You see, in
every relationship since, well, my first “real” relationship, I’ve always known
two months in that it wasn’t going to last, but because I’m stubborn, I would
let it go anyway, incurring loads of pain for the both of us. Case(s) in point:
My Teenage Boyfriend: tried to break up two months in, he wouldn’t let
me, we ended up dating for 3 years, experiencing all the highs and lows a
teenage relationship can cause, damaging my self-confidence almost to the point
of non-repair.
Uni Boyfriend: two months in, had a massive fight about the origins of Mardi
Gras of all things (just one example of the endlessly stupid fights we would
have), ended up dating 3.5 years (fighting most of the time; go figure)
Twenties Boyfriend: knew with absolute certainty two months in that we
weren’t going to marry, spent the next 4.5 years hoping I was wrong (hint: we’re
not together anymore).
My intuition
at the two month mark has been pretty consistent, even with those “minor”
players I mentioned: one completely stopped responding to my texts; one ignored
me when his best mate was around; one made me pay for everything. So, yeah, two
months has generally been a good mark of evaluating my relationships, even if I
don’t ever listen to myself.
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| It's like a depressing holiday... |
Here I am,
again, at the two month mark of a relationship, and I find myself in a
predicament. You see, I have no qualms about this relationship. No concerns. No
desire to run away. No, in reality, I want to be with him more than before. Two
months in, and I already know this has a future; British Boyfriend makes me
happier than I’ve ever been.
Which is
disconcerting to my brain because it was already gearing up to analyze and
rationalize the situation for potential threats. But there are none. At all; and
believe me, I’ve looked—hard. Since the start of this relationship, British
Boyfriend has been everything I asked the Universe for in this blog. And that
freaks me out.
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| Not MY bubble bath but just know British Boyfriend did this. For me. And it was awesome. |
I’m so used
to protecting myself that not needing to, not needing to hide or half-lie about
who I am is absolutely terrifying, especially because I don’t know (or like) myself
all that completely. To have someone who is so very accepting of my quirks and
my weaknesses, who loves that I am curvy, who can match my ability to be both
highly intellectual yet crass at times, who is willing to watch documentaries
yet go out on the piss now and again, who encourages me to try new things, to
approach new ideas, to be ME without rebuke.
It’s
fucking scary!
Seriously, I know many of you are scoffing or rolling your eyes, but I am treading unfamiliar terrain here, and my brain, rather than turn its condemnation on British Boyfriend (because it can’t), has reverted to reminding me of my past hurts. My heart is open and willing and screaming with excitement, but my brain, in an effort to keep me safe, has brought back all those old emotions of self-hatred. It keeps reminding me how I didn’t measure up before in an effort to make me hold back, to cause some self-fulfilling prophecy where I end up alone again. Because sadness is easier.
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| Where IS that other shoe...? |
But I don’t
want that. Was it Einstein who said insanity was trying the same thing over and
over and expecting a different result? I never told anyone how I felt before
because I was scared of jinxing my already jinxed relationships. Well, here’s
me trying something new in hopes of getting a different result; rather than
hold things in, I’m going to broadcast them here. What’s a blog for if not the
expression of one’s thoughts? Let’s hope, though, that my intuition holds up.
Because right now, I don’t see myself being alone again for a very, very long
time.
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| "Smiley faces all around!" |
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