Sunday, October 17, 2004
Fear
I spent the weekend trying to grieve. I say trying because I realize it's not going to be a weekend-long event. I suppose I had hoped it would be... I could feel sad, angry, bitter, remorseful, guilt; I could cry, break something, eat some junk food, get drunk, take a deep breath and move on with my life. But naturally it's not that easy. It wouldn't be that easy if it were just me in this hole, but I've got the love of a lifetime stuck here beside me, and he's hurting even more than I am.
I know many of you might scoff at the idea of Rusty being the love of a lifetime for me. (Jealous much? Kidding. OK, only kidding a little.) Perhaps it took this melodramatic turn of events to open our eyes to it, but the fact is neither of us are willing to give up what we have with each other. Until the pregnancy, we'd been toying with the notion that we should be seeing other people, "sowing our oats", enjoying our freedom, whatever that means. And we'd say, 'Yes, that is logical. Yes, we should do that.', then continue to not see other people, continue to cling to one another, and continue to pretend that we were bent on "enjoying our freedom". I think this pregnancy took everyone else's damned opinion right the fuck out of it where it should have been in the first place and forced us to take a good hard look at what we wanted out of life.
What I realized was that I had been living in fear. I thought I had freed myself of that prison by divorcing Shitfoot. But I had just traded it for one with a little more elbow room and a private bathroom. I was still living in fear, only this time, not just fear of him, but fear of the rest of the world passing judgment on me once again, finding fault in the way I choose to live my life, labeling me for who they saw me to be; all the choices I had been making were made in fear. I decided it was time to shed the fear. I'm not afraid of failing anymore--I failed once, and it didn't kill me. Sure, I'm afraid of the pain it causes, but I know now that I can face it again if I have to. And I know that if I choose not to face it, I will not nurture the life that I want to have. And Rusty was integral in that discovery. He's the light that showed me that truth, and he's the strength I need to face down that fear. Until we went down this path together, there was so much about him I didn't recognize, mostly because I was too busy being afraid of letting go and really loving him. I can see how deeply he loves me now--not by the crappy way he reacted upon hearing the news, and not by the slow and twisted way he warmed up to his responsibility, but afterward, after dissecting all that we'd been thinking and feeling, and I can see all the moving parts inside of his line of thinking, I see how much he sacrificed, how raw and bare he was, how brave he was in the face of it all and I didn't see it, was critical of it, even, because I didn't understand it. This is a man who could not be more opposite of Shitfoot if he tried. And yet I hold him accountable for all the sins Shitfoot committed against me. And he takes it, over and over again, patiently waiting for me to get it out of my system.
Patient. Did I use that word to describe a man I am in love with? Let me use some more words: brave, strong, smart, caring, hotasfuckinghell (that's a word, isn't it?), passionate, dedicated, expressive, disciplined, nurturing, protective, gentle, steady, beautiful, dependable. I was so used to hanging my head in shame in Shitfoot's shadow, I didn't realize that what I was feeling wasn't just a fresh rush of hormonal lust... and not just love, either, but pride. He asks me, "Don't you want a man with a better job?" "Don't you want someone with a better education?" I had one of those, and he wasn't worth spit. The pride I feel to be with him has nothing to do with his job, his social status or his education, nor should it be. I am proud because for some reason, he looks at me like I'm some sort of glowing goddess, he builds me up again and again, no matter how often I tear myself down, no matter how much I don't deserve it. I'm proud because he is committed to his responsibilities and sacrifices to meet them. I'm proud because he walks beside me, not in front of me, he talks to me, not at me, and when I talk, he actually listens. In the 7 months we've been together, he has already given me an equal number of flowers, and at least three dozen times more earth-moving, sweat-dripping, heart-stopping orgasms than Shitfoot managed in his entire 10-year tenure. And GOD, I love that man.
I spent the weekend trying to grieve. I say trying because I realize it's not going to be a weekend-long event. I suppose I had hoped it would be... I could feel sad, angry, bitter, remorseful, guilt; I could cry, break something, eat some junk food, get drunk, take a deep breath and move on with my life. But naturally it's not that easy. It wouldn't be that easy if it were just me in this hole, but I've got the love of a lifetime stuck here beside me, and he's hurting even more than I am.
I know many of you might scoff at the idea of Rusty being the love of a lifetime for me. (Jealous much? Kidding. OK, only kidding a little.) Perhaps it took this melodramatic turn of events to open our eyes to it, but the fact is neither of us are willing to give up what we have with each other. Until the pregnancy, we'd been toying with the notion that we should be seeing other people, "sowing our oats", enjoying our freedom, whatever that means. And we'd say, 'Yes, that is logical. Yes, we should do that.', then continue to not see other people, continue to cling to one another, and continue to pretend that we were bent on "enjoying our freedom". I think this pregnancy took everyone else's damned opinion right the fuck out of it where it should have been in the first place and forced us to take a good hard look at what we wanted out of life.
What I realized was that I had been living in fear. I thought I had freed myself of that prison by divorcing Shitfoot. But I had just traded it for one with a little more elbow room and a private bathroom. I was still living in fear, only this time, not just fear of him, but fear of the rest of the world passing judgment on me once again, finding fault in the way I choose to live my life, labeling me for who they saw me to be; all the choices I had been making were made in fear. I decided it was time to shed the fear. I'm not afraid of failing anymore--I failed once, and it didn't kill me. Sure, I'm afraid of the pain it causes, but I know now that I can face it again if I have to. And I know that if I choose not to face it, I will not nurture the life that I want to have. And Rusty was integral in that discovery. He's the light that showed me that truth, and he's the strength I need to face down that fear. Until we went down this path together, there was so much about him I didn't recognize, mostly because I was too busy being afraid of letting go and really loving him. I can see how deeply he loves me now--not by the crappy way he reacted upon hearing the news, and not by the slow and twisted way he warmed up to his responsibility, but afterward, after dissecting all that we'd been thinking and feeling, and I can see all the moving parts inside of his line of thinking, I see how much he sacrificed, how raw and bare he was, how brave he was in the face of it all and I didn't see it, was critical of it, even, because I didn't understand it. This is a man who could not be more opposite of Shitfoot if he tried. And yet I hold him accountable for all the sins Shitfoot committed against me. And he takes it, over and over again, patiently waiting for me to get it out of my system.
Patient. Did I use that word to describe a man I am in love with? Let me use some more words: brave, strong, smart, caring, hotasfuckinghell (that's a word, isn't it?), passionate, dedicated, expressive, disciplined, nurturing, protective, gentle, steady, beautiful, dependable. I was so used to hanging my head in shame in Shitfoot's shadow, I didn't realize that what I was feeling wasn't just a fresh rush of hormonal lust... and not just love, either, but pride. He asks me, "Don't you want a man with a better job?" "Don't you want someone with a better education?" I had one of those, and he wasn't worth spit. The pride I feel to be with him has nothing to do with his job, his social status or his education, nor should it be. I am proud because for some reason, he looks at me like I'm some sort of glowing goddess, he builds me up again and again, no matter how often I tear myself down, no matter how much I don't deserve it. I'm proud because he is committed to his responsibilities and sacrifices to meet them. I'm proud because he walks beside me, not in front of me, he talks to me, not at me, and when I talk, he actually listens. In the 7 months we've been together, he has already given me an equal number of flowers, and at least three dozen times more earth-moving, sweat-dripping, heart-stopping orgasms than Shitfoot managed in his entire 10-year tenure. And GOD, I love that man.
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