Sometimes I really hate my ex-boyfriends. Regardless of how we ended the relationship: easy, difficult, horrible, gut-wrenching, unemotional - something about that relationship has utterly screwed me up in some way. I can feel it. I think I first remember thinking how messed up I am emotionally when I decided I might love Jamie. I was on an airplane flying over the ocean, about to land and the plane began to jerk up and down, like God himself had grabbed at the craft between his thumb and forefinger, only to sneeze right as his grip tightened. We were flung from side to side, up and down, forwards and backwards, until the girl seated one seat forward and to one to the left started tossing her dinner into a tiny air sickness bag. I cried. I held my friend's hand and I cried. I cried for all the things I never got to say. (I was very dramatic in this moment. I don't like flying.) I thought about Jamie. I pictured his face in my mind repeatedly. I couldn't believe that I'd never see him smile again. I'd never run my fingers through his hair again. I'd never have his fingers brush my sides unexpectedly throwing me into a fit of giggles. What would I do if this was the end? As we began to descend, the plane shot back into the storm clouds with an anouncement of "Sorry folks, due to unexpected (insert scary words here), we will be unable to land and will re-route to Dublin." Hey, although the groans from the other passengers filled the air, a rush of fear surged through my stomach. Another round through the raining storm clouds? Really? God - could you please stop sneezing? I'm just trying to make it out of this plane alive.
Long story short, everything turned out fine. We re-routed to Dublin, waited out the bad part of the rain, then went back to our actual destination - landing safely 2 hours after our scheduled arrival time. During those last few moments before our final landing - I leaned over to my friend and whispered, "If we somehow crash, and you survive but I don't - tell Jamie I might love him."
For some reason, I felt more safe telling my friend that I might love my boyfriend, than actually admitting that I could tell him myself. I realized then - I was scared. I was scared to love someone again. Or at least admit to loving someone again. After 2 years of painful break ups, running around with endless numbers of boys, thinking I could survive the rest of my life as Nik the Single, it hit me that maybe, just maybe I didn't want to live my life like that.
Eventually I did tell him. After we got back to the states from our trip to Ireland, I told him I loved him and he said it back. It was like this huge release for me. But now where does it go? I still feel that worry in my gut whenever I say it to him - fearing that he might suddenly NOT want to say it back to me. The further along we get in our relationship, the more worried I become. Tomorrow is our 8-month anniversary. That doesn't sound like a lot in the grand scheme of things, but my last relationship that lasted more than 8 months ended in a firey trainwreck of stabbing pain and sobs. Will this end one up the same way? Should I start mentally noting the times that I stop to stare at him and wonder if he's thinking 'How much longer til I can get rid of this girl?' Am I just scared because I am getting older and somehow the longer a relationship goes when you're older, the more significiant it is SUPPOSED to be? So, instead of answering all of these things, I'll pretend like I don't feel them. I'll ignore those gut instincts to be mushy and lovey with him, I won't text him "Tomorrow marks our 8th month, Dimples." Because texting him would be admitting that I need him. And needing him is something I don't know if I am ready to commit to just yet.
"So dear I love him that with him, All deaths I could endure. Without him, live no life." - Shakespeare
Happy 8th Month! :)
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