The perfect slutty virginal sweater

and I learn that humans are humans

The text tone on my phone is a heartbeat so every time it hums, I remember it is a real live human on the other end.

It wasn’t until this year I realized other people were humans. Yeah, I knew, cognitively. I mean physically, spiritually, I learned for the first time to feel them — to be in their vicinity without flying out of my body going so deep into my body, beneath the veils and guardrails and pulling up the thick, thick drawbridges to keep them from taking me.

When I noticed the love flowing from others, it was soft and gave me goosebumps and made me cry elephant tears and the tightness in my chest spread into room temperature butter.

Actually at first the feeling wasn’t even in person — I felt the people on the internet, as people, with hearts, and love, and it touched every part of me. My mind defragmented. My heart began to believe the safety of softening. I used to think I was open, and I was but only in specific circumstances — mostly alone in my room, dancing. Then I fucked an open hearted man for the first time and I felt it even deeper. And my best friend wrapped me in love, too, and I can’t believe I never knew this universe existed.

I read something that said, “the very thing you think is keeping you separate is actually the thing connecting you.”

Haven’t we all felt that sense of I must be the only one? And the story that kicks in like —nobody would understand, nobody cares, nobody wants this. This is monstrous and too much and weird and I mean, I love myself in secret but damn, to love myself out loud? That would be dangerous.

I used to have this story that I was really disembodied for a long time and that was the source of all my problems, but actually, that was never true. I was always so deep in, like I said. So deep, feeling only me, wanting to feel the world but not knowing how to do it without dying. Being kidnapped.

I did want to die a little. I wouldn’t have put it that way a couple years ago but really, I hated the part of me that wanted to connect. I thought it was too much to ask. Unreasonable. I smothered her.

Not anymore. We’ve had many chats. Now we have an understanding — some days we go into the cave, gather ourselves, feel the pure bliss of solitude. But now there is openness. Breath in the boundaries. Pulled the plug on the electric fence.

Apparently you think you are your mother until you’re one year old or something. A lot of adults walk around operating as children. I seem to have thought I was everyone until I was 33. And when I realized I wasn’t, I just wanted to have sex and be filled and remember who the fuck I was and not just remember but FEEL the realness of separation. Feel the ache in every crevice of my body. Oh that fucking ache. I love it. I really, truly L O V E it. That is the danger. And the joy. And I would have it any other way, now that I know it.

For a decade I was full of tools for fixing myself. They were clunking around, banging against my organs, scraping me up from the inside. Making me heavy.

I lost 15 pounds and got a 6-pack overnight when I shook the toolbag out and replaced it with love. I started loving things I thought I hated. Marketing? Business? I loved writing even more. I stopped trying to write and started writing. And having conversations. Real conversations. Not the ones I’d rehearsed in my head. Not a script. Nothing safe or practiced.

The gnawing fear that I’d say something wrong was a saw cutting through my vocal chords. I replaced it with a hawk and a pair of mourning doves.

My heart thudding with balls of lead — pierced of its heaviness, little openings through a week of phone sex, one amazing fuck, three days of walking 10 miles in Brooklyn, and a new golden pen, though I still prefer my old one — it was the gesture, the ritual, the symbol that mattered.

My twisted up stomach untangled in outpourings of poetry so honest they obliterate shadows of protection, discard flowery language knowing I am flowering in reality, demons and everything.

My constellated emotions find their home in love unbounded, wrapped in creamy lace and the perfect slutty virginal sweater and I am reborn again. Beginning. Eyes of the oracle. Weird as fuck. Alien. So damn human. And this time I can — I want to — stay here.

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