I’m no good at love. That’s the conclusion I’ve come to after fucking up the best thing that’s ever happened to me. No, this is not self pity. It is an honest obersvation.
I met Paul on Facebook, as I said in a previous post. He is the most amazing man. Yes, I know that one cannot tell everything about a person from talking online or by phone, but I truly feel that Paul is my soul mate and did from the start. And he has only done one tiny thing wrong the entire time we’ve been talking. I let that small thing turn into a major thing, ( which it actually is to me), and then…I don’t know…I could not let it go. After the first time I told him how I felt, and he did not offer resolution, I didn’t feel the same. I felt distrustful and insecure. We had several arguments about it, each time, with no resolution. Then, today, I broke things off.
It’s difficult to even describe how I feel about Paul. I adore him. I want to take good care of him and make sure that he is well fed and his clothes are always ready and that the house is clean and his needs are met. Old school. Because he makes me feel very complete as a woman. Complete in ways I’ve never felt before. He makes me feel like I can embrace being vulnerable and feminine and that I don’t have to be ‘strong’ all the time. He seems to know what I’m thinking before I think it and takes time to understand when I’m having a bad day. He’s so cool. His head is shaved and he has this amazing beard and gorgeous brown eyes…tattoos…all the things I like. And he has a way of reaching me that nobody else ever has. He lets me reach back and he offers both strength and vulnerability and we share secrets and dreams and it’s so wonderful.
The flip side of love like this is that it’s a lot to lose, in the end. And, let’s face it, there is always an end. I think that’s what has been bothering me the most lately. There are absolutely no guarantees when it comes to things of the heart. I don’t like that. I’m a ‘sure thing’ type of person. I’m also about to turn 49. I can’t waste time on something I’m not totally sure is going to work in the long run. Just imagining the pain involved, were this to end, after…say…five years…is overwhelming to the point that I want to vomit. It’s just better to end it before it goes wrong.
A major thing is that, in comparison to Paul’s even keel, I’m a fucking nutjob. It’s not right for him to have to deal with my bullshit ‘in the name of love’. It’s nothing I’m doing on purpose, and nothing I was even aware of until now. Dealing with fibro and Exish and just having started to diet and try to get myself over the past has left me a total wack. Seriously. I don’t even know how to really talk to a man who isn’t yelling at me. I’ve been in a bad marriage for three decades and am only now realizing how dysfunctional my thinking has become because of it, and that is only because Paul is so…normal. Yep…in the harsh light of normality, I’m an emotional Charles Manson. I start petty fights and am always putting myself down, never trusting that Paul is telling the truth when he says he loves me or that he thinks I’m beautiful. I can’t. And I mean that. I CAN’T.
I think I’m going to get some counselling soon. I may even move back to the coast and get a little place on the island. Just somewhere to curl up and figure shit out. I deeply regret that Paul won’t be there with me. I’m not sure that I can even stay friends with him. I am so in love with him that it hurts. But I do know that, because I love him, I can’t do this to him…I can’t do ME to him. It’s not right. Nothing about me is right anymore.