Everyday Stranger

The Bottom of the Well

I used to think that our lives are defined by who we are, where we go, what we achieve. That, in some way, a list of accomplishments and clear-cut milestones would be indicative of some kind of success in life. Some kind of acknowledgement that we have made it, that we have the brass ring.

The older I get, the more I have decided that who we are is defined by how we love.

When I look at the skewed path that is my life, I can pinpoint 3 men that I have loved very much. And it's not like there's a finite amount of love in there. It's not like an allocation of resources-just because I gave it all to one of them, it doesn't mean that the well is empty. In fact, the well somehow gets miraculously refilled. Maybe the love is slightly more bitter, maybe it is somehow more fragile, but it's there. Fishes and loaves of bread, or the incredible well of human emotion-the principle is the same.

In case you haven't interred it from my blog, I have a lot of problems. You wouldn't believe it maybe, but in my real life I simply cannot talk about my feelings. In some way, I feel that to talk about how I think and feel is to let you into my life, and nothing in the world is worse than letting someone into my life. If I tell you how I feel, you may get to know me. If you get to know me, then you may like me. If you like me, you may love me. And if you love me and leave, then I won't be able to handle it.

So I'll just circumvent the process. I'll lie to you and not let you get to know me. I'll make sure that you can't ever get close enough to get inside, and in that way I will always be safe.

Lonely.
But safe.

Only my arms-length process got skewed when I started my blog. And when I started talking to Mr. Y and found out that I just can't lie to him. I just started talking and started writing, and I haven't been able to shut the fuck up since. A whole lifetime of mental monologues are finding their way out, and in that way, I feel like a new person somehow.

Add on to that this enormous emotion I have for Mr. Y, and I am a new person in many ways. The breadth and depth of my emotion for him is incredible, and yet sometimes I still can't reach out and tell him what I am thinking, not because I can't talk to him, but because I am not sure of what the sounds are like when they leave my mouth. Maybe we're sitting on the couch and I feel an overwhelming flood of warmth for him, but I keep it to myself. To tell him is to open myself to ridicule, a joke, or worse-lack of acknowledgement (even though he would acknowledge it, if only with a squeeze of the hand). And a few times I will feel a wave of sadness band my chest up over the trauma of my divorce, but instead of talking about it, I just bang it back down into the tin can of my heart and close the lid tightly.

Mr. Y and his brothers have a hard time with his Stepmother. She has been the source of much discourse in their lives, and it startles me sometimes when I hear about her. It startles me, because she and I are actually very much alike. We both are very friendly but hard to get to know, so that we come across as cold. We don't trust people. We both have phobias. We both are foreigners in England (she's from Australia) and we both came in and broke a family apart.

And I don't want to be that person forever.

It startles me sometimes that Mr. Y knows me so well. I will point to a fruit smoothie that looks good, and he replies: "But you don't like bananas." I hadn't noticed that it had bananas in it, but even more, I find that I love that he knows I hate them. Does it always feel this wonderful to have someone know you? Is that thrill down the back a thrill of familiarity, of contentment of being part of something?

Do you know all of my secrets? I think, looking at him as he moves about the bedroom, feeling hot flashes of lust oozing through me.

Do I even know all of my secrets? I think.

But to be honest, the kind of love that I am low-on is love for friends.

I wish I could say that in my real life I have an amazing circle of friends that I can call and can meet up with if I need to talk, need a drink, need a laugh. Although I do have a few wonderful blog mates that I can email with, it's simply not the case that I can just make a phone call and have a posse of people to commiserate with down at the pub. My friendship circle consists of two men that I love dearly. I have two other men and one woman on the periphery that mean a lot to me and since they live in other countries we email, but I hardly ever see them. When the going gets rough, the Helen gets quiet and rides the waves outside of myself, watching myself in the movie that is my life, until the going is ok again.

But I understand that I need to change. That it's ok to have friends, and it's ok to open myself up a little bit. Just because someone gets to know me, it doesn't mean that if they leave I'm worthless.

Maybe it just means they had to leave.

Walking around IKEA with Mr. Y yesterday and having to absorb the absolute enormity of what we need, it came to me. At the ages of 42 and 30, we are starting all over again. For me, this will be the 4th time that I have had to start from scratch, and you know what? While the idea doesn't thrill me, it's not a symbol that I am a failure. It's not a symbol that my life isn't worth living. It's not a poignancy telling me that I haven't made anything of myself.

It means that I have had to leave, too.

So I will buy a trash can, a hot pad holder, a bed, a couch, and a dresser. I will start all over again, and maybe someday I have to start all over again again. I have my own internal furniture arranged in my heart, pieces and accessories that are what I need to get me through. Memories of the men I love, and snapshots of the places I have been.

And maybe I need to try to start talking to people. Letting them in. Trusting them. Who the hell knows where it leads-maybe it makes me worse off than before. But at the same time, the only things I know are this:

- It feels wonderful to talk.
- It feels wonderful to have Mr. Y know me so well.
- I have enough love to go around.
- And if I ever have to start over again, how wonderful to have some help and love, too....

-H.

Posted by Everydaystranger at May 19, 2004 10:00 AM | TrackBack