A Rambling Mess Of All The Thoughts

One of the things I have known about myself for a while but have recently been understanding more fully is that I sidebar my feelings if I think it will make someone else's life easier.

I care too much way too quickly, and I force myself to scale it back to accommodate their comfort level. I don't use phrases like "I love you" in relationships. I say that I care, or that I worry about them, or I hope they find happiness. I genuinely mean those things. I have often been the one who cares more, who says less. I know that the person who cares less has more power in the way a relationship goes. That's why you see so many stories about frantic pleading and begging that the woman you love would give you one more chance. It's why there are so many movies about not being able to let go of a man, simply because you hope he may still care. But I cannot beg. I will not plead. I want to find the kind of love with someone where you don't have to worry or doubt or second guess yourself, because you're secure with them no matter what comes your way. You've decided that you'll see it through. Side by side. Hand in hand. Or, even thousands of miles apart, if you make that choice.

However, it's painful to be the one who cares more and is acutely aware that even though you temper your language and use softer, less formidable, scarcely permanent phrases, that the other person still doesn't match you. It's incredibly lonely to be someone like me, who feels everything so deeply, and pretends to be okay because the expanse of my heart would swallow them whole if they only knew the truth. And the truth is, I'm not lying. I may use gentler words and craft my thoughts in so particular a way as to not betray my very carefully guarded heart... but I still mean every word. I don't say "I love you" even when I want to. I have nearly pierced my own tongue a dozen times to keep from saying too much too soon. I'll tell him I have a lot of love for him. And that he's important to me. And I will apologize over and over and over again for feeling what I do. I will tell him that I'll kill him if he repeats his mistakes again, because the last time he put himself in danger nearly gave me a heart attack. I'll advise him to go back to someone he once loved to see it through because I'd rather take the chance that he be happy with someone else than worry that he'd always resent me if he hadn't. I'll tell him I'm okay just being friends, because I'd rather have him in my life a little than not at all. I'll send him paragraphs and paragraphs telling him I hope he finds the beautiful life he's missing, knowing I will never see a reply because I'm not a part of it.

I don't have a broad enough vocabulary to express the ache in my chest when I see that you've had a bad day and my arms are not long enough to reach across the billions of acres between us. I want to hold you to my chest and kiss your head until you can manage to take a breath deep enough to fill your lungs for the first time in hours. I don't know how to say that my body craves to be next to you and just sit in silence as we let the seconds wash over us like a warm bath. Comfortable. Safe. I want my presence to feel like home someday. I want to know that you, the person I adore, wants nothing more than to put your head in my lap as you recount your day as I sip my wine and trace my hand across your back in quiet, lazy circles. I want to make pasta at 2:30 a.m. with you as our cat circles around our feet. Even when we should go to bed, I want to pour us another whiskey and coke and laugh a little too loud at nothing incredibly funny. I want to put my makeup on for a night out while you play the piano. I want to walk home with you and curl up under your arm as we watch movies until the city streets outside get quiet. I want to feel your heartbeat against my cheek and know that in that moment we couldn't hope to be anywhere more perfect. I want to wake up with my feet tangled in yours and the blanket tucked around our waists. I want to roll over and count the freckles on your shoulder by the sunlight streaming through the blinds. I want you.

I want the person I want to want me too. Every day. Even when we fight or disagree or aren't on the same page. I want to know that despite the stress we pick each other to come home to and find solace and peace.

Most of the time I find myself tempted to be more open as I feel the spark is dying. It's like I've developed a sixth sense for failing relationships. I've gotten very good at knowing when the end of something is about to begin. I've been through many endings. I've caused several, and been the victim of a few as well. I've anticipated the silence months before it came to pass. I can hear the shift in someone's tone through the words they type. It's a skill I learned years ago. I'm attentive. I notice things. I have known some people so well that they could write the same exact sentence on three different occasions, and I can tell their mood and state of mind is the same on the first two, and drastically different on the third.

I know him well enough to tell when he's feeling distant. I know him well enough to know when he's hiding something. I know him well enough to know when he's annoyed at me. I know him well enough to know that I hurt his feelings.

I know the people I love very well. But I can't tell them I love them because then I lose control of the situation. If I stay just distant enough, I can manage to hold on to the reins of the relationship. I can love so much and say so little, because that way when the ones I love leave me, I don't have to regret that they have heard me say things I wish I had never felt for them. I try not to regret the people I have fallen for. Some I've succeeded. But... with a small number of others I still find traces of remorse that things never turned out the way we had once dreamed they would.

When I hear their name and remember I was once brave enough to put it into a sentence preceding the words "I love you." I get this pit in my stomach. I am not that girl anymore. My boldness has faded into a quiet bravery that sits in the shadow, leashed, waiting to be set free again. It's not weak, merely biding its time. But part of the problem is that my boldness does not know which direction it should take. My heart has felt a little like a revolving door as of late. There are moments I am certain, only to be completely lost hours later. My ability to commit is stunted and fragile. Why, I can't quite explain.

I was brave once. I had so much faith before. Now, all I want to do is feel confident that if I tell you how I feel, I won't want to take it back 2, 5, 10 months from now when you choose to leave me alone with all these words I didn't have to guts to share with you. My heart can't tell who is going to stick around, and who is merely using my heart as a waiting room until someone better comes along.

I don't have enough words to express my heart. Or, maybe I do and it's so simple it scares me.

I love you....

....I love you.

Draft #1

I have a bunch of drafts sitting around that I've never finished, or never felt brave enough to publish. This one is a combination of old feelings and new thoughts. Part of growing up is facing your fears, isn't it? Well, one of my biggest fears is that people will judge me for my honesty. I've come to realize that they don't have to like the truth, but they do not get to tell me I can't tell it just because it makes them uncomfortable.

***

Sometimes I let myself wonder why we didn't work out. The real reason, not the noncommittal and evasive reason you gave me so abruptly. I have to wonder because you never told me. Was it that your parents disapproved? Or was it that you'd already decided who the next girl you were going to charm would be? It doesn't really matter, but I'd still like to know. Breakups make little sense if as you're going through one he tells you he still likes you. Go figure.

If I think about you in the middle of my day, it makes me smile. Sometimes. But if I think about you when I'm alone at night it makes me sad. There is a part of me that argues this happens because I was in love with you, and then another part of me shouts back defensively I never was. I think they're both right. I wasn't in love with you at first. You knew that. You said everything so fast that it scared me. But eventually I saw us having kids, and our daughter had your blue eyes and our son had your crooked smirk and ability to nap anywhere. How you went from leaving surprise flowers on my porch and driving 12 hours to bring me to your parents house, to coldly dropping me off at my car after breaking my heart I'll never know.

I wonder what would happen if we ever saw each other again. Would we act like we didn't and walk past each other with our heads down, or would we exchange casual pleasantries? Maybe have an actual conversation, and say we should grab a coffee and catch up? What if you hugged me like that time... you know the one. One that lingers a few moments longer than a hello and feels like coming home. Of course, we know that would never happen. No... you'd betray your previously stated indifference. What if you said hi and this time I left you hanging? That would be a change. Every now and again I see someone with features like yours across a room. But the last time I saw you in a crowd, you didn't even come my way to say hello. You became such a jerk over the last couple of weeks our lives intersected. Nobody saw that but me. It broke my heart several times over when I saw friends picking you in our imaginary custody battle. There were no sides but somehow you managed to get everyone to treat me like I had died. Nobody came to pay their respects.

I was in town a few months ago and it gave me a sense of sweet justice to see one of the places we used to go all the time had been torn down. 

I was walking down the street a few weeks ago when I heard your old text tone coming from a strangers phone. Suddenly I was years younger and hopeful and trusting again and out of ancient habit looked at my own screen. Then I remember I deleted your number. Not that having caller-ID would ever have been necessary.

You never once called to give me the chance to hit ignore.

I Will Slay My Own Dragons

It makes me immensely uncomfortable to feel like someone has me up on a pedestal,

for I cannot stay still and will definitely fall off.

Excessive attention makes me feel suffocated.

I do not want to be the center of your world.

I do not care for being checked-in on every hour.

I am not to be chased down, I am to be walked alongside. 

Slowly. Patiently.

If I am rushed, I will guiltlessly turn and walk the other way.

Do not look to me if you want to be fawned over.

I am not capable of inflating a fragile ego.

I will not bat my eyes and cling to your arm.

Why?

I am an equal. I am a partner.

I am not a challenge. I am not a trophy.

You cannot win me, for I am not material to be possessed.

My ability to hold my own is not a threat to you.

Your pride should not feel bruised.

I can stand on my own and not waver when the storms come.

Do not view this as a deal breaker. 

It merely reiterates that I can handle so much.

If while walking beside me you find that I have slipped my hand into yours, 

do not mistake it for a victory. 

The battle continues. The war has not ended.

But I have chosen to fight with you through it.

I am not looking for someone to dote on me as if I cannot brandish my own sword and shield.

I am looking for someone to help me conquer the demons that try to take up space within us.

I am not looking to live a safe life up in a tower away from my past.

I am looking to blaze trails and establish kingdoms.

I am not looking for someone to settle down with in one place.

I am looking for someone who makes a gypsy heart feel at home on the run.

I will wait for someone who makes me feel being with them is better than being alone.

It will take a considerable individual for that to happen.

If they do show up...

I will defend them until I can no longer breathe.

I will support their dreams. 

I will have their back. 

I will show up even when they think they do not need me to.

I will celebrate each victory and share in their grief.

But I will not wait until this person arrives to live my life now.

So until then, I will continue slaying my own dragons.

Anxiety Like Mine

Warning: possibly uncomfortable-to-read personal truths ahead. I either go full blunt honesty in my blog posts or I don't post at all. Here goes.

It's a strange combination of relief and terror to read a list like this and realize you see yourself in each one. On one hand, it's nice to know I'm not alone, but on the other hand I can't remember the last time I didn't have at least a couple of these show up in my daily life.

• I sometimes suddenly feel suffocated at social events.
• I pick at my cuticles and don't even notice until I'm bleeding.
• I react strongly to certain noises and get irritated much faster than may seem appropriate.
• I have panic attacks when my brain gets too busy and I can't rationalize quick enough to calm myself down.
• I put my own needs on the back-burner if it'll be an inconvenience to someone else.
• I sometimes talk myself out of having feelings for someone if I sense they won't be able to handle anxiety like mine. Or, I intentionally sabotage the possibility and push them away because it's easier to blame myself upfront than wait for them to come to that conclusion on their own.

Without knowing it was happening, anxiety (and depression, but that's another story.) has changed and rearranged much of my life to the point I can hardly remember older versions of myself. But since I appear "fine" to the rest of the world, when these behaviors start to manifest in public settings the anxiety ramps up because if anyone asks, there's no obvious explanation as to why.

The most prominent thought in my mind on a daily basis is the need to DO something. I have an undercurrent of thrill-seeking I don't often get to indulge and it makes me a little stir-crazy on occasion. I get restless and fidgety. I feel like I need to go for a run, or hop on the next flight away from here, or sing at the top of my lungs just to try and release the pent-up something that weighs on my chest. 

When someone says something that makes me feel like I'm losing control of a situation or makes me feel boxed-in, it goes into hyper drive.

Adding fuel to fire is the fact I hate being a burden to people. Even if I'm told I'm not, and that they really want to know how I am, I will never be completely sure they mean it. I rarely open up to anybody about myself and my life. If I do, it sure as hell took a lot out of me to share. I'm a picky person when it comes to who I choose to trust with personal information. Even once I do decide to trust someone, there's a part of me that is fearful they will use what I share with them in confidence against me in the future when they finally tire of hearing about what is on my mind and heart.

There is an ongoing war in my head between what I know and what I feel. I know some people care, but I feel judged when I turn my back. I know I'm capable, but I feel helpless and incompetent and aimless. I know I may not always feel this way, but I feel like there's no end in sight.

I know I'm loved, but I feel merely tolerated.

I know I'm broken. I know this isn't the way things are supposed to be. But since this anxiety has become a part of who I am, I have to figure out how to live with it.

I am somewhere between closed-off and an open book. I don't have a problem sharing, but it winds up being indirectly with relative vagueness. I want to explain who I am. I want people to understand me. But there's only so much of that I can expect from others if I don't even entirely know myself. So, this is an attempt to clear away some of the brush I've let grow around me in recent years. Please be patient with me. Be patient with each other. In ways we cannot always see or fathom, all of us are in the midst of some kind of battle.

Sometimes that battle is with ourselves.

I used to write all the time. Even if I didn't share it, I wrote. Not so much anymore. Part of that is due to the fears and inadequacies I've felt take root in my mind, heart, and soul.

I am an imperfect perfectionist.

I'm my own worst critic. I'm just enough type A with a hint of OCD and ambivalence that I often wind up doing nothing to avoid failure because my heart can't take it. But I am tired of not doing anything.

So, I sat down and forced myself to write.