Can you really call it insomnia if you actually fall asleep by 11:00? I guess I'm just talking about the time between when I go to bed and when I actually fall asleep. My mind races and all sorts of thoughts come bubbling to the surface. Some of them are pretty mundane like what I could take out to thaw for dinner in the morning, or the fact that I'm running low on shampoo, but most of the time I'm thinking about My Love. I'm in a long distance relationship. Regular relationships are hard enough, now add hours of driving (and have you SEEN the price of gas?!? Gaaa!!) and clashing work schedules into the mix, throw in some serious complications and the occasional dash of insecurities and you have the recipe for some lost sleep.
Most nights are good. I ALWAYS miss him, but I can metaphorically wrap myself up in all the lovely, wonderful and perfect sweet nothings he's told me throughout the day, and sleep sweet. But sometimes I lie here and blink, trying to chase the worry away, trying to trust. Most of the time I do, and as anyone who has known me for any length of time, trust has always been my downfall. I'm naive and stupid and always want to see the good in people, and it has lead me to some very dark places. I'm certain that's not going to be the outcome this time, or at least fairly certain.
Sometimes the insecurities, fear and doubt get to be too much. Seriously too much. Like I feel like it would be easier to give up and wait for a more opportune time to pursue the relationship, but let's be honest: I love him. I'll always love him, so if I get so scared that I end the relationship, it wouldn't really be over. I'd still dream about him. I'd still think about him non-stop. I'd still be his and no one else's, and I'd still be sick with anticipation over when that "more opportune time" might be.
So I melt down. I have a serious meltdown of nuclear proportions. I cry and shut down and try to shut him out, but I love him and I don't really want to shut him out. I want what everyone wants: to have someone know the core of who I am and love me in spite of the icky parts. So I let him see the crazy in me. I let him in and let him see me unravel. And he listens. And he hurts because I do. And he listens. And he tells me that I'm wrong when I make wild assumptions. And he listens in my moments of weakness. And he hurts.
When I get a grip and realize that I'm freaking out and trying to throw away the most amazing thing I've ever experienced, I am filled with remorse and self-loathing. I have just let my fear, insecurities and uncanny knack for self sabotage drive a wedge between myself and my beloved. And when it's all over, he tells me that he loves me. When I properly apologize, acknowledging what I did, how it made him feel, what I should have done differently and how I plan to deal with it next time, he simply says, "Thank you, but I understand Honey. I love you!" And the best thing is, I know that he means it. He doesn't hold it against me, and probably realizes that I've tortured myself enough for it. It's yet another reminder of how fortunate I am to have him.
So, even though the distance between us sometimes feels like an insurmountable obstacle, I know that we could be a million miles apart, and it wouldn't change how we feel about each other. There is a great comfort in that, so I snuggle up cozy in my bed and drift off to sleep to dream about the day we'll be together for always.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Butterfly Kisses
I remember exactly where I was the day I found out the man who was raising me was not my father. I was sitting on the dryer in our laundry room talking to my mom. I was about 8 years old, and I remember feeling RELIEVED. It meant that the jerk who was always picking at me, screaming at me, hating me, wasn't my dad. It explained why my little sister got away with everything, and I got hit for asking "huh?". Yay! This guy wasn't my dad, and my real dad was out there somewhere and someday he would find me and I would get my Brady Bunch life. Unfortunately, I was stuck with the jerk for several more years until he finally pushed my mom too far with his drugs, cheating and abuse to both her and myself.
I was 12 when he left, and I stopped wetting the bed that very night. Needless to say, it had been pretty bad. Fast forward a few years, and he finally got clean and sober. One of his steps was having to make direct amends to me. I remember being about 14, and mortified at the idea of him confessing or reliving any of the crap he put me through, so I eagerly told him I forgave him rather than hash out all that ugliness. He was grateful for my forgiveness and I was just grateful we didn't have to talk about it.
Forgiveness is a funny thing. Even as a 14-year-old kid I realized the gravity of that word. Now that I gave my forgiveness I couldn't just take it back or have issues with what had been done or I would be a big ol' hypocrite. Because I said those words I had to honor them no matter what it took. What it took for me were long periods of not speaking to him while trying to work things through in my own head. I was always polite, but avoided him if at all possible. I've seen a few therapists for different reasons over the years, but it always comes back to this one relationship that would shape all my future relationships: the relationship between a father and daughter.
I read somewhere that boys generally have higher self-esteem than girls. Boys know that they are handsome, smart and special because we as mothers tell them they are. Of course they don't know why they know it, they just do. We start instilling it at birth in our boys. What about our girls? Moms can tell us as daughters that we are beautiful all day long, but it doesn't sink in or get believed like when we hear it from our Daddy. Who can blame them really? Women are so obsessed with how we look and will do anything to make ourselves look better, it all seems so fake and insincere. Little girls need to hear from their Daddy that they are beautiful just the way they are. Unfortunately, with more and more kids being raised in single parent homes with little to no paternal involvement, our little girls are missing out on their first love: Daddy.
A little girl's first love should definitely be her Daddy. He is the standard by which all other men in her life shall pass or fail: Daddy will always love his little girl no matter what. He will protect her, provide for her, spend quality time with her, never hurt her, cherish and adore her.
It's taken me many years to truly forgive the man I called dad for so many years, but I'm a work in progress. I will admit that whenever My Love takes his daughter outside to ride bikes, push her on the swing or play in the sprinkler, the little girl inside of me is a little jealous thinking of her own broken childhood and the Daddy she always wanted but never got, but soooo happy that his little girl gets to have an amazing first love in her father.
I was 12 when he left, and I stopped wetting the bed that very night. Needless to say, it had been pretty bad. Fast forward a few years, and he finally got clean and sober. One of his steps was having to make direct amends to me. I remember being about 14, and mortified at the idea of him confessing or reliving any of the crap he put me through, so I eagerly told him I forgave him rather than hash out all that ugliness. He was grateful for my forgiveness and I was just grateful we didn't have to talk about it.
Forgiveness is a funny thing. Even as a 14-year-old kid I realized the gravity of that word. Now that I gave my forgiveness I couldn't just take it back or have issues with what had been done or I would be a big ol' hypocrite. Because I said those words I had to honor them no matter what it took. What it took for me were long periods of not speaking to him while trying to work things through in my own head. I was always polite, but avoided him if at all possible. I've seen a few therapists for different reasons over the years, but it always comes back to this one relationship that would shape all my future relationships: the relationship between a father and daughter.
I read somewhere that boys generally have higher self-esteem than girls. Boys know that they are handsome, smart and special because we as mothers tell them they are. Of course they don't know why they know it, they just do. We start instilling it at birth in our boys. What about our girls? Moms can tell us as daughters that we are beautiful all day long, but it doesn't sink in or get believed like when we hear it from our Daddy. Who can blame them really? Women are so obsessed with how we look and will do anything to make ourselves look better, it all seems so fake and insincere. Little girls need to hear from their Daddy that they are beautiful just the way they are. Unfortunately, with more and more kids being raised in single parent homes with little to no paternal involvement, our little girls are missing out on their first love: Daddy.
A little girl's first love should definitely be her Daddy. He is the standard by which all other men in her life shall pass or fail: Daddy will always love his little girl no matter what. He will protect her, provide for her, spend quality time with her, never hurt her, cherish and adore her.
It's taken me many years to truly forgive the man I called dad for so many years, but I'm a work in progress. I will admit that whenever My Love takes his daughter outside to ride bikes, push her on the swing or play in the sprinkler, the little girl inside of me is a little jealous thinking of her own broken childhood and the Daddy she always wanted but never got, but soooo happy that his little girl gets to have an amazing first love in her father.
Sunday, March 27, 2011
On Love & War
Love and war. I know a little about both subjects, and just when I was convinced that war was the easier way to go, just waiting for the next mission I would be called up for or even volunteer for, love appeared. Oh, cynical heart! Why would we allow ourselves to fall into sweet, sticky love when we already know the outcome? It's the same. It's ALWAYS the same. New and fun and sweet, but soon it's the growing pains and compromises. Sacrifices that we make to what we want and how we feel because we feel we can make it work if we we just give up this one thing or one way of thinking. Before we know it we've given up so much for the sake of the relationship that we've lost ourselves. Avoiding things we once loved or walking on eggshells to avoid a confrontation. ACCEPTING LESS THAN WE DESERVE.
Now, here we are: unhappy, but afraid that maybe THIS is all there is, or that maybe that we are just so screwed up that we don't feel like we can do any better. At some point, we decide that we can be miserable and lonely on our own, and who needs a relationship for that? Now we have to find a way to extricate ourselves with as little complication or hostility as possible. It seems nearly impossible the longer you've been together and more things you have jointly: property, houses, vehicles, furniture, personal effects, children... You know, the usual stuff of life. Guilt, anger, anguish, fear, second guessing... It sucks, and I would rather stab myself in the eye than go through it, but it needs to be done if it's not right...
Let's talk about the word "potential" for a minute here. Potential is a dangerous word and an even more dangerous way of thinking. As a woman I think in terms of potential. In buying a house I see the potential even if it isn't EXACTLY what I want, but with a little money and sweat, I can have the master suite I always wanted, the open kitchen, even the pool in the backyard. We see men the same way: with a little time, love and pressure applied just the right way (up to and including manipulation), and he will be our dream man: no bad habits, sweet, thoughtful, faithful.... The problem with potential is that we tend to have those rose colored glasses on and see things the way we want them to be instead of the way they really are. One day we wake up and realize that the person on the other side of the bed is NEVER going to change. It's not their fault, it's ours for our pompous delusions that WE could change them. So I say, to hell with potential!
Where does that leave us when we decide that we aren't going to settle for something that's wrong? Maybe we decide that we are tired of trying. Relationships take work, but crap! Why am I killing myself to please someone who can't be pleased? So I quit. I'm done with relationships. Don't need one, don't want one, too much work! Going to be single and stay single.
Let's talk about the word "soulmate". Pure B.S. Sappy crap a guy says to get his way whatever that may be. Sorry if I sound cynical, but I've never believed in soulmates. I thought it was a sweet sentiment, but there are plenty of people that I can be perfectly compatible with. There isn't one person out there that I am perfectly matched with, so I just have to decide what I'm willing to live with and without. Yup. No such thing as a "soulmate". And then God decided to prove me wrong...
The first time I met him I didn't look at him with the eyes of someone on the hunt for love. I was adjusting to being single and he was WAAAAAY off limits for a multitude of reasons, but he was handsome and charming... and smart and witty... and sweet and interesting... and attentive and wonderful and amazing... BUT he was still WAAAAAY off limits for a multitude of reasons, so I never allowed myself to think of him that way. Within 2 days he managed to find a way to get my phone number and the texts started coming. They have yet to stop, and I'm not complaining. Never in my life have I ever met anyone like him. He gets me and I get him. The connection I feel with him is absolutely unreal. I was thinking about it this morning and the connection we share is how I always imagined twins to be connected. He's in my head - reading my thoughts, in my heart - causing it's disjointed thundering... I love him with my soul and I would go anywhere, do anything, find any way to be with him. When I look at him I see my future. He is mine and I am his and I know that he was made just for me by God Himself. Maybe He decided I've seen enough war...
Now, here we are: unhappy, but afraid that maybe THIS is all there is, or that maybe that we are just so screwed up that we don't feel like we can do any better. At some point, we decide that we can be miserable and lonely on our own, and who needs a relationship for that? Now we have to find a way to extricate ourselves with as little complication or hostility as possible. It seems nearly impossible the longer you've been together and more things you have jointly: property, houses, vehicles, furniture, personal effects, children... You know, the usual stuff of life. Guilt, anger, anguish, fear, second guessing... It sucks, and I would rather stab myself in the eye than go through it, but it needs to be done if it's not right...
Let's talk about the word "potential" for a minute here. Potential is a dangerous word and an even more dangerous way of thinking. As a woman I think in terms of potential. In buying a house I see the potential even if it isn't EXACTLY what I want, but with a little money and sweat, I can have the master suite I always wanted, the open kitchen, even the pool in the backyard. We see men the same way: with a little time, love and pressure applied just the right way (up to and including manipulation), and he will be our dream man: no bad habits, sweet, thoughtful, faithful.... The problem with potential is that we tend to have those rose colored glasses on and see things the way we want them to be instead of the way they really are. One day we wake up and realize that the person on the other side of the bed is NEVER going to change. It's not their fault, it's ours for our pompous delusions that WE could change them. So I say, to hell with potential!
Where does that leave us when we decide that we aren't going to settle for something that's wrong? Maybe we decide that we are tired of trying. Relationships take work, but crap! Why am I killing myself to please someone who can't be pleased? So I quit. I'm done with relationships. Don't need one, don't want one, too much work! Going to be single and stay single.
Let's talk about the word "soulmate". Pure B.S. Sappy crap a guy says to get his way whatever that may be. Sorry if I sound cynical, but I've never believed in soulmates. I thought it was a sweet sentiment, but there are plenty of people that I can be perfectly compatible with. There isn't one person out there that I am perfectly matched with, so I just have to decide what I'm willing to live with and without. Yup. No such thing as a "soulmate". And then God decided to prove me wrong...
The first time I met him I didn't look at him with the eyes of someone on the hunt for love. I was adjusting to being single and he was WAAAAAY off limits for a multitude of reasons, but he was handsome and charming... and smart and witty... and sweet and interesting... and attentive and wonderful and amazing... BUT he was still WAAAAAY off limits for a multitude of reasons, so I never allowed myself to think of him that way. Within 2 days he managed to find a way to get my phone number and the texts started coming. They have yet to stop, and I'm not complaining. Never in my life have I ever met anyone like him. He gets me and I get him. The connection I feel with him is absolutely unreal. I was thinking about it this morning and the connection we share is how I always imagined twins to be connected. He's in my head - reading my thoughts, in my heart - causing it's disjointed thundering... I love him with my soul and I would go anywhere, do anything, find any way to be with him. When I look at him I see my future. He is mine and I am his and I know that he was made just for me by God Himself. Maybe He decided I've seen enough war...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
