly into her eyes, and simply uttered "you need me". Of course it was the other way around. I needed her, but I had no control over anything I was doing at that point. And those three little words... "you need me" ...were the words that tumbled from my mouth...my person...and my heart.

She was taken aback. She chuckled softly at the absurdity of my declaration. And as she took in the whole of me, that smile appeared once again. It's beauty rendering me unable to do anything but wish for an eternity of reveling in it's warmth. It seemed I stood there for hours, paralyzed with fear she would turn me away. When she finally spoke, she offered only an "I do, huh?". I nodded, telling her if only she would dance with me, I would tell her all the reasons why. She did...I did...and it was done.

We spent the next two days talking. We called in sick to our work and talked. We became inseparable. I was able to share myself with her completely without worry of losing her or feeling the disappointment I had always felt when unable to reveal my thoughts and feelings. She was patient. She saw me without having to be told what she was seeing. It was the first time in my life I was certain I was loved, not in spite of who I was, but because of who I was, and my heart was moved. I loved her with all that I was or was ever to be. All previous life and love’s heartache and pain faded away with just the thought of her. All the love I thought I felt before paled in comparison and was forgotten with just the presence of her. We did not have to speak the words to know it was there. Silence with her was more than all the words I had ever shared with another. I now understood what it was to be willing to die for another. I was sure I had loved before. I now knew, I had never truly loved. She was all I had ever needed and I was angry at the universe for not having brought her to me sooner. I felt she was my reward for all I had loved and lost, for being a good person regardless of what life had thrown at me. It had always been my place to protect the relationship. I had always been the one to bend and make things right. She knew of these things and was versed in what it took to sustain love and intimacy. We were equals and it was good.

She had always managed to remain slim despite having a very healthy appetite. So when she began to lose a little weight, we were not concerned. She lost more and more weight and with it came a fatigue she was unable to shake. I urged her to go to the doctor but she was a stubborn one and assured me she just had some sort of flu or some such thing. It nagged at me and I would not take “no” for an answer. We went to the doctor and after battery and battery of tests, MRI’s, and giving every bit of her blood, we were told she had ovarian cancer. Had it simply been ovarian cancer there would have been a pretty good shot at dealing with it. However, in that we had waited so long, it had spread into her spine and was now untreatable. She was going to die and it was my fault. I should have made her go to the doctor when I first felt something was amiss.

She was so apologetic to me. Can you imagine? She was dying and here she was apologizing to me! I was riddled with guilt at not having insisted she seek medical attention. We weathered the storm for quite some time. Chemo and radiation took their toll on her and I did all I could to make her comfortable. She had blood transfusions, an obscene amount of medications, and pain she tried to keep from me. She went through periods when she was not in so much pain and others where it was unbearable.

I was still trying to work and tend to her. I set up a hospital room in our home and when she was in a good period, I brought her home as this was where she was most comfortable and I could tend to her every need. Eventually I stopped going to work. They were very sympathetic to our plight but they needed someone who could be there. I understood this and knew, no matter how much I loved the job, and needed the comfortable living it had helped provide us, my place was with her. I was given a exceptionally huge severance when I was reluctantly let go and I knew this was my boss’s way of helping. I was touched and for perhaps the only other time in my life, felt appreciated by anyone other than her.

She rapidly began to fail. I was at a loss to do anything and hated myself for being inadequate. I wanted to take her place, to take the pain that was now more often than not unbearable. I refused to give up on her, completely disregarding the pain she was in. I spent every dime I had trying to make something happen that was never going to happen. I was under the impression if only I could keep her alive and breathing, somehow I could make her well. I now know I was afraid. I was afraid to be without her. I was not strong enough to face the loss of her, without her. Once she was gone, she was the one person I would need to get through it.

She was now in the hospital full-time and had been for quite a while. I spent every moment with her. The hospital figured out they could not get rid of me and put a cot in her room for me. She was sedated much of the time and I was left to my own thoughts. I came to realize my selfishness. I has urged her to hang on, in excruciating pain and suffering, because I was not strong. She was dying of cancer and I was the weak one. I sat beside her, holding her hand. She turned her head to look at me. Her hair had gone gray and it matched the pallor of her skin. Those that might see her for the first time would not see the beauty she once held, but I never stopped seeing it. Even in her last moments, her body ravaged, the life all but gone from her person, she was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen.

I leaned in, my lips close to her ear. I told her I loved her. I told her it was never her that needed me, but me that needed her. I apologized to her for making her hold on because I was weak. I thanked her for loving me, for allowing me to love her, for giving me purpose, for making my life worthwhile. She struggled to breathe, to talk. I told her not to speak. There was no reason anymore. I told her I knew what she wanted to say and it was not necessary. I knew I was loved. I felt it every moment of every day we spent together and I would forever remember the warmth, the passion, the goodness that was us. I told her it was time to just let go. I promised I would carry on. I promised I would forever love her. I would find the strength to go on, to remember her, to tell others about her and how much I loved her, and she me. I felt a tiny pressure on my hand as she attempted to squeeze it. I sat with her for almost two hours. We stared at one another not saying anything. I tried without great success not to cry and I was able to stop only when she began to have tears running down her cheeks. I did not want that for her and that alone gave me the strength to dry my tears. She closed her eyes and again I felt the tiny pressure on my hand. An almost inaudible little gasp of air escaped her mouth. It was the softest of sounds to the rest of the world, but to me it was deafening as the world came crashing down upon me. Gone was the tiny pressure on my hand as hers went limp. Gone was the woman for whom I had been willing to die. Gone was the woman willing to live for me.

The guilt of my weakness in her last years destroyed me. I shut down once again and was inconsolable. I went for days, sometimes a week or two without speaking to another. I contemplated ending my life but remembering my oath to her to carry on, I did not. I had not been able to return to our home after her death and have no idea the fate of the things that once belonged to us. I didn’t care. They were things and I now knew things meant nothing. I didn’t care about anything or anybody, including myself. I was compelled once again to roam.

I ended up in Michigan. I took a job as a medical coordinator for a region of group homes that catered to developmentally disabled/mentally ill adults. I found myself well-suited to this work as for the most part these people were not able to carry on conversations and did not care about who I was and from where I came. They were as wrapped up in themselves as I was and that worked well for me. Only once in my years in that position, did one of the clients ask me about myself. Her name was Beverly and while we were not to have favorites, she was mine. I called her “Bevvy-poo” and she called me “Superstar“. I was taking her to a doctor’s appointment one day and as we walked back to the car, she stopped in the parking lot, hugged me, and asked “why you always so sad Superstar?”. I began to cry. Beverly held me, telling me she loved me, and “don’t be sad”. We had to have been quite the sight there in that parking lot. It was the only time in years I had allowed another to touch me, to comfort me, to see my weakness. I would never have allowed that had it not been for the genuine concern, the innocence, the friend that was my “Bevvy-poo“.

It was New Year’s day and as typically happens on holidays, we had someone call off work. I had no family and no life and while I did not go around advertising this, my boss knew I had nothing. She asked if I might be able to fill in and I said I would. On my way to work, my car sputtered and died on the highway. I put the emergency flashers on and moved to the shoulder. It is the last thing I remember that day. In fact, it is the last thing I remember for weeks. I died at the scene. I did not see any bright light, however, nor was there anyone with a pitchfork poking me in the butt. I woke a couple of weeks later from my coma, disoriented and worried I had not made it to work. I was essentially nothing but broken and shattered bones, punctured lungs, and remorse in that I had not stayed dead. I was to spend months in the hospital and many more months in rehab learning to once again walk. It was during my recovery from the accident it was discovered I had a tumor. It was ovarian. This should have been bad news to me, but it seemed deserved somehow. This was my penance for selfishly making her stay with me because I was not strong enough to let her go. I have since recovered fully and live to see another day.

It was after the accident and the recovery I began to think about the state of my familial relationships. It was after the accident I vowed to return to Kentucky in an effort to once again become a part of my long lost family. I had no delusions of once again being a “daddy’s girl”. At this point I wished only to be a part of his life, a welcome part of his life, to be accepted by him as the person I had become.

I moved to Kentucky and bought a tiny house on two acres in the nothingness of the woods. My father lived about 25 miles away in another town. I figured this was enough distance if my plan for reconnection went awry. I summoned all my bravery one day and visited his office. He was not there when I arrived and his secretary told me he was at lunch and would be returning shortly. She asked my name. It did not seem to strike her at all that my last name was the same as my father’s. I waited and as I did so, I wrestled with the thought that because he was not here, perhaps it was a sign I should not be either. However, I had gotten this far and was determined to see it through. Good or bad, I would know my place before I left this building.

The secretary attempted to make small talk but I was not at all interested. This was one of the things I had noticed about Kentucky, people were nice. They wanted to talk, to chat. I found this annoying as I left the state long ago and had been a hermit for many many years now. I sometimes tried to return the small talk, but found I was hopelessly disinterested and not at all good at it. It made me uncomfortable and I just could not seem to muster that “when in Rome” thing. No matter how long I was in Kentucky, I was never going to be able to talk about nothing.

He walked in, asked for his messages, and glanced my way without recognizing me. Why would he? It had been over thirty years since we had spoken, much less seen one another. His secretary told him I was there to see him. She even told him my name, still nothing. He headed down the hall to his office asking me to join him as he went. He sat behind his large desk and asked me to sit in the chair across from him. He looked right at me, asking how he could help me. I looked right back at him and simply said “Hi Dad”. He leapt from the chair, rushing around the desk to embrace me so hard I thought I might faint from lack of oxygen. He was happy to see me and I was relieved. He told me he had been trying to track me down for years but always seemed to be a step or two behind me. He told me of my family, his horses, his farms, his life. I was feeling emotional and not wanting my father to see it, told him I had an appointment and had to leave. We exchanged phone numbers and vowed to get together. He hugged me again, telling me he was so happy I was back. I fought back tears because I knew he meant it, and it made me happy.

I have been here in Kentucky and a bona-fide member of the family for going on two and a half years now. He has retired his practice and spends his time playing golf, riding horses, and raising bees. All of which I do with him on a regular basis. He has mellowed and while he was always a kind and gentle man, he now has the ability to show it. He says nice things to and about me. Perhaps the nicest thing he has ever said to me is when I apologized at one point for having been young and stupid, and he assured me I did not have the lock on stupid. That, for my father, was an apology. An apology I was not expected to verbally acknowledge because I am like my father, and sometimes we just know.

Now I find myself a homeowner in Kentucky. I have dogs, a cat, and a fish. I have family ties. I have a job I love. I have loneliness. I am restless and feel as though there is more for me somewhere. I know it is not Kentucky as I am convinced I am the only lesbian in the whole of the state. I have met some women, one in particular that interested me but I was not able to go any further than the interest. Even after all these years, I still remember the one I lost. The one I loved. The one who loved me.

This brings on quite the dilemma. Loneliness, not being over past love, and living in the middle of nowhere, seemingly hundreds of miles from another with similar proclivities. Factor in not wanting to disappoint my father by once again pulling up stakes and roaming, I am in quite the mess. The folks are older now and I have missed so much time with them. I do not want to leave them, but I find this increasing loneliness, restlessness, calling me to regions unknown.

I know not what I want. I am certain that even if I knew, I would find myself unable to act upon it. I found it once, with her. Perhaps that was my only chance to ever know the very thing I needed. Perhaps I should simply get used to the loneliness. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Whatever it is I will do, I refuse to live a life of “perhaps”. I have done much to much of that and is has gotten me here. Right back where I started…the quiet, awkward, unattractive little girl…searching for my place in the world.
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