Days 30 and 31- Disclaiming Desire- belated

Disclaim-

v. dis·claimed, dis·claim·ing, dis·claims

v.tr.

1. To deny or renounce any claim to or connection with; disown.

2. To deny the validity of; repudiate.

3. Law To renounce one's right or claim to.

v.intr. Law

To renounce a right or claim.

One of the women in my long term project writing group * was encouraging all of us to stop using disclaimers when we submit our writing. There was a good discussion that left me with tremendous discomfort. I have been thinking about the importance of my disclaimers and what they do for me. In my writing they allow me to say that I don't know what's happening here with these words. I don't know where I stand and what they mean. That it feels shaky and terrible. That there's no there, there. It allows me to step away from what I don't think is good enough. That is the crux of it for me, I don't think it's good enough and disclaiming it is what makes me feel safer.

My daughter and I talked about it and how women disclaim all the time, that we are expected to. It seems like it's a good way to keep everyone comfortable. I looked up the word and thought about the definition; let it marinate. Speculating on this need I have to insert a disclaimer in my writing- not always- not when I know the writing is good- which sometimes I do. I have short stories that I know are good. Starchy Critics in fancy suits could tell me they are terrible all day long and it wouldn't change my mind. It's evident. I know where I stand. They are good. And then there is this other shaky ground. Different kinds of writing, non fiction writing. My novel,which is a whole other land to walk in. I have no map to follow there, no direction or understanding if it's good, if it counts, if it's real. Just like this masturbation practice; I have no firm, known, place to stand. No certainty. No knowledge that it's good or alright or acceptable. Just like this body. Just like this first person true writing. I want to disclaim it all.

"To deny or renounce any claim to or connection with; disown"

That has been my MO for much of my life. I separate myself from this body that I live in as though I were a tennant renting space in a run down studio in the wrong part of town. I come home and turn on the television and eat something tinny and sour and go to sleep. I leave as soon as I wake up. I walk away as best I can. I disown it. I deny it. I know it's not good so I avoid it. I know this body is used up, was used up before I ever got to have consensual sex as an adult. I had my first STD and pelvic (stirrups and all)  when I was in the first grade. I got passed around like a party favor before I had enough words to parse meaning from my experience. All I knew for sure was just how bad I was, how bad this body was. How dirty and wrong. I learned to hate being a girl. Dread being a girl. I learned how to be a boy to escape it. I learned that I was a slut before I had breasts. I learned how to take anything they wanted to shove into me, including handfuls of shame, stuffed like gritty mud down my throat. I learned to have a smooth and even expression. I learned how to disappear. I learned how to be good at being a bad girl. I learned how to be a thing that would die. I learned how to disclaim, and deny everything about me, always. That was my only chance. Anything else was too dangerous for them and for me.

"To deny the validity of; to repudiate"

to deny the validity of :
my life, my body, my experience. To deny the persistent earnest thrust of my own desire. To deny my right to feel desire, to settle into it and see what it wants, where are the edges of it and what do they feel like? Are they smooth and soft? Sharp and ragged? They are. The edges are all of these things and there are breaks in them where there is open space, for the mysterious desires I haven't discovered yet. What would it look like to make my own desire true? Valid? What would my life look like if I carried it in my open hands as if I had a right to be a woman who walks with desire? A woman who walks as though sex and self sex were her right. What would my life look like if I allowed my desire to roam freely, unleashed- if I let my want loose on the world? Why does that feel so dangerous? Because it is. Because if we, who have been used up before we are old enough to choose actually live our lives as if they belong to us, inhabit our bodies without denying their existence, if we claim that for our own then we can't be broken. That's dangerous for everyone isn't it?

So many question marks. I want to disclaim this writing right this very second. For reasons I could list out quickly and succinctly. But I won't. Not right now. I'm trying non-disclaimer on like a new pair of jeans, still too stiff, not broken in yet, not really mine. I'm tasting this discomfort. It tastes like an unripe pear that leaves my tongue tasting dry and a little fuzzy. It doesn't swallow well. But I'll just keep going anyway. Because that is how I save myself every day. I just keep going.

***

I've been able to masturbate just once in the last few days. I could not come. But here's the thing I am liking. It felt good to touch myself. I felt pleasure in the exploration, in the touching, stroking, the sound of the water falling, the buzz of the vibrator in between my legs that I kept clamped together because I was standing up. Because I only had a little time. Because I wasn't alone. Because I needed to take care of my family. Because people were in line for the shower. And it was okay. I didn't feel like I the self touching without the punchline was an inconsequential act or a waste of time. It was good. I am liking that shift.

Today I am all giant ache. I am frustrated and wanting. My desire is loud and brassy and will not be denied. It is thrumming between my legs and cunt and clit are awake and demanding and I can't shake my awareness of them. Every time I move I am aware of the need, the want, the twitching of nerve endings waiting to be tapped, lit up and set free. I have texted my partner who lives miles and miles away, all day, the ways that I want her. The things I want to do to her; the things I want her to do to me. I am hungry. I can own that. I lay claim to that wanting. I take if for me right now.

There is some hope if I can stay awake a little longer that I'll  be able to masturbate tonight. I predict it will be short and sweaty and sharp and that I'll want more. But who knows? I only know I'll do my best to stay there all the way in that desire. I'll stay in these uncomfortable new jeans with the taste of unripe pear in my mouth. I'll not disclaim it. I'll not repudiate it. I'll do it for myself. I'll do it for you.

Thank you for your patience. Thank you for your witness and your own touching and writing and for your own claiming. I hope this coming day is full of surprise.


* Dive Deep- Writing Ourselves Whole with Jen Cross