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I need to start writing again because there’s been a major development. My relationship with Max has become physical, and it seemed to work out well, better than I imagined.
So many disturbing things happened the night before. We had our first argument, and then we had a UFO sighting, and more conflict, and for some reason, I decided to finally bring Max’s attraction into the open. He admitted it, and I was disturbed when I sensed his intense fear of rejection, but I didn’t know what to do about it. Then we had a paranormal experience, a much more chaotic version of what I experienced with Andrew, which left Max shaken. That’s when I realized my presence is triggering a metamorphosis in him that threatens his stability.
Then I had another paranormal experience in the middle of the night, encountering Alex. And then I made another risky move, deciding to let Max read my journal.
We were both overwhelmed by all these developments, but especially Max. While I worked outside yesterday, I was anxious about our relationship. Of all the things that happened, my intuition focused on Max’s fear of rejection. I sensed something dangerous about it. If it kept eating at him, it would threaten the whole evolutionary experiment. I realized the obvious way I could shift that, but it felt like more than I could handle.
And yet, the more I thought about it and explored it with my feelings, the more strangely confident I became that I could handle it, and that it would probably be good for both of us. I’ve lost everyone I love, and I don’t think Max has ever gotten love from anyone. Why shouldn’t I give him physical love if that’s what he needs from me?
In my former life, I was immersed in love and physically affectionate with people, mostly through hugs, which seemed to be appreciated. I had no experience with sex, but how hard could it be? Most people figure it out, so why wouldn’t I?
As an experiment, I tried imagining how that might happen with Max, and I began to feel strangely confident that I could please him. Once I made the decision to offer that, I felt better and was less anxious.
Of course, I realized Max, someone so unloved and not fully in his body, would probably be nervous and awkward. I felt nervous and awkward about it, too, even though I was loved. I knew I’d have to suppress my nerves and be as calm and reassuring as possible. Maybe the best thing would be to admit being nervous and awkward, too, so we could find common ground with that.
Finally, I decided to bring up my openness to getting physical in a positive, casual way, like it was a fun possibility I was ready for. I didn’t feel perfectly ready, of course, but I’d just have to deal with whatever difficulties came up in the moment.
And then, starting in the hot tub—well, it did work out, and far better than I expected, and it was good for both of us. I feel like a more complete person now that I’ve discovered I can fulfill someone that way, and like I thought, pleasing someone else is also what works for me, and I think I’d be okay doing it again. Feeling how much he needed me and that I could give him what he needed was great . . . but it’s not like I’m feeling all honeymoon or anything.
And then, earlier today, I found Max almost gaping at me in way that made me uncomfortable. I thought letting things get physical would calm him down, but now I can see he’s sort of obsessed or infatuated with me—and that’s making me nervous. I’m just too much of a people pleaser, I guess, and didn’t really think through what might happen after.
Both my mom and Dorothy warned me about my people-pleasing tendencies. Dorothy said,
“Tommy, you are an authentic people pleaser. You actually do care about others, and it’s a wonderful quality, but people can take advantage of that. You need to be careful, Tommy. Being a people pleaser can kill you.”
Her words chilled me, and I’ve always remembered what she said. But now I wished I’d asked her how it could kill me—it sounded like she knew from experience. Pleasing Max seemed to be working, but now he just seems obsessed with me—and that can’t be all that healthy. But what can I do about that?
I don’t like to admit this . . . especially about the man who saved my life, but . . . I may be right for Max, but I just don’t think he’s right for me as a boyfriend. But how can I know that? I’ve never had a boyfriend. Maybe it’s like what he said, some things are like an acquired taste. He’s grown on me in some ways, but he’s just so . . . uncomfortable with feelings. It’s like they are either totally repressed or really extreme. If only Andrew were available and had feelings for me, attraction type feelings. He seemed to really see and understand me. But who knows if he’s even still alive.
I just jumped into this thing with Max—well, that’s not true—I did think about it first—and how could I know how we’d feel after? Apparently, I’m good for Max, but it’s not quite the same in reverse. I do like Max, and I owe him my life, but . . . I’m used to relating to a whole community, and I’m so isolated here with just one really strange person. There aren’t even any animals for me to take care of.
Damn, I’m just so confused and overwhelmed. I need to calm down and work through things.
Focus, Tommy, you need to make this work.
Maybe all my mixed-up feelings are just me being really selfish. I was told I was needed for a crucial mission, and then I learned that some sort of evolutionary experiment with Max is the mission. I should just give myself to it and stop thinking about Andrew or about who I might ideally prefer. It’s not helping me with what’s happening here with Max.
And then there’s the dark cloud I can never really escape. I’ve been trying to move past it, but I know I’ll never be done grieving for everyone I lost. Part of me feels guilty for trying to find love with someone else so soon. But I also realize this is part of the mission I was chosen for, and there is no way to go back or bring the others back.
“There are no perfect situations, Tommy. Love means looking for ways and chances for it to exist.”
That’s what Dorothy just said in my head right now. At least I think it was Dorothy. It sounds like her. It’s either really her spirit or my imagination, and I can’t be sure which. If it’s just my imagination . . . well, there’s nothing wrong with that. Her words still seem just as wise. And since I can’t be sure, I also can’t be sure that it’s not her, and she deserves to be honored just in case.
She’s right. I need to keep looking for ways for love to exist even after surviving the destruction of my whole world. Max is the only person I’ve got, and I owe him as much love as I can find within myself to give.
I’m pretty sure having sex with Max was the right thing to do. He’s undergoing metamorphosis, so he’s probably just in a phase and will come out of it.
He seems even more overwhelmed than I do, but in a different way that I don’t fully understand. It’s like he doesn’t know who he is anymore, now that he’s received love from someone.
At breakfast, he was quiet and seemed confused about how to act and be with me now that we’d had sex. At first, I thought the best thing was to act like I didn’t notice his confused state and to just be cheerful and casual about everything. But then I realized that wasn’t enough—I was back to tiptoeing around the elephant in the room. So, when we got up from breakfast, I said,
“Hey, Max, I feel good about last night, and I’m willing to continue this new part of our relationship, if you are.”
“Yes, thank you . . .” he said awkwardly.
It was obvious he was at a loss for words, so I just hugged him tightly and held on to him, but his body wouldn’t relax, so I whispered, “just breathe with me, Max,” and I held on until he did. After a few long breaths, his body relaxed into mine, letting me take some of his weight as he rested his head on my shoulder.
I think Max is going to be fine—he just needs some help to calm down from the shock of everything we’ve just been through. I’m in shock too.
So, I’m just going to act a little more relaxed and confident about things than I actually am, so Max won’t be anxious about our relationship. I need to give him time and support to stabilize and get used to the changes. Like Dorothy said, “time heals all wounds.”
Despite my doubts, I think I did something good for Max, allowing the relationship to be physical. Now that we’ve broken the ice, I’m sure that with practice I’ll get better at giving him the love he needs.
And maybe that will become more fulfilling for me. Max just needs time to get used to love as a normal and healthy part of life. He’s still not comfortable with love, the kind I grew up with. It’s like part of him wants it, but part of him is afraid of it, too. He needs love—everyone does, so maybe once he gets enough to become healthy, he’ll experience it as something much more than sex. That’s my hope.
But maybe I should have just worked more on us being friends first. Now he looks at me like I’m some kind of a god or something—and that actually makes me feel more lonely.
I don’t want him to see me that way because it has nothing to do with who I am. We may be anomalous, but I’m also just another really confused kid trying to make sense of things, like he is, and if he could see that, maybe we could really be friends.
The truth is, Max is not the only one struggling with metamorphosis. I am no longer the person I was just a couple of weeks ago. I’m not discovering love for the first time, but I am struggling to find it in a situation I could never have imagined.
I think I need to stop rambling and just give things time. I’m sure things will work out.
But . . . sometimes, I act and write in this journal as if I’m more confident and positive than I actually am. I guess I need that to keep going . . .
In my deepest self, I feel like a boy lost in a dark forest on a stormy night, holding a candle with a sputtering flame. Despite all the terrible darkness in the world, I need a way to keep what really matters alive.
