The terror and exhilaration of the "L" word

 

I promised myself when I started this blog that I would not edit, I would not leave posts undone, and when I ran out of time to write I would simply press "publish" and that would be it. This is the only way I am going to manage to write anything at all. I logged back on just now and found this unfinished post from about 3 months ago. Not good. Not only did I break a promise to myself but I also have stopped writing, telling myself that I was too busy but it really has been that I am embarrassed about my thoughts, my writing, the rough, unfinished, un-artistic nature of my writing which is pretty much just mental vomit, and I have exactly one person who actually reads this and there are some things I am just embarrassed to share. Because who cares, really? I'm a pretty boring person. However, a big part of the reason I started putting myself out to the world like this was self-validation. So I'm picking up where I left off.  Sorry it's disjointed and incomplete. Here it is. Blah. Barf. 

From 3 months before:

When talking with my friend about 2 months ago I explained a number of physical symptoms I was experiencing - trying to describe grief in an objective way. She pointed out that all the symptoms I described also applied to love-sickness. "Oh shit!" I thought. I had not told anyone, not her, not family, no one, about my intense crush I had developed, and how I was trying to push it away. I shook my head to try to rid it of the idea. It was just grief, that was all. 

I generally don't use the word love in a romantic context. I have cringed at the idea of "falling in love," feeling that it entails a willing relinquishment of control over my life, and a vulnerability that I can't afford. I don't let myself feel this. Hell, I just barely came to terms with the idea of grief. I'm not ready to tackle love. 

Yet the idea had been present for months. When I would get some sort of communication from him, the thought would appear in my mind, without my permission, "I love you." Plain and simple. No need for reciprocity, no call to action. Just a fact. 

The first time we met for the first time on Christmas day and hugged, and then couldn't let go, I felt the same intense, warm glow that I had felt for months when reminded of him or even completely randomly, just before he would appear in my mind. It was intense and encompassing. I fell hard and.....

End post. 

That was it. and....... I don't even know what I was going to say. I probably couldn't finish it because I suddenly realized that I had work to do, or someone called, or a weird smell was coming from somewhere and I had to investigate and then the evening was gone. Or I allowed myself to become distracted because I can't bring myself to write about love, because it is terrifying and I don't believe, I truly don't believe that I deserve it. Or because it is about him, and it is weird that he is the only one in the world who is going to read it. I don't know why I stopped and I really can't pick up where I left off, but I know I have to keep writing because it is part of feeding myself, which is something that I have to do. So from now on my punishment for leaving a post hanging is to make it an even worse post that it was in the first place and then put it out there. Someday someone will stumble across it and read it and say "what kind of shit is that?! I want my 5 minutes back!" Too fucking bad.