We met with my friend Tuesday evening to catch up after a long absence of meetings. It turned out that his last romance had already ended, which was pretty swift. "You know, I somehow quickly felt that it would be a disaster. One of these toxic stories that I used to dive with so much pleasure. I call it the Julia Factor. Julia is his most tearful romance. She was He looked at her photos in magazines and on billboards and dreamed about her, until one day he found her naked in his bedroom.
Julia knew thoroughly how to take out his heart, tear to pieces and feed him. She skillfully used sex and sexuality to devalue and abuse her mind and personality. By making sex even that which is foreign to sex, bringing it to the place where they seek the opportunity for protected weakness and vulnerability. In these relations, a place was found for all conceivable and unthinkable ways of depreciating and controlling the personality of another. My friend converged and disagreed with her at least 10 times.
Madness, I thought. But wasn't it the same with me? Which of us at some point in our lives did not reach for destructive and painful relationships?
Somewhere in the far corners of my biography was the place of such a story. His name was Bogdan (actually not). We met in a smoky cafe, which I never do at all. He was not going to get acquainted, all his drunk friend showed all activity. Bogdan himself gave me the most indifferent look, I answered him with a complete cold. At that very moment I knew that I would turn his whole soul inside out and he would be crazy about me. This was not my “decision” or “plan”, it was just in the air. Like lightning. We greeted the next meeting, started some mediocre conversation about the weather, and after about half a minute began to kiss. The next day, I was already traveling with him on a damn bus to a godforsaken city in the Cherkasy region, in complete love psychosis. He played me, and I played him. But at some point we both lost. As they say, the casino always wins. And it ripped us off like sticky. From that day we did not leave, until it was time for him to return to Germany, from where he, in fact, arrived for a short time home, in Kiev. Here I am in complete fog escorting him to the airport. And now I am sitting in the hotel lobby at the airport in Poland, at 6 am, during an uncomfortable transfer, and ask me to check in earlier so that I can relax a bit before flying to Germany. I don’t hear what the administrators tell me, I just look out the window as if in a fog, clutching the binding of Zamyatin, “We” in my hands. The girls repeat something, look into my muddy eyes, look at each other and give me the keys. Surcharge is not necessary. I lay almost a day on the mattress, waiting for a flight, and drown in Zamyatin and my fantasies about a future meeting, with full determination to never part with him again.
The next thing I remember is how this guy, having previously borrowed all my money from me to pay for renting an apartment, calls me a bitch, pushes me and I fall onto the bed. I packed my things and left with full determination to never see him again. But he gave up his life in Germany, returned to Kiev and began to look for me. He was waiting for me under my office, under my apartment, he wrote long and piercing letters, looked for which hospital they put me in when I got sick, asked, threatened, adored, hated, and later just periodically popped up with an old love song for the next 7 years . He called me the love of his life, dedicated stories and songs to me, cursed and crowned me. For me, he was absorbing, fatal, evil. He was one of the greatest inspirations in my life. Through this meeting, I discovered all the darkest in myself. And it was warm, charming and endlessly erotic. Our sex with him, no, was not the best sex in my life. It was more than sex. Complete merging with everything that was never touched in me before, with my deepest Shadow. We both died, turning from two into one. We fell into suspended animation. Absolutely absorbing experience.
What if this opportunity, the reality of experiencing the experience of death, makes this kind of relationship so attractive? After all, the centers of pleasure and pain are so close in our head and, dying, we experience our last orgasms. There is something so primitive and animal in this. Maybe that's why when I met Bogdan, no, not even like that, when I just saw his neck, I smelled the smell like a wild beast: “I can smell you, you are here to take my soul. Well, let's see who’s whom. ” And the survival game begins. The struggle for survival excites, awakens everything inside, helps to acutely feel the fact of existence, gives value and grandeur. After all, if I survived, then I achieved, I won the fight. Maybe that's why we create survival situations for ourselves? But what if you stop surviving? Will I just be able to live without struggle and utopias, enjoying shades rather than extremes?
When I met Marat, I also sucked in air along the contour of his body: “I can smell you. If you were who you want to appear, we would be well around. ” And then I forgot about him and did not remember the next two years. Until one day he called me to dinner. Closing my eyes, I again sucked in the air with my nose, deeply, strongly.
See also: Saturday column: Can a game of domination be the key to a long relationship?