ON MY KNEES
Saturday April 3, 1996
Maybe it is because my correspondence with Nikki, the British Bon Jovi bootleg trader, has been slow.
Because I don’t remember last year’s Easter to be so dull and slow, and that was when Bear and me were still in full breakup mode.
I don’t remember if we had a late or early Easter but either way, by the beginning of April 1995, Bear and me were either not seeing each other at all, or we were in the modest coffee date phase.
After that breakup December 1994 when he told me he had someone else, someone who wanted more than “just” sex (he didn’t say that but I know that is what he meant) we had months in a row when it did not seem like we would pick it up.
Least of all sexually.
But also the friendship he had promised me seemed to have been taken off the table.
I did not blame him, I assumed it probably meant that he did have feelings for me, and needed to not see me to make the other relationship work.
Yet I can’t remember Easter weekend feeling so lonely then.
Even though I did not have a pen pall then who had paused our correspondence. Nor did I have the Thursday Sunday dates at the Hard Rock Cafe, that were cancelled.
Like they are now.
Maybe that is the key:
Because I didn’t have contact with Bear, I didn’t have a hot letter exchange with a man I called Nikki, and I didn’t have anything-goes nights at the bar with like-minded souls.
So I didn’t miss them either.
But now I do. Very much.
I can’t remember ever feeling so lonely at Easter, although in my case the worse is already over.
Thursday night, Friday and today I was alone.
But tomorrow and Monday I have company.
It’s always darkest before the dawn.
With a little luck I ll be resurrected tomorrow.
HANGING BY A THREAD
Saturday April 11, 1996
Since it’s exactly one week ago, I wrote in my diary last, it seems to be a Saturday night thing:
Feeling asexual, deserted, hopeless.
In a vacuum that is filled by movies on TV because I m too numb to even put on a VHS, or to listen to Bon Jovi bootlegs to write reviews for the fanclub.
I can’t concentrate for ten minutes, let alone for 2,5 hours listening to a crackly cassette.
So sexless Saturday seems to be here to stay.
Today I walked, I cycled, I masturbated AND I did yoga.
That’s four physical activities, that should be able to sustain some feeling of vitality or even sensuality.
Some feeling of aliveness below the belt.
But nothing lasted and I feel fat and slow, as if I sat on the couch and ate nachos all day.
If you would call me, you’d hear an echo.
If you’d water me, I would drown.
If you’d invite me for a party, I would answer I have nothing to wear, because everything feels off.
I checked my calendar:
It s almost 5 weeks since Bear and me had sex.
And it’s not even two weeks since I last heard from Nikki. A small note with the latest bootleg, explaining he would have little time to write.
I received the letter on April 1st, and thought it was the worst April fools day joke ever.
In particular since he sent the letter from England so there was no way for him to know it would reach me on April 1st.
But I did feel like a fool. Not just with regard to him, but because I feel so dependent on men.
My sexuality just seems to die, the moment they turn their backs on me.
And my body even!
I couldn’t go to Thursday’s Hard Rock Cafe because my belly was hurting so badly. It was one of the few spots without easily infected organs, and it responded to breathing, so it’s probably a muscle and not an organ. Nothing to worry about at all.
But there were moments I could not even sit up straight, so no Hard Rock Cafe for me.
And another Saturday night at home wondering what I need to do to stay “alive”, in the broadest sense.
And not shrivel into sexual nothingness the moment I am deprived of men, music and more.
It will take a man or a miracle, and I suspect a miracle won’t cover it.
An unexamined life is not worth living
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Sexless Saturdays | 1996 diary
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