Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Thinking should be banned

And yet, here I sit. Hours later. Many tears later. When I should be sleeping. Acknowledging that I truly am the ‘girl.’ With all the love that I feel and with how unbelievably happy I am with life and with how I believe I have found the man I want to give my life to, with all of that, I am terrified. Truly terrified. I have more to loose than I have ever had before. Partly, I think I have just recently realized that I truly have given my entire heart to someone. I think there has always been some part of me that I have held on reserve from Chad. Not holding it for someone else, not saving it for something better. Just keeping, protecting it. Making sure that no matter what happens, good or bad, that I would have just enough of myself that had been set aside that I would be able to let it out of the jar if anything bad would happen. So I wouldn’t crumble into nothing, into despair, into someone lost. I don’t think I was doing it on purpose. And now, I am not even sure when it happened, but surely not that long ago. I would have noticed. Somehow that jar must have opened up or broken. There is not one bit of me left that has not been given over to him. Not that I am not still me. I am. I haven’t lost myself. Still Brandon. I have been down that road before and that is not where I am. In some ways, this is a lot more dangerous. This time, if things crash, it really will be the real Brandon that burns. And with this realization that I have given him all my heart and laid in him the hope of a life built together, a future not as individuals or boyfriends, but of two lives waning into one, comes the fear.
Before, for the most part, I could just enjoy everything. Now, I am so aware of how I could fuck it up. I could drive him crazy. I could tell him I love him too much. That really is possible. It could become boring and trite. Now that I am scared, I can become too clingy and ‘mothering’, trying to make things perfect so he is happy, while, in reality, simply smothering him.
And what if, like in cases I have seen with people I care about dearly, in two or three years, he decides, ‘you know, I’m done. I am not really ready to be in this for the long haul. There are other people I want to be with. There are things much more tantalizing than a white picket fence and yard work.’ What then? Even marriage doesn’t guarantee anything. Not really. People are still people. There are no guarantees.
And, I think, because of that fear, I am looking for things that I wasn’t before. In every kiss, I am searching for a promise, in every touch, a declaration. I want him to read my mind, know what I am thinking, be able to sense my fear that I try to hide and constantly reassure me that I am safe. That he knows he has my heart and that he will protect it. That he wants to protect it. Hell, I want him to wake up from his sleep of exhaustion he is in right now and instinctively know that I am having an emotional crisis.
Dear God, I am nearly thirty and four years older than him, and I want him to protect my heart like a child.
Good thing I already knew I am the littlest bit crazy, huh?
I can’t imagine that these feelings are unique to me. Surely even people who have been married for years experience them too. Maybe even he feels them. Although I am pretty sure that I am hogging them enough that no one else on our block is able to partake in the feast.
And, how much does a person say? I have a tendency to over-analyze. I know, the world gasped in shock. So I can really beat that dead horse until there’s enough glue to mend any situation. How do I share my feelings and fears without drowning him when the floodgates open? And, how do I verbalize such things without hurting the love we have?
Luckily, for tonight, as I have been sick, I am able to take a dose of Nyquil and pass out. At least I hope so.
Either way, falling into a drug induced coma or lying awake in a state of analytical terror, I will be beside the man love. Hopefully snoring. I love it when he snores.

Completely Fallen

We had been dating three or so months, and only been official a few weeks. We were talking to some friends on the balcony of Jrs, a local gay bar. Chad’s arms were wrapped around me, our fingers intertwined, frequent small kisses, occasional serious ones. I’m not sure if we lost contact with each other for more than a moment all evening. One of our friend’s date asked how long we had been together. We told him. He smiled and nodded. “That’s what I thought. Just wait until you’ve been together a year or so. You’ll yell at each other to quit touching you.” I just laughed, but inside, I thought, ‘That won’t be us. If we’re not like this all the time, then we won’t be together. What’s the point?’
It’s been a little over a year now. We don’t hold each other like our lives depend on it in public anymore. We talk to our friends and smile at each other once in awhile. We don’t hug and kiss the moment we get home, we start getting things done that need to be done. He doesn’t turn and wave after he gets out of the car when I drop him off for work. He goes inside and I head on my way to work. We don’t have sex every night of the week or a couple times every night of the week. We manage to get together several times a week. Sometimes for ten minutes and in a calm manner, sometimes we bring the walls down. We don’t text each other twenty times an hour. We do our jobs and we text a couple times a day, if there’s time.
Do I miss how things used to be? Yeah, I do. If I had to choose what we had then or what we have now, which one would I pick? That’s easy. Now. I am more in love with him now that I have ever been before. I am more in love with him now than I have ever been in love with anyone in my life. I love him so much, that it is at times an ache, present through everything I do.
Sure, he could leave tomorrow. He could say he’s bored. He wants to club more. I’m too fat. I’m too short. I’m too dull. He could. Anyone could. That’s life, and that’s love.
Life isn’t the fairy tale I always dreamed it would be. There aren’t flowers everywhere we go. We fart, belch, and get on each other’s nerves. There is no one in the world that can hurt me as much or as quick with a simple look or a word not said. Nor is there another person who can make my heart soar and make me feel as loved with a touch or a kiss.
What’s my reason for writing? Do I ever have a real one? It is just where I am in my life at the moment. With the man I want to spend the rest of my life with. With the man I trust more than anyone. With the man whose presence has helped me pray again, even if he doesn’t.
I never knew life could be this wonderful or this normal. What a strange combination. Wow…