I did come to the realization that for whatever reason God brought me to this ridiculous situation, which seriously I'm the only one dealing with, it's for something. Only time will tell.
Honestly I wish I didn't ever think about the fake life I envisioned. I think even the piercings and shoving my gauges back in to feel physical pain is me trying to self distract from the emotional. Masochism at it's best. But even though I feel like an ass about the whole drunken texts thing... I'm going to chuck it up to this. When my brain couldn't even function, I thought about apologizing and explaining I'm really not a douche, that the entire thing was unfortunate. So he should be flattered. He's an attractive guy who has lots in common with me, and not that he knows that, but I do. And I would really like God to move whatever mountain is here so I can heal and get some peace about the whole thing. But for whatever he wants out of this, I'm trying to not take it in vain.
I don't think Isaac really loves me. I don't know if I believe Tom actually gives a fuck about the whole thing. So by design, I'm left with this mess. And I don't know if these thoughts/daydreams I have are because I opened myself up because I believed in the impossible and left myself vulnerable. All that is left is just that. An open wound. And so it's easier to think about some wonderful man that could have intellectual conversations with, than it is to deal with the fact that I am a hopeless romantic.
Benga used to tell me I was philophobic. For those reading this that don't know what it means, it's a person who is afraid of love. Like real life afraid of loving, and being loved.
I don't fear love. I fear I will never receive it. People use it so loosely. They throw it around the way they drink at a bar. It's casual. It's void. There isn't a thought to them, just a feeling of dopamine and oxytocin. That's lust. That goes away. That's why people cheat. Why they leave. Why they get divorced. Why they run. When those initial feelings go away, and maybe even after some time, there are not very many people sticking it out to do the work.
Love is work. It's without condition. It's yeah the sex is great, but what happens if your partner gets paralyzed in a car accident and can't fuck you anymore? Are you going to change their diapers? Are you going to look at them the same way when you're pushing their wheelchair? When you have to hand feed them for the next 30 years? What if they get dementia? Are you going to abandon them in a home for someone else? Or are you going to defy the urge to jump ship and be true to your vows.
I'm not afraid of love. I am afraid that no one is really able to be real and get honest and survive that. I want to be married one day. For a really long time I was afraid to even say that out loud. I've been proposed to 6 times. And I'm not afraid of marriage at all. But I could never say I do if I knew that the other person couldn't meet the dirty requirements of love. I know I can.
Love is a dirty job no one actually wants to do. It's hard work. It's swallowing your pride, because for fucks sake pride doesn't keep you warm at night. It's accepting all the crappy habits they hid from you in the honeymoon phase. It's cleaning up someone else's messes even when you're busy with your own. There isn't a marriage for me that could ever include the word divorce. It's a sit your ass in the other room til you get over it and I don't care if it's a decade later, we're getting through this. It's dishes in the sink that didn't get done after you were exhausted. It's loving someone even after you find out their insides are ugly. It's yelling and fighting, and sucking it up and admitting you're an asshole that just needs to be loved too. It's cleaning puke when your partner is a fucking mess, sick or dumb drunk. It's getting over the fact the toilet paper for some reason is never on the roll but right next to it. It's people pushing people's buttons because ultimately, and here's the fucked up part.. I believe everyone else is so afraid of love they spend their time pushing their spouse's away just to prove they can. So afraid to actually be loved despite how bad we all fucking want it. So we nag, and bitch, and throw fits, and fight, and end up pissed off, because if we are successful in pushing them away, then we make up lies to ourselves that it wasn't meant to be. It proves they weren't strong enough to handle us at our worst. Denial and deflection.
Rather than just accepting we are all a fucking mess. I haven't met anyone I trust to stay after the dopamine wears off. It's not that I didn't want them to. I've stuck out some horrible situations. And I'm not saying if your partner is beating your ass, stick it out. I am saying life happens, and when you really love someone, like actually truly love, you don't care about how much of a mess they are. What stupid choices they've made before. You get through the cancer. The long excruciating months or years without sex. You let the one who doesn't remember who you are talk to you like a stranger, because you already know you're their best friend. Because the mere presence of the person you choose to love (and it's a choice, one you have to make over and over and over again, every single fucking day) was worth giving your life for.
It's a Buddhist belief that says, To live is to suffer. Everyone wants the easy way out. But anyone who has any idea of what real love is, knows it will involve a lot of suffering. But it's a gift. A huge one. To feel, to touch, to smell, to taste. The things we take for granted are the exact reasons this is heaven. They equate pain to being in hell here. But pain is also a gift. One frankly I am not always so graceful with. Because I'm human. But I know.
When I have ever thought about getting married, it wasn't this big giant ceremony with a ton of people. It was the man I love, me, my kids, our favorites out of our families, and maybe 5-10 friends. In my Nana's backyard. Sharing the kind of love I have built inside of me isn't for the entire world, but something I would only want to share with the people I want to celebrate it with. I never imagined a millions flowers, or a giant dress. Simple. Because love, even though very difficult at times, is such a simple and private thing to celebrate. We can still have drinks, and dance, and just be. It doesn't have to be a charade. That's how I want to be married. Quietly. Life is loud enough.
I have the words ' Rough around the edges not for the faint of heart' tattooed in Italian on my back.
I'm not for the faint. I don't come perfect. My rough edges are badges of honor that I've survived this long. They are my battle scars proving I was here. They are a fail safe to keep those who are weak away. I have a love in me I've never seen in another person. Honestly it does get disheartening. To be a lion and love ferociously. To want to devour another human being with it. I want to be his rib. His laughter. His rock. His comfort. His safety. His ears. His eyes. I want to be what God created me to be, the piece of him that he's been missing to make him whole. And I want my rest, yearning to be home inside his chest where I was made from.
I'm not afraid of love. I'm afraid I will never find my Adam. Afraid I will never have the comfort of all the bad days we could make it through. Afraid I'll never find someone to read to on good days.
Love is exactly like me, logical, and yet so irrational. Perhaps why I love it so much, even in all of it's mess, it's worth the wait, the trials and errors, the work, the suffering, I know because I believe I'm worth all of that too.
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