Mother's Day... Just Happy, Nothing Else. ODD.

I'm crying happy tears as I write this. It's going to sound odd given that my daughter is now ten years old, but today is the first good Mother's Day I've ever had, going all the way back to the one when I was pregnant.

It's not because I don't have the most amazing, wonderful child any mother could ask for, because I do. She is nothing short of a gift from God, a blessing that never stops. Last year, we were freshly grieving the loss of the father in our little family, and it just didn't feel very good. Celebrating Mom just meant remembering that Dad was gone... forever. So we didn't. It's still with us, but we're healing now.

Every year before that, and I mean every. Single. Year, there was a bipolar crisis of some sort on Mother's Day, since it just happens to fall at the height of bipolar manic season. Alex bought gifts, often for every mom in his and my family, and I almost always got flowers from his mom, and taken to lunch by my mom, and all that, but there was never time to celebrate or even relax, because there was always a disaster happening. Always. And that required my full attention.

So today, it felt warm, good, and slightly unsettling when I woke, after having been allowed to sleep in, to the smells of butter and bacon. Of course my first response was to yell, "WHAT'S BURNING?" because it never occurred to my sleepy brain that someone besides me was cooking in the morning. I got a "YOU STAY PUT!" in response, so I did. My daughter showed up in my bedroom a couple of minutes later with a plateful of eggs and sharp cheddar, scrambled in butter, thick slabs of bacon, and an ice-cold glass of fresh raw milk. Which she sat and watched me eat every bite of, to make SURE it was really good. It was, but even if it hadn't been, I certainly would've pretended, because when someone is WATCHING you eat something they cooked for you, the only response is, "MMMMMMM!!" Fortunately, she's an excellent cook.

Then came, "Presents? Time for presents?" while bouncing up and down. I love how much she loves to give. We share that, and can barely make it to Christmas for the anticipation of giving people our little gifts. So yes, presents! There was a musical card, a gorgeous bromeliad that is the perfect hue for the living room, and a precious little palm that I love (a few weeks ago, in Home Depot, I had admired some plants and mentioned how very much I love architectural plants, but we couldn't afford them just now)...and even a card from the dogs. All of them.

Then she asked me what else I want. And I hugged her, thanked her for my best Mother's Day ever, and let the tears slip, and said, "I can't think of a thing. I have it ALL."

And so I do.

PTSD: Mischief Managed

That's my mom. She's VERY supportive, as you can see.

As many of you know, I've been hearing this diagnosis for months now--maybe a year or more, even. I'm not sure, because I just put it right out of my mind every time, because that's ridiculous, right? Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder? That is something that soldiers get, from the chronic stress of being shot at night and day, or being in explosions, or seeing their friends killed. Not from being... well... me. It just felt presumptuous, or something. But my GP has been saying it the longest. "Belinda, you're dealing with a good deal of PTSD after everything you've been through." I should have listened to him, because he also treated Alex, and he's been in on EVERYTHING. And then there was the therapist who saw both Alex and myself, and the two of us jointly. "Belinda, it sounds like you have PTSD." Nah, I'll be fine--I'm doing so much better already, see? Watch me spin these plates!

Because I "overshare," but moreso because so often, things I've "overshared" here have helped others with similar problems, I want to talk about this. My overriding symptom is a tremendous anxiety/panic, that manifests in tachycardia, sudden and instant all-over sweating, flushed skin, nose and eyes dripping like faucets, lightheadedness, and that classic feeling of "impending doom," when there is ZERO emotional stimulus happening, and I don't, intellectually, feel panicked, anxious, or even upset about ANYTHING. It was always the worst upon waking, and I wasn't getting much sleep to begin with. I felt like I was having a heart attack, and of course, that fear made all the symptoms worse...it was misery.

At first, I would just wake up and immediately hit the treadmill, without even getting dressed or anything. It felt like I had adrenaline poisoning that HAD to be worked off. Sometimes it seemed to help. Sometimes. It felt better than doing nothing. Then over the course of a year or more I just took benzos. Xanax or Klonopin, low doses, 2-4 times a day. Xanax ER worked really well for me, but my insurance wouldn't cover it, and $200/month for one prescription just wasn't something I could sustain. Plus, I was just treating symptoms and not addressing the cause. Which I was NOT acknowledging as PTSD.  So my GP started running heart tests on me, "to rule things out." He knew there was nothing wrong with my heart, but he's not the kind of doctor to not listen to his patient's concerns. When those tests turned up nothing and I was still complaining about my heart, he referred me to a cardiac specialist and a neurologist.

Guess what they both said at our initial consults? "It sounds a lot like PTSD." The neurologist recommended Buspar to "reboot [my] neurophysical responses," did some tests, then told me to get finished with the cardiologist before seeing her again.  She wore jeans and cowboy boots, so I took her very seriously. My cardiologist looks like a more-handsome Don Cheadle, so I took him VERY seriously. He ran tons of tests, including a 24/7 heart monitor, which was the only thing that turned up anything out of the ordinary, that "anything" being exactly what I'd described--periods of sudden racing, pounding heartbeats for no apparent reason. I had more tests, which were normal. I have not yet had my followup with him, but I've gotten letters saying as much.

In the meantime, I had still been seeing my wonderfully patient and thorough GP, who is some kind of Norman Rockwell throwback to the "family doctor" of some ago time. He sits down and TALKS to you, refuses to see pharmaceutical reps during office hours, and won't have any drug-branded products in his offices. And he's a ginger. I love him. Anyway. Going at it from the anxiety angle, we'd tried a few of the antidepressants (starting with the neurologist-recommended Buspar) that are used for anxiety disorders, but without success. Just like all other anti-depressants, they had the unfortunate side effect, in me, of ...wait for it ...CAUSING PANIC ATTACKS.  Yeah. The anti-crazy drugs make me crazy. So I'd just kept taking the benzodiazepines, and they were getting less and less effective.

This brings us to a couple of weeks ago, when I was sitting in my GP's office, shaking and crying and begging for help. I had made an appointment with a psychiatrist, because I recognized that something was going on with my brain, but it was going to be weeks and weeks before I could get in. In the meantime, I was dying. Or at least that's how it felt. He said (I paraphrase, because I didn't take notes), "Belinda, you have lived for over a decade under constant fire. Maybe not from bullets, but it might as well have been. Your brain and your body are now conditioned to respond to every little bit of stress in a certain way, and absent a real-time crisis, you're just eating yourself up from the inside. We have to do something--you can't go on like this."

And that's when he pulled out (what was to me, anyway) the big guns: a class of drugs known as atypical antipsychotics. Which made me go, "NUH-UH," because while I might be a little crazy, I'm definitely not psychotic. ALEX took those drugs, and he was capital-C Crazy. But then I realized that he never had a psychotic episode in his life, and HE didn't balk at the label.  And intellectually, I knew that this class of drugs is seeing a LOT of off-label use. I still said no, because I'm smart like that. So Doc wrote me another prescription for Klonopin, and said to call him back in TWO WEEKS, no less, if I wasn't remarkably better. And off I tottered to the pharmacy... and when they brought me my prescription, it was two prescriptions: the one I'd been expecting, and the other that I'd refused. Tricky, tricky Doc! So after a lengthy discussion with the pharmacist, who assured me that it was a small dose, and that, as the doctor said, it would only be temporary, I went ahead and took it home, where I reflected upon it some more.

And then, as bloggers are wont to do, I took the issue and crowd-sourced it. Albeit more privately, with a select group that I knew had experience both with this drug and with anxiety disorders. For once in the history of the Internet, the response was entirely unanimous: TAKE THE MEDICINE. It's temporary, it will help you, and (paraphrased) you're being kind of stupid about this whole thing.

So I started that night. Two weeks later, the relief I'm getting is phenomenal, and I wish I'd done this an age ago. And if you are reading this and have lived the kind of stuff I've lived, know that it's impacting you. I held it together amazingly well for a number of years, but after all was said and done, it caught up with me, in spades. I WAS living under a hail of bullets and explosions, to the metaphorical point that every sudden or loud noise sent me crashing to the ground with my hands over my head. I'm still a bit twitchy, but I absolutely believe that I AM, in the words of Doc, restoring my brain to factory settings. And even though I know it's temporary, a this point, at this level of relief, I don't think I'd care if I were told to take this medicine for the rest of my life.

Heck, maybe I'll even get away from the house. Living with Alex, I really couldn't get away, nor could I have people over. Afterwards, that mindset was pretty much all I knew. Even when I DID begin a new relationship with a man, it was with someone who was "safe" in that he didn't live here, was a bit emotionally unavailable, and was of an age that made it pretty well a sure thing not to last. That wasn't an accident, I don't believe. My subconscious operates on a HIGHLY EFFICIENT LEVEL. Be afraid. But do come visit, or let's go out, shall we? I think I can safely promise not to cower underneath a table at any point unless an actual air-raid siren goes off.

Maybe Yes Begins With Maybe

Maybe it's time, you know? Maybe, at long last, I start in on the enormous backlog of Things I Need and Things I Want, and stop making excuses, and start checking them off. For the most part, a lot of these things have been trying to practically fall into my lap, if only I weren't standing up and facing the other direction. In other words, I may not even need to start out saying "yes," as much as to just stop saying "no."

"No," you see, has become a habit. A defense mechanism that I have come to use, over the course of years, to protect myself, and more importantly, my family. No, I can't have company, I'm needed. No, I can't spend time with friends, I have to stay here. No, I can't go on that trip that I planned all year, because I have to deal with this crisis, because I'm the only one who will. No, I don't have time to finish that book, or even to tend my website, because my attentions are demanded elsewhere. No, no, no... thank you for thinking of me, but I can't.

All anyone has to do is glance back through the last dozen entries here and see the snapshots in time that sum up the wild emotional-tsunami-driven ride of the last few years of my life. The one thing I opened myself up for was a relationship that started (and ultimately, ended, at least in one sense) with "no." I denied myself at least 6 months, maybe more, of quality companionship because of my Armor of No. I preferred being alone to taking a chance on what turned out to be something that did me good and for which I have zero regrets.

But if you go back even farther in the archives, you can pretty much see how this response formed, and how it became so ingrained. I don't really need to say more about it here, because it's all there. There was literally no one else who could handle the... issues that had to be handled. No one but me. Not when it came down to the nitty-gritty. I DID have help, from both family and professionals, for the bigger stuff, but the day-to-day heavy lifting was all mine. I didn't really have any choice. And so it began, and so it became ingrained.

"No" is easy. "No" is safe. "No" insulates and protects... unfortunately, "no" also isolates and alienates. I lost friends--good friends who just became weary of being seemingly rejected time after time. It got to the point (and many of you can attest to this) that I couldn't even talk on the phone. I was alone long before I was alone, and after a while, it became my default setting, comfortable in its familiarity, secure and safe, like my own little metaphorical hobbit-hole.

"Yes" is scary. "Yes" is risky. "Yes" means putting yourself out there, exposing vulnerabilities, and taking chances. All things with which I used to be, once upon a time, supremely comfortable. I have a lot of things that are needing a "yes" from me. But after all this time, it's extremely daunting. I can't promise I'll be able to follow through with a solid  "YES!" every time. But I can start with "maybe," and then move on to "probably," and hopefully in short order to "yes."

Yes, I will accept help from others.

Yes, I will submit my chapters for editorial review.

Yes, I will resume the posting here that has meant so much to me.

Yes, I will have my chickens. (That one makes me smile.)

Yes, I will actively seek more artistic earning opportunities.

Yes, I will allow a well-intentioned gentleman or two to lavish me with courtly blandishments.

Yes, I will use more phrases like "courtly blandishments" in blog posts.

Yes, I will have parties. At MY home. I will return my home to the warm, inviting place that it was once upon a time (when it was located elsewhere and was 100% mine), when friends felt comfortable gathering and socializing and eating delicious things and laughing and talking and laughing some more.

Yes, yes, yes. But let's start with... maybe. Probably. Yes.

SWF Seeks.

That's not even an incomplete sentence. I'm definitely seeking... something. But what? Peace, comfort, security, pretty much all the same things I've been seeking for the last ten or twelve years. I had it briefly (if you can call a year plus "brief") with my Cowboy, and though we've given it another go, and been on-again, off-again since the last update here, and though he is still very much a part of my life, and I hope always will be, since we do care about and love each other and wish happiness for the other... we just can't make the long-distance thing work. So I think that it is safe to say that I am now very much "single." I'm not feeling any great drive to do anything to change that, but I do need to change something, or somethings.

The feeling of solitude grows overwhelming at times. Stephen was always there for me and did (and does) the best he could to support and help where I needed it, and God knows when he was here, he was a beast of productivity and instigated upgrades that are still continuing around this property and in my life, and revived my own motivation, setting it on track so that it belongs to me now. And I'm keeping it going. I thank him for that. Like I said, he was always there for me, but "there" was, ultimately, just too far away. As it turns out, and as we knew the first time we did the breakup thing, we work beautifully together, and not so great apart. I haven't seen him since September, and though we talked about another visit soon, the logistics just aren't there. So we're back (Yes, AGAIN) to friend status, which is something I hope to never lose.

 But dear Lord, I need... something. Something HERE. Something real, something tangible, something I can't even yet identify. Single parenting SUCKS, and I am in awe of all of you who have been doing it for years--it's killing me not having backup, another pair of hands, another voice to comfort, praise, scold when necessary, and show love to a child who desperately needs it, on a daily basis. I won't fall into the trap of grabbing the first stable-looking man who glances my way just because my daughter misses having a father, but I can't deny the fact that I feel a pressure on HER part that I do not feel for myself. I have all the time in the world, and am happy in my own company, and enjoy the freedom of being able to have all kinds of friends and talk to men freely as friends and even be flattered by their flirting without concerns of having someone cross a line of disrespect to my boyfriend. It's kind of liberating... in a melancholy sort of way. I am definitely not celebrating the dissolution of our relationship, Stephen's and mine, but I am at peace with my decision, as I believe he is also with his, since it was just not going anywhere as it was. We miss each other, but really? We were already missing each other, and we're still only a phone call away at any time. I hope he finds ultimate happiness in whatever life has in store for him... and I hope that I do to. I'd settle, based on my last few years, for reasonable happiness. Contentment. Peace.

I keep coming back to that word... peace. It's all I really want. Whether alone or with someone else, I need calm, stability, the assurance of knowing what is coming next, a lack of strife... peace. I need to show my daughter that we are powerful women, that we can achieve this on our own, and that anyone we choose to allow into our lives should live up to this standard. It's so little to ask. I have always considered myself "low-maintenance" as far as relationships go. I don't ask for much from friends or romantic interests at all. Just be honest with me, loyal to me, and love me like I love you. Simple. If you INSIST on paying off my mortgage, and twist my arm, well, I guess I'll let you. I'm just saying that you don't HAVE to in order for me to be happy. (But seriously--any takers on the mortgage thing? No? FINE.)

 I cried tonight for about 5 minutes. There has been an overwrought series of events happening the last few days with which I have had to deal by myself (duh, who else is here?), and for a moment, it just became too much. That, and this stupid new medicine the neurologist put me on is wrecking me, and I think I need to quit. But I cried, good, loud, pitiful sobs, I wiped my tears, and I got on with myself. Because I AM strong. And my daughter is, too, in her way, and will only grow stronger. And for now, I seek. I don't know what, but I am supremely confident that I'll know it when I see it.

And for those of you who keep asking: I write. A lot. The "bones of a book," as a dear friend once referred to some of my storytelling in this space, are growing flesh, and I daresay muscle. At this point there is as much re-writing as there is writing, so often days or weeks of work disappears in a flash, but the progress seems to be in the right direction. I've never seen another writer doing precisely what I'm doing, so it may be a colossal failure. We won't know if I don't try, though, and it's been a long time coming. This may be exactly the reason I need time alone, though it sure would be nice to have someone on the next sofa over to bounce ideas off, to read a phrase to here and there, to check the authenticity of some of the voices...it would be nice to have a solid someone for that dedication page. Well, besides my mother, who made me who I am, with the help of my father, through sheer badassery.

Promises, Like Hearts, Must Sometimes Be Broken

As if I jinxed it by going public in this space, my relationship with The Cowboy became increasingly strained following his visit here, and after some discussion, we're scaling it back to what it was before it was anything else: a really good friendship. You really can't make promises about the future when you don't know what the future holds, and you really shouldn't rely on those kinds of promises when you good and well know that, either.

I said the first time I mentioned him that I had no idea where this was going, but that for as long as it lasted, it was making me very happy--and it did. Those of you who know me saw that first-hand. He gave me the happiest times of the last couple of years, certainly, and did so much to help, support, and encourage me. He wasn't, and isn't perfect, he's not some knight in shining armor, flawless and god-like--none of us are--but for where I was and what I needed, he was my HERO. Never forget that. I won't.

I am so grateful to have had this wonderful man in my life, and grateful that I still have him, if in a different capacity. We still love each other; we still care about each other. That makes the current situation more difficult by an order of magnitude; how much easier would it be if I could just hate him and be happy to be rid of him, to cut him out of my life entirely, like some kind of malignant growth? But that's not how it is. If I said the word right now, he'd be by my side in a heartbeat to take care of anything I needed him to. And the converse is also true. He will have my support in all that he does, with or without me, for as long as I have breath in my body.

The two of us together-together was AMAZING. Just absolutely dream-like and wonderful. Having him here with me made for the happiest weeks I have enjoyed since I can remember. I had peace in my heart, I felt secure, I slept at night... incredible things for me. And he says that he was happy every day that he was here with me, as well. But after that, it became clearer and clearer that the two of us together-apart... not so great. And during a fit of pique over some little meaningless something, I said it. "Just end it. It's for the best."  And he said, "OK." (And for some reason, I was briefly shocked at how easily he accepted that offer...oh, the vagaries of the emotional brain!) And really, that was about all the discussion there was about it at that time, though there was much to follow. Lots of "are you sure" from both sides and "I think we're doing the right thing" from both sides, and plenty of reassurances to remain in each others' lives and get back to that place where we were great friends, having fun, talking and playing together, giving and receiving advice, listening to each others' problems and triumphs... it's not a bad place to be.

We've sort of left the future of the relationship open-ended. Who knows what could happen? But we can't put ourselves on shelves, hundreds of miles apart, waiting to "see what happens" with us, and possibly wasting years and missing opportunities. That's not fair to me, and it's especially not fair to him, a young, vibrant man with his whole life in front of him. And I am willing to take the lion's share of the blame for this decision because MY doubts about that very thing have dogged me from the beginning of this relationship (literally, on the very first occasion that he announced his intent, it was my first concern--I am this much older than you, I could never give you children, I'm not interested in a "fling," so where is this going, etc.), and they would never have gone away. If he had thrown in with me for good at this point in his life, I'd have been happy to be with him, yes--ecstatic--but also guilty over what possible opportunities I might be causing him to miss. I can't have any more children, and that was a BIG deal to me. And of course just the fear that as he hit his prime 10 or 15 years from now, he'd look over at me and see... an old woman. And have regrets. I couldn't bear that. For both of us, it's kind of a case of hurting now rather than possibly hurting worse later. Maybe we've already made a mistake... but I don't think so, and I don't believe he does, either.

I can't speak for The Cowboy, and I wouldn't presume to know his innermost thoughts on the matter. But I do believe him when he says that he will be there for me, as I will him, and that this is hurting him as well. He's a good man, and precisely what I needed in the aftermath of what I'd been through toward the end of my marriage. His energy revived me, his stolidness grounded me, and his love nourished me and reminded me that I DO deserve better than I'd been allowing myself. I thank God for putting him into my life at just the right time, despite the fact that I currently feel as if there is a huge, ragged, gaping hole right in the center of my chest, and it's bleeding.

As for me, I am good. Sad, so sad right now, but good. Just as I wish for The Cowboy, as he matures, to learn inner peace, calmness and centeredness, and heightened empathy, I will embrace the things that he has shown me that *I* need to work on, which mainly center around not living life from a place of chaos any more, because NOW I DON'T HAVE TO. Honestly... it took me over a year on my own and the ministrations of a stalwart Cowboy to SHOW me that. I really, really did need him. And I really, really do love him, and thank him for giving me what he did. I hope I left him better than I found him, as he did me.

It hit me this morning as I was out and about running errands, and that godawful sprain (the one that began on the jet-ski and then was re-injured a week later) was hurting like the dickens, as usual (yes, I've had it x-rayed, and yes, it is royally jacked up, but it WILL heal, it will just take a long, long time), and I just flat-out REFUSED to limp. Did it hurt to walk normally? YES. But did I do it? YES. I might still limp around at home, but out presenting myself to the world? I will not be a broken person, having people ask, "What happened, why are you limping?" Likewise, no more "What's wrong, have you  been crying?" I'm not. Not out where you can see, anyway. I save that for mornings, when I wake up and realize what I've lost and it's all fresh and raw. Later in the day is when I can concentrate on all that I have to look forward to, and you will see my game face then. No limping.

P.S. Fellas? Yeah, I'm single again. But... just not right now, OK? I appreciate the attention, but... I need time for just me. I kinda like Belinda again, thanks in no small part to The Cowboy, but also just because of work that *I* have done, and I need time to get reacquainted with her. Thanks.

And now the closing cliche.

"If you love something, let it go. If it comes back to you, it’s yours; if it doesn’t, it never was." I let him go, yes. But I did it from a place of tremendous love and with a sense of giving, not taking. I hope he always knows that, and how much of a place he will always have in my heart.

Where I Lay Down Some Straight Talk On Politics And Offend No One

Yes, it can be done. Watch me.

Election day has finally come and gone, and the people have spoken. This time, individuals won out over huge, moneyed corporate interests, which honestly sort of astonished me, because I thought the Koch Bros. had this thing bought and paid for. Turns out that people on both sides of the aisle largely ignored all that advertising, which is encouraging. We're learning. There is a pretty nice balance at the moment between "red and blue" when you look at the big picture, WHICH IS GOOD. We want that. As much as we act like we hate each other, Liberals/Progressives and Conservatives are forever locked into a symbiotic relationship that CANNOT be broken, or we all die. Dead. As a society, I mean. Not, you know, individually, though I won't rule that out because no one knows what will go down come the Zombie Apocalypse.

There have been  numerous brain studies which illustrate the fundamental differences between the way that a progressive thinker operates and the way that a conservative thinker operates. There are important distinctions, and learning about this is what helped me to love a whole lot more people and welcome more diversity into my own personal "society." Conservatives have a heightened fear-center, which makes them highly resistant to change, while Liberals show high activity in areas that deal with resolving conflict, which makes them more likely to not just wonder what that button does, but to push it and find out. You can see why these two groups NEED each other. This symbiosis goes back to our Paleolithic ancestors and beyond, and is the reason that any of us are even here today. Without the progressives in the tribe, hunter/gatherers would've died out when they depleted their natural resources (kind of like we're doing now, *ahem*), and without conservatives in the tribe, the whole lot may just have been eaten by giant paleolithic bears (laser-bears, if it was in Canada) when they set forth all willy-nilly to find the next place to set up a home.

Conservative or Liberal, you NEED that person on the opposite side of the spectrum. This is why our American system of checks and balances, for the most part, works. Without progressivism, we get nowhere. Without conservatism, we risk going too far too fast. As much as you may think that if only YOUR party were in control of EVERYTHING, that things would be just peachy, that just isn't the case. Without Progressives/Liberals, societal growth would come to a screeching halt, stagnate, and just... die. We MUST progress to succeed and grow. Likewise, without Conservatives to provide some caution and restraint, societal growth would blow up like crazy and before you know it we're all dead by sentient nanobots. Or Daleks. Whatever. Trust me, it's gonna be some whacky liberal scientists who unleash the virus that causes the Zombie Apocalypse, and it's gonna be Conservative corporate interests who fund the research and cover up the results. I know things.

My point is, we NEED each other. All of us. So quitcher bellyachin', and get involved with your neighbor of opposing ideology, and fix stuff together. I'm talking to you, Congress. Well, and everyone else. But mainly Congress.

I would leave you with a seed of an idea: Whatever the MAIN driving force was for you during this election cycle--the thing that really motivated you... take that issue and make it YOURS. Own it. Work for it. On the local level. On the ground. In your own community. Be the change that you want to see in the world. Even small things can make a huge difference, whatever the cause, for or against--green energy, women's & children's issues, ecology, economic reform, health care reform, social security, climate change, lack of poodle representation in local government, WHATEVER. Get involved and make stuff happen. And if you get stuck? Take a look across the aisle, and see what your "enemy" might have to offer. You could surprise everyone.

It's going to be OK.

And All Good Things Must End...Temporarily

 

That right there? Second saddest thing I saw that whole day. It was wonderful, absolutely wonderful, having The Cowboy here. And he extended his stay twice, as long as he could, once for no other real reason than that he saw how sad I was that he was going. He put it off as long as he could, but eventually, when you gotta go, you gotta go. Sad but true. And BOY, was I sad.

Turns out, you can't just cling onto someone and keep them off their plane. I tried. For his part, he was just tall and strong and keeping up a good facade for me (not that it was false, it was just what he chose to show in front of everything else, for my sake), to ameliorate my pitiful sadness at his leaving. Only once did he say out loud, to me, "I'm sad to be leaving," and of course at that point I lost it, but being, you know, skilled in ninja ways and as stoic as a post, I'm sure he NEVER KNEW I was upset. *ahem* 

Listen. About this visit. It wasn't just that we finally got to spend face time together. It wasn't just that he did the manual labor of a crew of ten every single day while he was here. It's not even "just" that I love him, and he loves me, and we enjoy each other and support each other and protect each other. It's that, while he was here, for the first time in a very long time for me, things felt RIGHT. I felt safe. I felt loved (well, that part, I still do. But you know what I mean). I felt at peace, with a centered sort of calmness that has been missing from my day-to-day-existence for quite some time. I SLEPT AT NIGHT, WITHOUT WAKING UP. Let that one sink in a bit, o ye who know of my insomniac history. Him being with me just made everything seem like it was the way it was supposed to be. And that is simultaneously wonderful and a little bit terrifying. Because the obstacles this relationship faces are enormous. It's not just an age thing. It's also a distance thing. A goals thing. A whole bunch of things, that whole universes will have to align and collide with each other to make work.

Now that we've spent a good amount of time together, I really want it to work. He says the same thing, and that he will "do his damnedest" to MAKE it work... and I know I will. But I also know that there are no guarantees in life (BOY, do I know that. Hard). So I'm walking that tightrope between, on the one side, throwing myself wholeheartedly, without reservation, into this relationship with this amazing, unique man, and on the other side, being prepared for all the "what ifs." Because, in my recent history, NOT being prepared for things I never saw coming left me devastated and crushed and broken, and it took a lot of work on my part, and a LOT of Cowboy, to get me on the right track again.

But here's the main difference between the scenarios my subconscious can't help but compare: THIS man has never broken a promise to me. We may have just "met" in person recently, but we've been "together" for a year, exclusively. In all that time, despite ample opportunity, and living over a thousand miles away, about zero chance of being found out if he wasn't, he has been faithful to me. That's more than I can say for the last man who lived in the same house with me. Trust me, all it would take is one tiny betrayal of trust, and on my end, this thing, as good as it is, would be over. I can't live that again. But about THAT, I am 100% unconcerned. If it goes, this relationship, it ain't going like that. This man is man enough to own his agenda and to deal with the consequences before they happen.

He promises to come back soon. He promises that we will give this our best shot, and that if it fails on either side, or both, that we'll remain close, no matter what. He promises much, and so far, has delivered much. So for now, if I fall off that aforementioned tightrope, it'll be on his side. And you know what? He'll catch me, better than any safety net. How do I know? Because he promised. Does this look like a guy who's gonna let you down? Not to me, it doesn't. This is a guy who can take on the world, and swing it by the tail.

That was pretty much the last good look I've had at him, in person, since he left here. And I can't wait for the next good look... and I know that there will be another, and more to follow. Is this relationship a little bit non-traditional? Yes. Is it wonderful, and does it make me happier than I've been in years?
Yes. Yes, it is and yes, it does.

 

Pictured above: The visual embodiment of sorrow, and the FIRST saddest thing I saw all day. This really took it out of me. This is where I started crying, and didn't stop until well after I'd gotten home. I was so sad I got all blurry.

And then I remembered things. Him holding me and making me laugh in spite of myself.

Those eyes, that crooked smile, that look at me, that cocksure attitude that just YELLS, "Everything is going to be great!", ALL FOR ME AND ME ALONE.

 

Most of all, I remember his words. For so long, all we had were words, so they've come to mean a lot, especially considering how they've been kept, on both sides. What he said as he left: "I promise I'll come back. I promise. Okay?" (*sniff, teary-eyed nod in response*) "All right, then. BE HAPPY, DAMMIT!"

And I try harder, and I get braver, and I am happier. Because he helped make me stronger. Because he promised. And that, I can take to the bank.