I’m not too sure about the title of this blog anymore. When your ‘love life’ is in a state of flux and emotions running wilder than a daddy lion on a rollercoaster, it seems somewhat foolish to have a title which denotes an action which is in fact not occurring. Hence, the use of the verb to date is in fact something of a misnomer. I am involved. I am emotionally attached. Whether or not this liaison stands the obstacles life so thoughtfully and considerately throws up is another matter. If I were him I would run away screaming. But hey… I’m not him.
Perhaps I should amend the title of the blog to something a
little deeper. Despite how I may look, I
am a very deep person. I am constantly
thinking, considering, analysing and pondering.
The big questions are the ones most frequently on my mind. Who killed Kennedy? Why is it tea and cake in Britain but coffee
and cake across the rest of Europe? Can men
and women ever be truly just friends? Do
UKBA staff ever smile? Will the surgery stop all this pain I’m in? Is it
possible for a romantic relationship to exist where both parties love one
another equally and without reservation, hesitation or fear? Why is the square root of Pi the square root
of Pi? Do all men play mind games even
unintentionally? Can I realistically
afford a boob reduction this year? If
something is not planned and calculated, can you still be annoyed about it even
when there was no harm intended? What colour should I dye my hair next? If you have lots of visions, ideas, fantasies
and plans and they are not fulfilled, is it okay to be disappointed or should
you just accept that people cannot zip about and not everything is
perfect? Will the scars from said boob
job be worth the reduction in pain and embarrassment? If I look better in a bikini will I feel
better in myself?
Writing about celibacy was easy. It was a constant, a state of mind as well as
a state of being. I wasn’t breaking that
(although I did once when I was very drunk and very stressed) and so the title didn’t
need changing. Despite the slip, I was
celibate. But I am not dating. I am bored of that – it holds no appeal for
me and I just don’t like it. It is an
expensive waste of time, and I came to realise that my feelings for the
armadillo had grown to the point where we were no longer friends. We were – are – something more. Which in and of itself is really rather
bloody scary! When you realise that you have compartmentalised and desensitised
for so much of your adult life, in order to survive the shitty and horrific circumstances
you have found yourself in, to come back to feeling is rather intense. To feel so intensely for someone is even more
daunting.
When one of your readers becomes the subject of your blog,
how do you continue to write without them taking it personally, or potentially misinterpreting
your words? How do you express yourself
truly, say what you need to say, without it seeming harsh or fearful? And when said subject of your affections
cares so much for you that he would back off romantically to protect you as a
friend, how do you show that in actual fact, the romantic involvement, the
heightened emotional intimacy, and the increased support for one another
grounds you and yet simultaneously gives you wings? When you feel incredible knowing that someone
so wonderful feels so strongly for you, and is just as comfortable taking it
slowly to quell their own doubts as much as yours. Someone you can feel beautiful in front of
when wearing no make up, jeans, big thick socks and his rugby jumper. Someone you can safely fall asleep when
resting your head in his lap whilst watching a film. Someone you reach for, and who reaches for
you, first thing in the morning, bleary eyed, Godzilla breath and
sleep-sweat-smelly. Someone who you
crave like a drug; who physical entanglement with is more than a sexual
release; it is a connector, a bond.
The point of my musings tonight is trust. When you cannot trust those who should love
you unconditionally, when you cannot trust yourself to have good judgement,
when you cannot trust anyone implicitly, how do you move past that to a place
where you are confident that you can protect yourself? Why is it that the person you trust implicitly
becomes ‘a guy’ in your head when things get pelvic, and doubts creep in? Doubts are normal. Doubts are healthy. Doubts are our brain’s way of telling us to
calm down, not get lost to lust, not do something reckless like jack in your
job and run away to a desert island and marry a local for a visa. But if he has doubts too, and you are aware
of them, can you let yourself fall fully if you need to potentially pull
yourself back from heartache and the pain of him bailing on you?
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