by Restin Wells
Chapter Twenty
One day, about that time, Ben and I accepted a visiting mare to breed to our Arabian stallion. We weren't actually in the horse business anymore, as I had not been able to work with horses for a long time. But we did allow this mare to come over as a favor to a friend. Though Ben and I weren't getting along very well, Ben came over to help. Ben was to lead the stallion toward the mare, who was still in her stall, with the top half of the door open. I was holding her by the halter rope. This was a get-acquainted session. But the mare, having caught sight of the stallion prancing toward her, snorting, and tossing his head in eagerness, almost dragging Ben over the ground, suddenly decided she wanted no part of the proceedings. She reared up and leaped with all her might, to get out over the half-door. She jumped directly into me, knocked me down, and fell on me, on her knees. Her knees landed on my right inner calf, and my rib-cage. She then leapt up and ran away. I lay there writhing, and gasping for breath.
I went to the emergency room, with Ben, and found I had broken the leg, with severe contusion to it. But the ribs survived, as the heaviest force was on the leg. Anyway, I ended up on crutches. That ended my forays with the boyfriends for awhile.
About a month after that, my marriage went the rest of the way down the tubes. Ben asked for a divorce. Though he couldn't prove I was cheating on him, he knew it. I recall sitting at the kitchen table when he said it, and I remember having a wave of fear followed by a profound relief. And the separating wasn't as bad as I thought. I had a lot of coping skills by then, plus a good deal more inner strength. I had grown up a lot. I got an attorney, and so did he, but we settled things civilly. I got the house and some land, and he got the stable and a better strip of land. He moved to town, soon sold his part with the stable, and moved several hundred miles south.
Meanwhile, I was on the crutches, but trying to go to a part-time job, making only $80 a week. The property taxes weren't paid that year. There was no reserve money to fix anything serious that might happen, or fix the car. I didn't know anything much about cars. I barely paid the light bill. It was economic disaster, but my morale was never higher. I was working at yet another nursery, where the boss allowed for my injury, a very kind man he was, for being a nursery owner. And some ladies there helped with some offerings of food. I'll never forget that thoughtfulness from people hardly better off.
But I was holding up emotionally, and that's what counted. It all seemed a bit premature, parting from Ben, but I had made a lot of progress. I didn't fall apart, didn't have to go back to the hospital, wasn't even near it.
Though I had always felt ambivalent about Ben, there were times I felt I couldn't make it without him. I'd really be scared after a bad argument. It came to be a sort of hostile dependency, as they call it. I often wondered how important he still was to my child self that I had just come to know and figure in to these kind of issues. I had once tried to break up with Ben when I was sixteen, when there was a revival at the church that actually got through a little. I had several months of the psychotic fear/horror symptoms. It was hard to tell whether it made me feel sick to be with him, or sick to part with him. It was both, somehow. It was awful. I recall feeling suicidal then, over that. But we got back together. I later knew he was one of my special transference people. He sort of was the good parent I never had. But somehow, in some mixed up way, he seemed to be the mother figure rather than the father. Somehow, with his meekness and slight stature, and quietness, he impressed my subconscious as a mother influence, mainly. And that never sat well with my fantasies of having a strong male to admire, and depend on, and have sex.
It seemed that I had gotten over the mother transference somewhere in the relationship and was left with frustration. More than anything else, I wanted a normal relationship, as my religion and community had raised me to believe in. I was haunted by the indoctrination that I was the victim of a pedophiliac. I felt horror at the very mention of it by any therapist, and defended myself so vigorously that no therapy got into that all the years I went. Somehow it seemed that my marriage was worse perversion than any kind of one-night-stand with any other guy, at this stage.
The car I drove was a '67 Mustang that was seventeen years old. I knew the next time it broke down, the dominoes would start falling. I worried about it quite a lot..tried to do the little things I knew, to keep it going.
One day, after work, I went to the K-Mart store to get an air cleaner. I could afford that. I hobbled down the aisles, on the crutches, looking for it. I asked the clerk where they were. She pointed to the area, then called to an acquaintance, another customer too, and asked if he would help me. He was a mechanic who often went in there to get auto stuff, as his shop was nearby. He helped pick out the cleaner, then asked if he could see if it fit on the car. I was certainly agreeable to that. He held the door for me as I swung through on the crutches, and he inquired as to what had happened. I told him about it. He retorted that the only horses he had anything to do with were the ones under a hood.
He was rather beat-up looking himself, I observed. He was a typical-looking, rough, truck driver type...steel-toed boots and blue work shirt, with a name patch on it that wasn't his. He said, "my name isn't Joe, it's Farly Wells." And I said "That's okay with me". He had a proud way of walking, and was a bit out-spoken. And berated me for neglect of the car, even before we got there. He seemed to have some kind of kinship with the Mustang. He knew all about it before we even got to it, which took a long time with me creaking along. My leg hurt bad. It was as black as soot from the knee to the toes, with bright orange and green streaks here and there on the black. It was swollen twice normal size. It scared people to look at it, and they would ask if a doctor had seen it recently, as it looked like it were going to rot off from gangrene, or something. But I had been for a follow-up.
Having arrived at the car, Farly opened the hood and fit the cleaner to the carburetor. Then he got around to asking if I lived alone, or with parents, or what. I replied that I had a little place down the road about twelve miles, and lived alone. Then he asked if I wanted to go out for a drink somewhere. But that time, I used a little common sense, for a change. I got his phone number and said I would call sometime soon. And I did. And we soon started going out together. And yes, we did have sex, and before my leg was out of the cast. I learned he was divorced years ago, and hadn't been with her long, and had a little girl he hadn't seen since she was a baby.
I liked to be with him. He was witty and street smart, without being too complicated. I quit looking for other men to go out with. Farly and I had intense sex for awhile. He really fell in love with me. I never knew before how great and important sex could be. I was pleased with myself that I had managed to re-route my "meaning for life" off the hopeless, puerile attachment to Dr. T. And I did it deliberately, consciously.
As I've explained, I never thought my feelings for Dr. T were specifically gay. Maybe the only thing that kept me from being so was convention. I did know enough about psychology to recognize that the wellspring of sexual drive is from a common libido. It comes from a source so basic that is isn't so differentiated into the social preferences. Ecstasy and love begin with the child's bond with mother, then to include the father, then evolves into love for a mate. There's a diversion from that to the creative urge of art and music. In mature adulthood, the ecstasy sublimates into spiritual life also. The branching of sexual energy via sublimation is extremely important in passing through stages of life.
Sublimation also comes out of conscious conflict. As someone learns how some aspects of sexuality are beneficial and some are destructive, there begins a conflict. That results in varying terms of abstinence, which makes some of its pent up energy go into other topics of interest, such as an active sport, hobby, or job schedule. At first one feels the resentment of not being able to have sex that day, then goes off to do some running or swimming, or guitar playing, or carpentry, or whatever one does, to blow off steam. Eventually, the sport or work becomes a little more acceptable, while biding one's time. We all suspect the mental health of someone who only seems to live for sex and seems to have nothing else he likes to do. Yet, everyone would probably be that way if it were not for sublimation. There used to be a big sign on the wall in the office of the county employment service. It showed a guy holding a shovel, ready to go to work. But the way the artist drew it, which I'm sure was intentional, was to show it coming up from his crotch.
According to Christian belief, the vital energy for life, the zest for activity, and the sexual urge, originate as one great stream from the Creator. It is His continuing gift. He is the Ultimate Source, the Great Wellspring. From Him, energy branches into many forms, and is further channeled, dammed, and routed, into many uses. Some of that is done for us by the directing center of the brain, some is imposed by the society, and some by ourselves. All of that was of great concern to me, because mine was a mess. A main feature of my illness, other than the fear, was persistent lack of energy. My Libido was blocked. Never mind that I had a lot of artistic talent, art was dead too, during the illness. And the times I was hyper meant nothing, when all I did was spin. I had to find a way to feel life was worth living, awaken the energy. I thought I had found that through sex.
I was so naive about it, though, that I had to go through the steps of moderating it, branching that energy out into other pursuits, such as work or hobby. I was like an adolescent who has just discovered sex, and thinks that's all there is. All this was stirred up by the circumstance that Harley was truck driver, and driving a semi cross country required him to be away for long periods of time. He wasn't too good about calling either. I would find that the sex which made life good, wasn't happening nearly as often as I needed. I had decided to quit playing around. It was getting on my conscience. I was falling in love with him, too. It was hard to wait for him to come back. I resented it that something so important depended on someone else and what they did.
Sex turned out to be like trying to play cards with a rattlesnake. I was full of chagrin that something so wonderful, so ecstatic like nothing you'll find anywhere else, could be so hampered by many complications, and dire dangers.
They almost ruined it all. It's like being marooned on an island, nearly starving to death, then finding a wonderful fruit like a nice, ripe mango, or something--only to find out that biting into it's delicious flesh gives you diarrhea so bad you'll die if you keep it up. When it came to sex, pleasuring myself, didn't fill the bill, either. I needed a real live man that I could feel physically. I wanted someone bigger than me, stronger than me. Then there wasn't just my little self in the world. I felt a sense of womanly power that the male needed me, and that gave me the sense of having some control over someone so important. I became dependent on sex for that feeling of self worth. But I had everything to learn about how a woman should do it. I had skipped it all. But from observing, watching TV, and reading, I saw how a woman responds differently than a man, or even an animal.
I used to have contempt for womanly wiles and sentiments, but now I was seeing the significance of those, and appreciating them, and wanting to practice them my own self. I tried to raise my sexuality to a more sophisticated level. I agreed that the man should help the woman economically, as part of a sexual relationship. I agreed there should be love, commitment, consideration for the children of the union. But I was starting from the bottom rung of the ladder. I didn't want to be nothing but a she-dog. I knew many women who were nice, tried to be refined, and didn't understand how they should be respected as a woman. They displayed their lack of self worth by being too easy. They even felt it made them especially nice to be easy, when it made them contemptible to the men who took advantage of them. They looked for esteem, but didn't see how their easy yes to mere copulation canceled that out.
Sometimes a woman doesn't realize that this does mean lack of self worth. While claiming she has her honor, her ways with men reveal that she doesn't . If she cant stand up to a man and make him do right, do what even he knows is right, she is belittling her self. If she goes ahead and pays the light bill, and takes care of the responsibilities of life for him that way, she is damaging herself and him too. They could have a good life of shared responsibility if she will get up the nerve to show some tough-love. It's painful to be assertive and stick up for your rights. Sometimes it's even harder to believe you have those rights, and be able to recognize when they're being violated. I wanted to do my life better. I was beginning to grow that self respect that can recognize when someone is hurting me, and have to guts to confront them about it.
I began to speak up to Farly and learned how to do the give and take of a real, grown-up relationship. He neglected to call when he was gone, and often stood me up when we planned to meet. Then he would explain how he didn't do it on purpose but couldn't make things come out right while on the road. We had some ferocious verbal spats over things like that. I found that a heated argument didn't mean the end of the world and that he even respected me more sometimes. I was determined not to be weak anymore and I was learning a lot about how to deal with people. Farly and I even broke up a few times in the following year, over matters I felt were negligent. I didn't panic. I could hold out longer than he. But things got better. We decided to get married and had a ceremony in the gazebo in the city park.
I finally got over the horse accident and was able to carry on in the work-day world much better. I got a full time job in electronics assembly, working on printed circuit boards. I got caught up on the bills. Farly took care of the car. I had to sell the stallion, as the stable wasn't mine anymore. I could live without horses for awhile, I decided, until I got things going well. I felt good that I could do all the responsibilities of life by working for my own groceries, doing my own banking, being responsible for my house and property. And I felt great I had a man to share those responsibilities with me. And it was someone my own age, that I felt to be a real man deep down.
But sex turned out to be more of a problem than I had bargained for. There was no way to get around the fact that Farly had to be away with the truck for days on end, even weeks. I had become addicted to sex. I even felt some anxiety about not being able to get it. I thought of going back to my old ways, but didn't. I felt I had a right to as much sex as I wanted. I felt betrayed by Mother nature, God...whoever who made something so good then made it so difficult to get..so forbidden to get, except under many rigid stipulations! It seemed like the most healthy thing that happened in my life, yet turned out so difficult to fulfill.
So, like it or not, it was school again, albeit a reluctant student! I wouldn't have bothered except that going around burning for sex was so unpleasant, and the anxiety painful, yet so unnecessary. I knew there was nothing to be afraid of, without sex, but felt that way anyhow. So, I thought of how a woman, all through history, has been dependent upon the man to help, protect, and obtain food. I recalled how important it was to most of the families I lived in. Either I learned by observing my aunts, or it's innate in females. Sex seemed to be the magical bond that kept the man. That was so basic. But I explained to myself how that is not so critical in the present world. Also, it isn't just sex that keeps a man loyal. I told myself that even if Farly, or anyone else, didn't want me so much, I'm still who I am and I'm a somebody all by myself. I've become quite a strong somebody too.
There is a long list of things that define me and the things that I can do. I also told myself, God loves me enough that He sent His Son, Jesus, down here on earth to die for me. I'm that significant, and that makes me somebody all by myself without a man to make me someone. At the very least I'm on top of the heap in the creation hierarchy just because I'm a human. That makes me better than anything else that exists on earth--mineral, vegetable, and animal. So, there! I had to be so basic...as if I had never been through this stuff before. I also addressed the subject of pregnancy. Even though I didn't have maternal instincts that I knew of, there probably was still the basic instinct to procreate. I let myself imagine that the want of my vagina was to feel the male organ penetrating inside to give me a baby. I knew that was a basic drive behind all sexual drive. Then I imagined feeling the baby's body fill up my vagina as it pressed through to its birthing. That would fulfill an intense craving. I then let myself see, from the rational view, how I could take pregnancy or leave it. I was somebody on my own, not just because I could make a baby. It certainly wasn't anything to be afraid of, if I weren't involved in procreation.
Then I wondered if any of that talk would really do any good. I happened to be driving the car down a county road the first time I went through all this talk. I rarely felt anything click at the moment of saying it. Sometimes I would just have to go on to a siege of anger...yell, cuss, and beat on the steering wheel. Red hot anger would wash out all the anxiety/weakness feeling, as always. Then I could get into some work, or something important to do, and the day would go on. But there, again I encountered an important feature of change. I would reason and reason with myself, try and try, to change my feeling. Then I would turn to that mysterious Guidance, that ISH, or, I guess, what the faiths call, "God."
I would admit that I couldn't make this problem change no matter what I said, and asked "Him" to do it for me. I recalled the Bible verse that says, "Can the Leopard change his spots? even so can ye do good who are accustomed to evil." It seemed this "helper" would do for me what I couldn't, but only after I had tried as hard as I could, and asked. Then, sometime later I would find that the problem lessened. It was something that worked. I would be so impressed by that. And I feel I must share it. I did get much better about the frustrations in sex. Over the following months, I felt myself settling and strengthening in all areas of life.
Copyright ©
Restin Wells