There are a zillion things I should be doing right now. But for over 12 hours, the only thing that I want to do is write. I have so many thoughts, so many questions and so many possible or certain answers to all the thoughts and the questions that are spinning in my head. I need to write (about) them down, in hope that I will put some order into the chaos in my head, heart and soul.
As I said, I am not good with words. But I feel this overwhelming need to write. I rarely edit what I write. So it will come out not as ordered as I’d wish. Some thoughts and ideas come up as I write along, other just fade away by the time I finish writing.
Reading Hope‘s blog was very inspiring and relieving. Unexpectedly, reading her posts I found answers to questions that torment me. Even more so, I realized that I wasn’t asking myself all the right questions about my situation. One of the most incredible benefits of finding someone that has experienced what you are is the fact that they can provide a more complete image of your own experience. Her blogs gave me that and unknowingly she’s helped me tremendously. Thank you!
Dear Hope, I have selected a few lines from the posts I have read. I will include them in here, and just link to your blog. I do not remember however in which post I found each line/phrase. I hope you will forgive me for that. I had become so engrossed in reading you that I didn’t want to lose any second with being too organized. I had opened a notepad document and just pasted in it whatever “rang a loud bell in my head”. I have never done this before, and I truly hope it is OK to do it.
“The lies we tell ourselves are always more hurtful than the truth we do not want to hear.” (Hope)
These words, so true, just hit me, like a hammer on the head. And when something like that happens, I never blame the hammer for hitting me, but I start wondering. In this case, I immediately started wondering and contemplating the possibility that I might actually be telling lies to myself, and not being aware of it.
Do I really love G.? Weirdly enough, I don’t always get the butterflies when I think of him. But I sure do get them just when I hear him park the motorcycle outside my window. Rushed breath, cheeks blushing, armpits suddenly sweating, fidgeting, trying to control all those symptoms, and everything just dissipates when he appears at the entrance. I go, let him in, he always scans me briefly and kisses me on the right side of my neck, just above the collar bone. That is not the kiss of a friend. That is the kiss of a lover. I prefer that so much over the typical peck on the lips. But I did not know about this type of lover’s kisses before him.
Honest answer: I think I do really love my G. spot. It’s not even remotely close to the way I thought I knew love was. They say each love feels different. I never disagreed with that. But this is the first time I feel love in such a different way than before. I love the way he makes me feel, the way he’s inspired me to overcome one inhibition after another. Especially on an intimate level.
Do I make this thing with G. more than it really is? Truth is I just don’t know. I hope I am not making it more than it is. I have always had this in the back of my mind as a red alert. I am trying to figure out whether the fact that he entered my life in the most dark period of it, and made me feel such wonderful things, makes me see this thing more than it really is; or if he had entered my life in a period without any darkness in it, and had made me feel the same things, would I be even more into him than I am already? I think that the fact that he managed to make me happy (without even trying), when I was heading headlong towards depression, is even harder than if I were in a great period of my life. I get enthusiastic quite easily. But lately, that didn’t happen. So I gather that I am not making this more than it really is. It just is the way it is.
“Deep down, I want to still believe that I am just a little different from all the other girls he has bed. Deep down, I want to believe that he genuinely likes me. Deep down, I want to believe, really believe, in the story I have weaved here for you all, over the last month. And to tell you truth, right now, I almost believe it.
Because seriously? My hope?
It always dies last.” (Hope)
What am I hoping for? I am hoping that this will turn into one of the most incredible fairytale ever. That’s either because I am such a hopeless romantic, either because I’m so delusional because I am in love. Nonetheless, this is what I am hoping for deep down inside as far as my G. spot and I are concerned. I am hoping to hear him say that I am “the one“, and that he’s been trying to fight it, but that he can’t, and that he’ll fight for me till the end of his life, that he’ll follow me around the world, that nothing else matters to him than being with me, the way I am. That he wants to evolve with me. That he feels like he has never felt with no one when he’s with me.
Honest answer: This will probably never happen. I will probably never hear such things from no one. But a girl cannot stop dreaming nor hoping.
“That brick wall, the one I was so careful to ignore for the better part of this ride, is fast approaching. I would like, just for today and maybe tomorrow, to think about something else.” (Hope)
And this is what I have been doing since Monday. I felt the need to stop worrying about the brick wall, about the responsibilities I feel I am failing to meet, about the expectations others (most of them well intentioned) keep having from me. I feel the need to think about & allow myself to live nice things, to feel nice things without the fear of bad things looming over them.
The brick wall is there. I have known this from the start. And each day I spent in this country just made it stronger, taller and brought it closer to me. Making me fear it even more; not wanting to think about it even more.
“She could not touch fear. She could not see it or describe its contours. But she could feel it suffocating her. It was a gag stuffed into the mouth of a prisoner, blocking a breath, refusing to let go. It was real. It is real. Yet, she could not touch fear, she could not punch fear out. She could just feel fear. She could hear it rising inside her chest. She could taste fear. Acidic and vomit-like; a bad case of vertigo. But it had no form, no face nor figure. It looked like nothing. So, she could not even begin to plan an exit strategy. Her therapist urged her to put a face onto this intangible fear. “Who is it?” she probed. “What does it look like?” “What does it say?’
“It is me”, she said.
“And I have failed. “” (Hope)
On Monday, I woke up feeling happy. I felt light too, like nothing was weighing on me. I felt something blooming inside of me, more and more with each deep breath I was taking. The world looked such a beautiful place. Un-caging myself from the locks that I have put around my feelings was so liberating, so relieving, so exhilarating. Until 6 pm. When I got an email. I was on the phone with a friend. My heart just stopped. My mind denied it immediately. I did not read it immediately, but the Gmail Notifier showed the first line of the email, and its content was all clear to me. As long as I didn’t read it, I could pretend that I did not receive it, right? That I did not get that news. I tried to live the pretense. But I could not shake the heavy stone that news put on my heart. In just the flash of a second, I went from feeling so light, so free and so liberated to feeling caged, heavy, dark and weak, but most of all scared.
It’s the news that everybody has been asking me about for countless months. It’s the news that everybody except myself wanted & was looking forward to hear. It’s the news that my actions showed that I am so eager to get, but deep down inside, I never felt that way. I did feel excited, last year, when I started making it happen. But shortly after that, I just didn’t want to know. Not knowing, not fighting for it, just doing the things that had to be done, without putting soul or hope into it, was the best I could do. But this is so unlike me. I put passion, hope or even dreams in every little thing I do. I was safe, living in the limbo situation, knowing that things do not depend on me, but on so many others. All I could do was wait. And wait I did, for a year now. This too is so unlike me. My worst suits are my lack of patience and the frustration I feel when things are not clear (as in either black or white, not gray). For the last year I have been patiently waiting and not getting frustrated at all by the whole uncertainty [and grayness] of things.
I never wanted to discuss about the changes that will happen when I get the news. With anyone. Not even with my parents. Let alone with G. I refused to think about it. No one, ever understood that, as much as I tried to explain it. My mother, understood. But after a long time. And she is the only one that knows the news. She called me at 7:30 pm. I was planning to call her too. But she felt this urge of calling me, without previously arranging it. I was on the phone with a friend when she called, pretending that nothing happened, that it’s just another Monday. She called my land line. No one ever calls me on that number unexpectedly. And for the first several seconds, I didn’t even realize the phone was ringing.
I told her. I asked her not to tell anyone in the family. I was not ready to answer the round of questions that come from (finally) getting this news. She didn’t ask anything. I so love her for that. I told her I will tell the world when I am ready. And she trusts me.
As long as I refuse to accept the existence of the news, I cannot face telling anyone else about it. I will stall it, as long as I need to. Until I am ready to face it.
“That is what I will–and want–to remember from Friday 18 January 2008. The day that I was left breathless by a kiss; by words that stung my soul by the truthfulness of their figurative meaning. The day I realized that, at the very least, I will not be alone when I hit that brick wall.” (Hope)
The news made me hit the brick wall full frontal, and I wasn’t even prepared for the hit. I always knew I would be alone when I will hit this brick wall. But I was hoping I wouldn’t be. It wasn’t for the [sick] need of seeing other people hit it together with me and hurt too. It was mainly for knowing that I am not alone in this, that someone [that I deeply care for] cares about me [too].
““It is scary that I feel so close to you in such a short amount of time” he whispered into my ear as my fingertips trailed up his arm and across his back. “Yes, it is” I replied. But, it will do.” (Hope)
““I would never have thought I could be with a woman like you?’ “A woman like me?” “Yes, you’re fucking classy and I’m? Just a scruff.” That’ll do. Too.” (Hope)
My G. spot is not everything I ever wanted in a man. Let’s just be honest about it: I am not sure there exists such a man that would fit all my descriptions. But he is much more closer to that than any other man in my life ever was. I am hoping (and even waiting) to hear that he has gotten so close to me too, that I make him feel things he hasn’t felt in a long time, things he wasn’t pursuing to feel when we met. I am hoping to hear that he thinks of me, that he misses me, that he cares about me, that he is afraid of losing me, that he does NOT want this to end when I leave.
Even if he would say all the above, things would not change. Not now anyway. I would still leave. But maybe, just maybe, I would think of coming back as well. Maybe I would leave for a certain period of time, only to be able to come back to him.
He hasn’t said any of the above. He only said that I am one of the people that he found to love, that have given him such happy moments, that even out the unhappy moments, and hence helping him hurt a whole lot less. He thanked me for existing [in his life].
So when I leave, it will not be with the thought of coming back. I do not exclude that, but I don’t consider it either. There’s nothing real that I feel I have to come back for. This sounds like a complaint. It really isn’t. It’s just stating the facts. This is real only to me, as far as I know. If it is real for him as well, then he will have to let me know. Cause I can’t go on assumptions. And I can’t ask either.
“Because you know what? He failed to reciprocate the question. He did not say, “What would you like from me?”” (Hope)
He did not ask me if I want to stay, with and/or for him. This is why I cannot ask him. This is why I have to assume this is not real to him, and to be certain only of the fact that this is real [only] to myself.
“And if you don’t ask, you don’t know. If you don’t know, you can’t possibly give.” (Hope)
I do not ask [partly] because I am afraid of what he would answer. If he wanted me to stay (even though he’s in the army for the next 11 months) or if he wanted me to come back (after his army or after 2 years of my being away), or if he wants to let thing follow their course now and thinks of coming after me after he finishes his military service, and would be scared to share any such thoughts with me [or even with himself], I would wish he would fight that fear and just tell me. Even if I ask or not. Hence, I [partly] do not ask because I am afraid he would not tell me what he truly feels, because he is scared [too].
Hitting the brick wall, brings the end [of so many things] so near. Before hitting it, the end was so indefinite, hence I did not know how far away or close it is. There is comfort in ignorance. I truly believe that.
“Because life goes on whether you are ready for it or not. Today, life is moving on in front of my very eyes. The bookshop next door has received its Monday delivery, the window cleaner has come and gone, as scheduled. But I?
Am on pause.
Is a far more hopeful button than stop.
You know?” (Hope)
I am afraid I am not ready to live this end. To see that life is moving on. To adopt the changes that this news brings before me.
“You see, he has begun the fading out process. It’s not like I didn’t expect it. I just did not expect that it would happen so soon.” (Hope)
I am afraid that he will fade away so quickly, and that I will fade away in his mind even more quickly than that. I am afraid that I will look back on this one day and wonder whether it was just a dream or was it real? It IS REAL! It IS happening. He IS making me feel all the things I feel.
“The Man: I’m so fucking angry.
The Man: Because I was all ready to leave without a care in the world.
I was finished. I wasn’t looking over my shoulder. And then I met you.
Me: Oh, you’ll be fine.
The Man: You have no idea what is happening here, do you?
Me: What do you mean? What is happening here?
The Man: I am falling for you. You’re not falling for me.” (Hope)
This was one of the things I read in Hope’s posts that stung my heart so raw and deep. If I were to replace “The Man” with my name, and “Me” with “My G. spot”, this would be 95% accurately describing the talk I had with my G. spot after he came back from the holidays and spent three days in Athens before joining the army. Thing is, I was angry for way longer than that. I just hadn’t told him.
Until last night, when I stumbled on Hope’s blog, I was afraid to even allow myself to think what will happen. Hence, I believed I did not care what will happen. For some moments, that was really true. But I do care what the future brings. I still don’t know what it will bring. But at least night I have a much clearer idea of what it could bring. This is hard but good in the same time. Like a pill that first makes you feel sick before it actually makes you feel better. So you just pretend that you don’t need the pill. Or you just try to postpone taking the pill for as long as you can, cause you’re too afraid of not knowing how long the “feeling sick” phase will last or if you will get through it.
“Inaction, like the absence of words, screams an indifference that flies over entire oceans and several continents. It is an indifference that I hear–only at night–pounding on my door and stumbling through the darkness I let it in. I let it in and try to make sense of it all.” (Hope)
I am afraid to feel his indifference, when I will be one ocean away, on another continent. I am afraid that I will drown in the darkness even more, and that I most likely won’t survive being alone, in a new country, on such a far continent, where I will not have anyone to rescue me.
But I have to take action. I have to come out of the darkness that I feel right now. I have to get up, shake off the little pieces of brick that are covering my clothes from hitting the wall full frontal, straighten my clothes, my body, lift my head and be able to look at the wall and not feel crumbled just by its existence. Then I have to take a deep breath, that will restore all my self-confidence and self-worth, and start clambering the wall in front of me, confident that whatever it is behind it, it will not be bad. I can’t be bad. I can’t be worse than what’s on this side of it. Confident that I will never be able to know what’s behind it unless I truly overcome it. Confident that no matter how much I try to prepare myself for whatever it’s behind it, there will [still] be things that I will be [totally] unprepared for. Confident that hoping is not in vain. Appreciative that I have the power to make my life what I want of it. Appreciative of the fact that I am aware of my ego, of the benefits it brings when it’s my ally, as well as of the harm it can cause me when it’s my enemy.
I miss my Mother so much right now. Being in her arms always gave me strength.