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Focus on the positive...a baby may never be in my future, with or without her, so all I can do is decide, independent of that. And stop letting a negative fog envelope my view of everything. So...positive...I love her. Insomuch as I feel like I know what love is. When things are good, they feel like forever. I can easily call her my best friend and we share that special bond best when in company of others. And immediately following the company of others. That's usually when I feel completely high on "us." That's when we're best.
So many thoughts...so jumbled... I love getting to know someone who is an introvert. They are like covert mysteries of people who selectively choose to show individuals just how interesting they are. I find myself absolutely dying to meet in person, but I cling to each new shred of shared information in lieu of that face-to-face. Today, it was a social media unlock. Seeing a video with moving face and hearing a voice. And he sings! And dances! He was in a production of Grease, for God's sake! Unlock yourself for me; I promise to welcome you.
Different people for different aspects. This is one of the grand benefits of being in love many times over one's life. Every relationship gets to demonstrate and bring forward new shades of your true self. Now, one has to be careful not to lose oneself in the hype of discovering a new aspect or interest. Don't be consumed, but is that even a valid concern? Maybe the trick is to let yourself be baptized in a relationship completely, with all the accompanying side effects and see who you really come out as. Maybe we just amalgamate endlessly until we settle.
I'm scared. The longer I wait to say something, the more knotted my stomach gets. Is it possible to give oneself an ulcer? I realized, or edited my truth to the realization, that I get terrified that I'm on the brink of ending things, and then I change the narrative. I do something wild to keep the story going. But...should I? At what point do I need to face my fear head on, cry and shake and break hearts, and begin the process of moving on instead of digging the hole deeper. I have to say something at least.
If I don't say something, I think I really will give myself an ulcer. Keeping myself busy isn't working. It's actually making things worse, because I know that I'm actively avoiding the discussion. Confrontation. Hurt. Change. All fear. I'm going to blindside her, and that may be the worst of it. We just celebrated an anniversary. We're adorable, and I still love her. But I want to love my life, and I'm turning the corner on seeing her as a part of the life I may love. I already had my doubts, but meeting him only made it worse. Intensified.
I know that he probably isn't my future. My happy ending. I mean, the odds are just incredibly against it. But lying there, holding him, touching his hair with my fingertips and running along the back of his ears...I want that. I want to want to touch someone, always. Not occasionally, not when I feel like I should, but because I genuinely want to put my hands on them and cradle them and radiate affection at them. It's funny, because I want to remember the dinner portion of the date, but I just remember rambling about me, and her.
Still, he sat, he listened, he chimed in with his own anecdotes. And then when I got him home, he played with the dogs. And when I told him, nervously, that I wanted to kiss him, he obliged without hesitation. With gusto, in fact. He is just the right height, he kisses just the right way, and he turns on aggression and passiveness in the same way that I crave. I want to be that uninhibited, to just honestly move and feel in the moment. The sex was infinitely less important than the connection. I felt completely connected. Specially. Intimately.
I find myself desperate to hear that it wasn't one-sided, that it was about more than the sexual energy of two hungry people. He's talking to me still two days later, but he isn't taking my bait to set a return date. And I know that he is someone that has spent three and four days of the week previously not replying to me. And I know that he's a ridiculously busy man. And I know that he's still reeling from a painful break-up that left him feeling less-than and broken. I can't focus on him though.
I have to get right with me. Today should be the day, it's the most natural opportunity I'm likely to get, or have gotten since I went to the darkest place. But I'm afraid that I'll chicken out, because it's easier. I'm lazy, and I'm still scared shitless. If she could just go be with her beau, if they would magically just escape together, they'd both be happier. And I could fade into the background, allowing us all to change without the strife. But I know the stars aren't going to align for me like that. I have to move.
It's almost a torturous joke that it was even laid on the table that it could fall so easily. He asked to whisk her away and my readiness for that didn't seem to alarm her at all. I thought it would. I thought it would telegraph my dark heart, but she didn't see it. Maybe she was too freaked out by her own sudden change in perspective, with him. Now they want a trial run of that, and what I proposed as a last gasp to save us, and all I want it so escape the whole thing without pain.
I just cried in a bathroom stall, texting a friend on the phone. I know I need to do this, but I'm so fucking scared. I have lived my whole life as a chicken shit, though, and I have got to take some risks with my life. I got too close with her though...she can smell the pheromones. She knows something is wrong with me. I told her anxiety, now she wants to know what. I just want to hide. I gave her too much. I should have just played it cool but now I'm being found out. Shit.
How does one hide from life for an hour to two? I don't want to just leave work and go home, because that seems almost worse. I can distract myself here, pretend for at least a few fleeting moments that my heart isn't clawing its way out of my chest. Answer the phone and talk like a normal person. Act my way through helping someone with their problem like mine isn't lurking in the shadows devouring my soul with violent rending actions. At home, I would be alone with my thoughts. I'm afraid of them. I would give up, sleep.
Days later, and the panic has subsided. We talked. We came to an understanding, though I'm not entirely sure it was the same understanding. Still, we forge ahead and even expand our brood. He moved in three days after we almost cascaded to the ground in shattered fractals. So far, that part of the experiment has alternately left me empowered and like a complete third wheel. He needs time to heal, time with her, time to sort himself into the man he wants to be. And I vacillate between feeling free to spend my time as mine and feeling trapped.
Does anyone have any idea what they actually want in life? Are only na´ve people truly happy, because ignorance truly is bliss? In my quest to perfect me, I am trying to find a new companion to join me on that journey. The current front-runner, however, has left me puzzled about our actual compatibility for weeks now. But I keep going back, keep texting, keep the affair alive because...it's easy? I know he wants me? I know I make him feel good? Sometimes, I feel like I'm being charitable. Which sounds utterly vain and conceited, if honest.
Vanity is a part of myself I'm actually wrestling with, in that I'm becoming more and more aware of it, and finding myself completely disinterested in fighting it or being upset about it. I am vain. I want to look good, at least better than I do currently. But that vanity reflects out. I want someone who looks as good as I want to be, not just as good as I am. Also, I want them to appear as good as I want to be. By that I mean that I want them to be as intelligent and accomplished. Relatively.
It isn't his fault that I'm holding him to an unspoken standard, or that he's failing to meet it. In all truth, he caught me in a cycle of feeling less vain and just wanting to be with someone, a warm body, any simply kind soul. And there is no doubt that he is those things. But with the meat market sometimes available to me, it's hard to make oneself settle for anything. Especially anything that isn't the clear specimen in the litter, the cream rising to the metaphorical top. To get reciprocal attention there is akin to being anointed.
Over and over, cyclically I go through the phases of contentment, irritation, despair, and then dread. Today I unexpectedly find myself back in dread, skipping despair. While I'll confess to it being a pleasant step to skip, it means that the dread caught me all the more by surprise. In dread, I fear the future the most. I fear making a decision that I will regret, uttering words that have crossed my lips before. I also know that it is inevitable in this phase. My marriage will end, and the only thing that I can control are the terms now.
Tonight was supposed to be about having a conversation, getting realigned about where we are now, really, and where we are headed. But in light of my day, my finding myself back in dread, it all feels like a pretense. An elaborate lie to keep the game going longer, hoping to realign myself with contentment before I have to face the truth. But contentment isn't happiness. I don't know that I want to settle for mere contentment in the face of potential happiness. Is happiness just an illusion though? Certainly everyone isn't happy, but is anyone? Does happiness truly exist?
Breaking up is hard to do. The composer really knew their stuff. I have ended two relationships in the span of a week, one that was just starting out and another that had probably gone on far too long. The first was the shorter one, and he took it badly, and in silence. I felt like a jackass, but I was relieved to not try to make it work. Which brought me around to the other...I knew things weren't great from the get-go, but I let it happen again because I was lonely. I settled. Don't ever settle.
He knew something was up. I guess I'm great at telegraphing my moods, even when I am not physically present. I'd been troubled for two days, and those were only the ones where I absolutely knew I had to do it. So, like a coward, I took advantage of his insight via text to dump his like this. Now, I'd made it clear on more than one occasion that we were just dating and not serious. But something in the resulting fallout made him feel betrayed and like he'd never been more than a booty call. No defense assuaged him.
So here we are, close to 24 hours later, and he is still upset, still sending me messages periodically. Attacking my cowardice, which is justifiable. My character. My marriage, which is far more complicated than even he knew. I am responsible for hurting someone. Someone good, and kind, and sweet. But also someone that I was going to hurt eventually anyways. I should have just hurt him up front, breaking things off before he had a chance to develop a widening chasm in our feelings for one another. Yesterday, for a few hours, I was relieved that it was over.
Therapeutically, it feels like I needed this. I knew I needed to, and so I should be reveling in my relief. But instead I still feel bad. I don't know how to make the ache go away for him, and as a people pleaser, that stings me too. The small, but simultaneously gargantuan, solace in all of this is that I think I'm in love again. All great stories are stories of love, and I am weaving a doozy of a story. One that began with a lie that became a betrayal, evolving into a friendship, and now all this.
Like a dog whistle that only he can hear, my words compelled him to reach out to me and check on me just now. I'm sure there's something to be said for divine timing, and he certainly doesn't always have it. But he gets me, and I think, after setting the record straight, I get him. What a complicated, 21st Century love story this may someday make! Two men unite in secrecy and shame to find one another. He's made some big promises, and plated some very deep seeds in my heart. But I'm the one who fell. Conceptual contagion.
I am now considering that maybe I could be a father in this life. And maybe I could live happily ever after with a man, in a monogamous relationship. I know that I have to eject my marriage, and he has to do the same. We are not an easy match, and we will both be damaged goods if we can make all of those steps in tandem. None of it guarantees that we could pull off phase two. A grand scheme that begins with his inevitable relocation. This is the only completely surefire part, the next parts much scarier.
He invited me to join him. Leave it all behind and start over as my true self. It's always been my fantasy, even when I suppressed it for years and tried to live a nuclear family dream. But the morning is coming, and I need to wake up. I find myself alone in my own house, in my own bed, and ready to make the biggest change in my life. And that's all before I agree to join him across the country. He said he knew a guy that could give us fraternal twins. My eyes glassed over right then.
My biggest fear is that I'm romanticizing him because of all the opportunities that being with him would afford me. And he knows it. He can sense my hesitation to commit to him, even though I am the only one of us who professed love. I have a big heart, and I give pieces of it away all of the time. Occasionally in shards, delicate and small, so the hurt of them being lost or ground down into dust is less. But other times I break off large chunks, willingly giving them away with na´ve abandon and blind faith.
Faith that my heart will be treasured. That the value of it won't be overlooked or taken for granted. Having a big heart is a treasure, and also a danger. Being a dreamer is much the same. I envision writing, raising our children, growing old and sharing family and friends and home and history. I know that I'm essentially agreeing to leverage my current future against an apparition of one. But my current future gets more dire with each passing day. I feel trapped in it, and it isn't what I want. I will hurt someone again. Badly. And soon.
In the meantime, he doesn't want me unfulfilled. I just want him to be here with me, or me there with him. I want to touch his face, to feel his breath on my skin, to hear his laugh without the muffle of a cell phone. He's a joyous guy trapped in a joyless situation. I feel kindred in that fact. And he's also a success. He doesn't need me, but I hope that he wants me. He makes me feel sexy and loved and warm. I have not felt that in quite some time from where I sit today.
So now I wait for the day that I can put all of my things away, packing up my current life and trading on uncertainty. Now is a time for risk, and if I'm to risk one aspect of my life, what is another? I am lying in wait, building my personal emotional army for the fights that are to come. Today, I am scared and tired. But by the time action is to be taken, I hope to be fierce. Strong. I hope that I can fight for myself as savagely as I would fight to defend my loves.
I have time. In fact, so long as I begin to be honest with myself and my therapist, I have as long as it takes. He won't relocate until almost the middle of next year. I just want to be as close to him as possible when that happens. I want to be there for him when he executes his escape plan, so that he will be there for me when the time comes to execute my own. I want to have a brother-in-arms, but more than that, a lover and someone that would suffer for my relief.
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