Imaginary choices, Imaginary Lovers’, Hmm, so here I am again, relying on my trusted companion–my writing to get me out of a good mind fucking. You know, I do this thing—(I) write problematic monologues and then try to fight my way out to change the ending. My last blog post, “Hope Is A Decision” talks about a choice I was faced with and how the decision I made felt like a new birth for me. And in typical form what did I do with that information? I formulated a new scenario–one that contradicts my stance by creating another internal- riddle to solve. And of course it overrides my previous decision. Wow, aren’t I precious?
The choice I made –that changed who I am in a small way at my core level–was to act against my habitual, worn-out, go-to behavior in favor of opting for something new. The story goes like this: In my head, whether reality, or perceived as such (regardless, it was real for me) I saw a slight crack of an opportunity to begin the process of working towards trying getting back together with _____________. This came to me through lines in between the lines of her texts. She used some strong-love-language, she said, “I love you deeply.” and the honest truth is that she does in fact love me. However, she also mentioned the things that she says, “Separates us.”
I saw one of the obstacles she was referring to that keep us apart as an opening– a crevice under the door, I could’ve yielded by flattening myself like a rodent to get inside. In my mind to do this I would’ve had to tell her that I accept something (a situation with someone the way it is) that doesn’t feel good to me. I would have to apologize for my feelings, and for giving—what felt like to her–an ultimatum. However, I made the decision not to do that just to win her back. I didn’t try to manipulate her, or formulate a master plan around my theory.
Now here’s the deal, I could be delusional. You know that door I mentioned above? Well, it could be weatherproofed and shut solid, but the facts remain the same, (I) saw a place to crawl under–real or imagined; and I chose a different direction. The old Shannon would’ve scurried around scratching to get in at all costs, including my dignity, which is different from humility–Lord knows this break-up humbled my sassy ass–, but the fresh-skinned me—the me that is trying to nurture myself– made the choice to stop fighting against hope. This doesn’t mean that I won’t battle for love; it just means that I have to love myself enough first by honoring what is right for me. And that’s where the hope is; the hope is in me.
Hope tells me that no matter how much I love that little red-head, I have to be willing to stand up for myself and listen to the voice inside that tells me what works for me and what doesn’t. I used to believe that loving her was “for me” and that I had to learn to accept and deal with everything that came, as my friend would say, “With the price of admission.” To be with her, but that isn’t the case. When loving her became too painful for me because of her life’s circumstances, is when loving her became something that “wasn’t for me.” And let me tell you, I tried. I really tried to accept her choices. I have been working so hard on myself for a few years now, and on surrendering the things about ___________, and life in general I can’t control. I finally realized that I couldn’t accept the situation with her that didn’t feel good to me– and be in a relationship with her at the same time. It just didn’t work for me. So yeah, I asked for her help, probably not in the nicest way. Which to her felt like an ultimatum. And maybe it was to some degree but it was my truth. I needed her to change–not end (her relationship with someone) in order for me to be ok in (our) relationship. Was this right of me? No. I can’t expect other people to change; I can only change myself. Was this my way of giving up? I don’t know. However, I do think it was cowardly on my part, but I did the best I could. The only options left for me were to end it, or ask her to compromise with me, but I didn’t want to give up on the relationship; I love the girl, but I suppose breaking up would’ve been a more noble act. Instead I challenged her and I lost her because of it; and the pain mentioned above was magnified two-folds: One because I lost her and two because I felt like she was taken from (us) by, what for me, was the most difficult aspect of our relationship.
(And I bet her story– her side of the playground parallels mine in regards to my life. I don’t blame her at all for having a hard time with me; I would feel the exact same way or worse. I understand and respect her feelings about my life, it just makes me sad because it isn’t something I can compromise or change. Maybe I could’ve dealt with it differently, but I can’t remove the reality of it, and I’m sorry for this, and other things I did that hurt her.)
She has always said, “You’ve never been able to see that I’m right in front of you.” Maybe she’s right, but I couldn’t see what I couldn’t see. But the irony is this: I know for certain she loves me. I still feel the love even in our break, maybe more than before. You know that thing, fucking retrospect? So why isn’t this enough?
Which brings me to the next problem I conjured up just to keep my head spinning at warp-analytical-speed. I heard a story about someone having the C- word. I went down the dangerous road of “what-ifing.” In this scenario I told myself that if one of us had C and were given only 6 months to live there was no doubt in my mind that we would be together. I know this without even _________ agreeing to it–this sick fantasy–because I just know it to be true. I know she would feel the same way if given this imaginary choice, this imaginary chance at (our) love again.
However, back at the Reality-Ranch, and thank God we are all healthy, we don’t have to make those decisions. In real time everything is the same, even when I slip into chapters of denial my feelings remain the same. So what does it all mean? Why do I make up stories to cope with my life? My only answer is this: I dream, write, and story-tell because I don’t like the truth. I don’t want to hear the real version of what’s happening. I am refusing to accept my reality when I write a script that changes the ending of my story or who I am.
This is insane, but I have hope that love will seep through my layers and levels of denial, and that I will eventually know, and feel and accept the truth. Until then, I have nothing left but my imagination, and she always sees me through the darkness and into the light.
Love and hug each other at every given moment.
As always, thank you for reading, and for adding your good energy to my light.