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I was sitting here and that word came to me and I thought perhaps the universe wanted me to read something on it; but alas no one has talked about it.
I find this even painful to begin, a surge of pain surrounds my frontal lobe and I ache just a bit in my upper chest and shoulders. I think tears are crawling down the side of forehead because I fear the world will not understand; as we have confused committed with belong to; committed with exclusivity; committed to control over each others interactions and the whole notion that this is even accepted; let alone normal; makes me sick.
I am in love with you and I am in love with him; and I have lover others here and there and will continue to do so. I quiver that my deceleration of love for two goes almost not noticed on that stupid facebook when any generic relationship update will get a thousand likes.
My mother told me, as I informed of my intents to move in with someone that I should reduce my possessions for my nomadic lifestyle (as I have lived with another boyfriend before and then moved back home when his prescription drug abuse problem because to much; she always talks about how much he misses him; like he is somehow my forever even though I never said he was).
So my nomadic lifestyle; what if I say instead this friend is my lover; and I have other lovers; and perhaps I will live with him for 30 years and raise children between me and whoever else the fuck I want and my children will not be fatherless but many fathered. What the fuck then? Nomadic? No. I am. Intent; focused; experiencing a sort of love I thought not possible anymore.
And people will think I am uncommitted; that I am a deviant; that I am disgusting; I know it; feel it already. But my commitment to him and him are based on this thing deep deep inside me and not merely the lie that marriage is forever and gods plan and ownership. I am disgusted by it. I am disgusted by that; that pervasive idea wherein we say we have any level of control over anothers bodies or choices, or that control is not actually giving willfully, but rather from some sick obligation that we are destined to conform to certain moral standards.
This weekend we, my two lovers and I, watched Splendor together. Try to tell me that is fucking wrong; that my love is not real. My love is real because I found it deep inside me; not because some book told me that I was property and bound to my husband.
I am committed. I feel it in my gut.
My heart opens and cries around him; around them. I will always be free. Free to love, free to leave. But I am committed; and I will not betray that; I will not give false promises. I am committed to giving them my authentic self in each and every moment we are together, to say no when I don't want sex and seek them out when I do. I am committed to honesty. I am committed to freedom, mines and theirs; I am committed to the chaos that is authenticity.
I am committed to only loving them if it remains true; and I suspect it will, for much of my life, at least.