Perestroika

The boyband craze. We've all lived through it in varying degrees, depending on your age and the country you live in. We've certainly had more than our fair share of them in the UK, especially in the 90s. Take That. East 17. Westlife. Boyzone. Various imports - Backstreet Boys, New Kids on the Block, N'Sync, LFO.

Let Loose. Bad Boys Inc. 911. OTT. MN8. Damage. Code Red. O-Zone. O-Town. One True Voice. Hanson. Phixx. A1. BBMak. Bros. Blue. Blazin' Squad. Ultimate Kaos. Another Level.

Excuse me, where was I?

Oh yes. Boy bands. Some of us like 'em, some of us hate 'em. Plenty of us claim to hate 'em even though we've been guilty of dancing to their music in the living room when nobody's home. Some are actually pretty good, some are fairly crappy, some are listenable.

ANYway, there was one moderately-listenable band in the mid to late 90s, called Five. Oh, excuse me, 5ive. I actually quite liked them - unlike many other boy bands, they seemed to have a sense of humor about what they did - but naturally they split and went their own ways. At least one of them tried to pursue a solo career, which didn't take off wonderfully. I have no idea what the rest of them do now.

But the one member who did make an attempt at flying solo, after making a bunch of generic pop that quickly faded away into nothingness, came up with an absolute gem called "Seven Ways". The original features mildly annoying poppy background music, but I got my hands (ears?) on an acoustic version back in the day, which I have unfortunately lost, and it worked really well. If I had musical talent I'd like to cover it acoustically one day. I've no idea who wrote the song, and most of the internet seems to have forgotten its existence - I can't even find it on iTunes - but it had this beautiful, haunting chorus:

I'm talking to the mirror at 5 am
Waiting for your call in the pouring rain
Sugar-coated kiss and a lipstick mark
There are seven ways of breaking my heart.

Coded conversation and bad TV
Losing all original chemistry
Walkin' like I'm dancin' on priceless art
There are seven ways of breaking my heart.

If I ever find a guy who genuinely remembers this song, I'll marry him on the spot.

So the song's had me in its spell on and off for the last eight years or so, or however long it's been since it was released, because I've never heard heartbreak put in quite such terms. I can't even explain what it is about the words that catches me - the acuity of them, perhaps - but every time I hear them I get a little prickly sensation where my heart is. The second to last line, in particular - "Walkin' like I'm dancin' on priceless art" - haunts me.

Oli and I broke up a couple of weeks ago. It hurts. It's the best thing for both of us, but it still hurts. If you know me AT ALL, you know how much I hate change. Truth is, it wasn't exactly a break-up, because we weren't exactly together. If you're new to the blog and don't know the Oli backstory, the short version goes like this: we met through a friend, fell in lust, but he was just about to start his last year at uni in Liverpool and I was in London. We flirted, talked about how neither of us were looking for commitment, and promptly got (half-jokingly) engaged. I don't know why, we just did. I went to see him in Liverpool, we spent a couple of glorious days together, had a huge fight the day I went home, and decided that we weren't going to sleep together anymore. A week after I went home, his ex-girlfriend (who was still a good friend) decided she wanted him back, and he decided he needed to give things a shot. I stopped seeing him, we only talked occasionally, then many months later he and the girlfriend broke up and he and I started seeing each other again. As friends. With no commitment. And have continued to do so for the last - oh God, how long has it been? Year and a half? Yeah. A year and a half. Two and a half years that I've felt attached to him, counting the patch in the middle when we were apart.

It's hard to explain why I broke it off with him, except to say that it's all mixed up with the song. No, I didn't break up with him because a song told me to, I'm not *that* retarded. But a couple of those lines are just exactly how my relationship with Oli has felt for the last year - the part about coded conversation, and especially the line I mentioned before. When I fell for Oli, I fell for the guy who was my best friend, who I could talk to about anything, and over the years that person has become lost to me, and instead he's become someone who I have to constantly walk on eggshells around. When I fell for him, I was coming off a bad breakup from a guy whose emotions were a mass of twists and turns, and I was so happy to be with someone who seemed simple and uncomplicated. I don't know if I was mistaken about his simplicity to start with, or if he's changed in the last two and a half years, but what seemed to be uncomplicated emotions now seems to me to be a point blank refusal to admit that he HAS emotions, at least any that are more complex than happiness and horniness.

We used to be happy. I remember that much. He used to call me just to ask how my day was, and we'd giggle and chat for hours. He still asks me how my day was, but it feels more like he's doing it because he has to, not because he's genuinely interested. And more and more I find myself lying, making up stories about a wonderful day, because if I tell him anything negative he doesn't want to listen and give support, all he wants to do is tell me what I did wrong, and what I need to do now.

I used to find the fact that he wanted to look after me to be endearing, but nowadays I just feel like a stupid child who needs to be reprimanded if she's going to have any chance of getting it right next time. Thing is, I don't *need* reprimanding. I'm the most introspective person I know, and I've been my own worst critic ever since I was able to talk and think for myself. If I've done something wrong, I can guarantee you I know about it. All the things that he wants to tell me I've done wrong, I already know about, and the things he wants to tell me to do next, I've already thought through and decided on the most prudent course of action possible with the information that I have at the time.

I'm not blaming him. I used to like the way he was, and over the years I've perpetuated the cycle by believing that I need taking care of, and letting him believe it. And it's not like he's some controlling ogre that wants to have the last say on everything I say and do. He's not like that, not at all. He's just...well, he's an engineer. He's a problem solver. He sees a problem, he acts on it. And if someone he cares about comes to him with a problem, he assumes that they want him to fix it. It's the way he is, and he can't change it, nor would I want him to. The fact that I feel inadequate and stupid around him a lot these days is more my issue than his.

The problem is the age-old one that everyone experiences at some point: we've both grown and changed as people, but we've grown in different directions. He can't give me what I need anymore, and I...well, I don't even know WHAT he needs. He doesn't admit to needing anything, ever.

I need equality. I need not to feel superfluous. I need to be needed, really, although not all the time. I need a guy who'll support me when I'm weak, and who'll let me support him when he's weak. In short, I need a healthy, two-sided relationship with give-and-take in it. I need somewhere where I can be myself. He says I should be myself with him, but so much of who I am is tied into other people and how I relate to them. You can't be a teacher if there's nobody to teach; you can't be a healer if there's nobody to heal. Not that I really think of myself as a teacher or a healer, truly - I don't teach anything, at least not anything that you don't already know, and I maintain that people heal themselves. I just kind of give them a nudge in the right direction. People need to be needed, and me probably more than most. If I'm in a relationship where I'm not needed, I feel worse than useless: I feel like I'm losing my identity.

Much of my identity has been lost or changed in the last two and a half years. Oli pushed my boundaries, pushed me out of my comfort zone, and in some ways that's been good. If he hadn't done that, I wouldn't have become so comfortable with my sexuality. I wouldn't have learned that it's OK to be emotional. I wouldn't have known how good it feels to let someone else take control sometimes. I wouldn't have discovered that it's actually possible for me to give my heart to someone completely and fully, without holding back because of fear and pride. All of those discoveries are good things, things that it was probably important to learn about myself, but the process of learning them has involved such a harsh break-down of who I thought I was, that I'm only now starting to get that identity back.

Sure, I'm sad, because I've lost a best friend as well as the person who's known my body better than anyone. Most likely we'll stay friends, just not as close friends as we were. But at the same time, I'm finally remembering what it's like to feel happy about something internal. I don't mean to give you the impression that I've been walking round in a depression for the last year. I've been content at some times, joyful at others. But it's been a mostly external happiness - I've been happy because of snow, or sunshine, or butterflies, or Chinese food, or a good book. Transient things that fill me with exhilaration for awhile, then fade. I haven't felt that internal joy that I used to get just from doing things, or meeting new people - that joy that never fades, and you can access over and over. Oh, I can't describe this well. The idea of external vs internal happiness...it's sort of like the joy of the world around us vs the joy of being alive and feeling things. External stimuli vs internal peace. You either understand what I mean or you don't, and if you don't, you probably won't no matter how I try to explain.

Jeez, it's getting late. I've been suffering from inzombia for many months now, although it's been getting worse recently. Funnily enough, it doesn't seem to be precipitated by nightmares. I had a nightmare last night that Paul Southwood got killed, but aside from that, in the last month or so the worst dream that I've had was that I was buying a gown for a formal dinner and had to buy it in a size 20. (I typically wear a 14, at least on a good day.) I don't know why I can't sleep at the moment, but I spend many of my nights doing Japanese logic puzzles and playing Lunar Genesis (released as Lunar: Dragon Song in the US, I believe). I suppose the lack of nightmares is a good thing, since this is the first time in about fifteen years that I haven't been plagued by them. Although I am still getting the sleep-deaths, and none of my doctors, either of the body or the mind, can figure out the cause of them.

So anyway, dear reader, I shall leave you there, and go and take a hot bath - there wasn't any hot water before I went to bed, and I'm cold, and when I feel cold I feel dirty for some reason - and then I'm going to grab something to eat, and catch you guys later.

Hope your new years are going well! (I personally have made a second resolution: to read at least two non-fiction books every month. My reading habits have become completely appalling in the last year: romance, romance, romance, porn, romance, fantasy, sci-fi, romance, ad infinitum. This is the year I get myself edumacated, even if it just by reading biographies and factual books.)

Anyway, hope y'all are good. Take care of yourselves, and come back anytime.