Lovers and Madmen Have Such Seething Brains

To all you people out there who see love as exclusive, to those who believe you can find all that you want, desire, and need from one person for years on end, to all who strive for singularity and commitment, I salute you. Yours is an ongoing battle, an uphill climb, a project. It is something that takes effort and care, something that isn't easy. To those of you who believe that the outcome is worth the struggle, keep on keeping on.

I, on the other hand, have never really viewed this as a possibility. The idea of two people learning, growing, and changing together seems an improbable if not impossible idea, and the notion that I could be fulfilled by one person is simply unrealistic.

I am an open non-monogamist in a day and age when this is viewed as abnormal, wrong, and bordering on pathetic. I have, of course, attempted monogamy, but my forays into that practice have been unsuccessful, unsatisfying, and at times downright depressing. To those who believe that non-monogamists are not capable of real love, I only have this to say, in my very best French: Go Fuck Yourselves. Not only have I experienced what it means to have real, rich, fulfilling love, but I also have experienced love that alters, love that gives, love that sacrifices and buoys and strengthens and inspires.

So where does cheating fit in? To me, the idea that a cheater does not love the person they are cheating on is folly. This, to me, is a perception engrained in us from outside influences, whether it be religion, the media, or our peers. It is simply not true. I have seen it, I have experienced it, and I can say without guile that love can exist even when outside gratification is sought. There are, of course, circumstances where love is lost and infidelity occurs, but I am willing to believe that 9 times out of 10, this is not the case.

This brings me to the point of this piece, something that has been on my mind of late, and that is the difference between partners and lovers.

I have been a partner, and I have been a lover. I have had partners, and I have had lovers. To me, there is a difference, and, though you can have both from the same person AT TIMES, there is a reason why people with partners seek out lovers.

Partners are people you love, people you fill your time with, people who give you strength and care for you, people who remain steadfastly on your side through life's turmoil and strife, people with whom you share assets, people with whom you build things, whether it be a home or a family or mutual devotion and trust. Partners are difficult to come by, but finding one can mean a lifetime of friendship, love, and support. Partners are wonderful.

Then why seek something else?

It has been said, "Love leaves the back door open." In my monogamy essay, I mentioned the practice of taking a lover, and how it has been common habitude in certain places of the world for centuries. The idea seems somehow lost on Americans, who view the idea that you might need to seek fulfillment outside of your partnership the height of betrayal. Swinging couples are viewed as hedonistic and sinful, though their marriages may be some of the strongest. It is my belief that couples who understand that their wanting a partner to remain sexually faithful to them as merely a matter of self-esteem, and therefore an entirely selfish desire, are couples who approach life with more confidence and perhaps a healthier grasp on reality than those who jealously seek to own their partners, viewing love as a platform for score-keeping, resentment, and control.

So what is a lover?

A lover is a person with whom to share secrets, a person that fills in the holes (for there are always holes, don't kid yourself), a person who may drift in and out of your life or be replaced by another, a person who fulfills appetites and desires, a person who acts as an escape from reality. They may be someone of which you know very little, and so your idea or perception of them remains in the realm of fantasy, which can be a very good thing in a life full of drudgery. A lover is the partner's polar opposite; where one stands beside you as you go through hell, the other allows you to escape from it. Is one better than the other? Of course not. They are different things. Does the enjoyment of one negate the importance of the other? I do not think so. I believe that seeking fulfillment is not at all the same thing as betraying trust. The two should not be, in my opinion, synonymous.

The question now becomes how we can begin to alter our perceptions in order to achieve gratification in our sexual lives. After all, if the Europeans can do it, what is the hold-up in our corner of civilization? Why is it that we restrict ourselves, when we, as free adult citizens of the world, have the luxury to design our own lives? We are living in a world when the most exciting changes in how we view human sexuality are occurring, where people are beginning to accept that there is more than one option out there, more than one sexual practice, more than one way in which love and sexuality can be expressed and enjoyed. It is a very volatile time, which I view as a positive. Chaos is a catalyst for change, and change can be wonderful.

I think a little chaos in one's life is healthy. So I'm up for it. Are you?

There's three things in this world that you need: respect for all kinds of life, a nice bowel movement on a regular basis, and a navy blazer.

I have so much anger right now. It's palpable. On the other hand, I feel more in touch with the poet in me than I have for ten years. Maybe the anger is a good thing. Maybe within the anger lies the lyrical.

Much of my anger comes from being a woman, and stems from the injustices I see brought upon my sex. Yes, it has gotten better. But it still isn't good enough. Sometimes the way the media treats us, the way the world treats us, the way my close male friends treat us--it's too much. And I try not to be too much of a raging feminist (who wants to hang around a raging ANYTHING?) but it just comes leaking out of me. And it ends up playing a role in my personal life, in my sex life. I feel like until I find a man that is a feminist (not just one that begrudgingly accepts the fact that women are "equal"), I won't be able to let one in entirely. Perhaps it is a lost cause. Perhaps it is a cause not worth fighting. Perhaps I am just too angry. Perhaps I just need to relax and just hope that everything will work out and that the anger will go away. But would I be turning my back on something important not just to me, but to womankind? "We have to be the change we want to see in the world."

Love makes me angry. This past year I have experienced the full spectrum of love, ranging from the unrequited to the unresolved to the unwelcome. All too intense, all too upsetting. My experience with love has been volatile at best, devastating at worst. Is it better to have loved and lost? Yes. Without a doubt. I wouldn't trade a minute of it. To the men whom I have loved, and the ones who have loved me, I thank you. Without you, I would not be who I am. Every bit of torture has informed the kind of woman I have become.

I am angry because of the place I am in right now. Because of goals still not reached, of dreams that still hover in the unattainable distance, taunting me, mocking me. I'm getting older, and here am I still. This is not to say I haven't accomplished anything. I have. But I have so far to go. SO. FAR.

I am angry at some people I love. I feel abandoned and cast aside, misunderstood and taken for granted. That sounds so mawkish, even as I type it, but it's the truth. And it doesn't even begin to graze the surface of what I have been feeling lately. But I'll leave it at that. Far better to be brief than maudlin.

When I was seventeen, I was misdiagnosed with Major Depression and given Prozac. Now, to anybody who knows anything about Bipolar Disorder, this is a HUGE--and quite dangerous--mistake. Prozac causes a Bipolar mind to cycle every day. (Usually you cycle every few days, or every couple of weeks.) Needless to say, my seventeenth year was a scary one. I was so angry ALL OF THE TIME and there was hardly anything that could make me feel normal. My own mother was afraid of me, and was at a loss for what to do. I cut class, I flunked out, I ran away, and every day was a challenge. But damn, did I write good poetry that year.

I feel seventeen again.