Monday, March 23, 2009


I love my fiancé with everything in which I am. He is my everything; I would lay down my life in a heartbeat for him. He is so incredible that I cannot even know where to begin. But I seriously feel horrible for this man in which I am about to marry. I don’t think he has any idea as to what he is getting himself into.

However, he did get a small taste of it the other night.

After a long (13 hour) workday, we started the tedious drive home. I was in “one of my moods”. –Now something you need to understand about “one of my moods” is that this is not.. “oh she had a bad day and now she’s on one..” no. This is “she’s been sitting alone all day and had nothing better to think about than all that haunts her and all she hates to let come to the surface.” So when I’m in “one of my moods,” I’m not angry or short. I’m just silent, preoccupied, pensive. When I’m paying attention to the conversation, my responses are simple and without thought. And he caught me. I wasn’t there. Not really. I was in the drivers seat while the rest of me was somewhere else.

I hate not being able to express my emotions. ESPECIALLY when they're emotions due to an experience that no one else comprehends. It’s like trying to communicate to a blind person who only speaks Hungarian. Regardless of what you say or do, you can't seem to relay the fact that if they don't hold their breath and jump, they will die.

And that is exactly how the other day felt. I couldn't explain the situation or what needed to be done to fix it. It was just chaos and frustration.. How can I expect ANYONE to comprehend the emotions that down right baffle me?

However, inevitably, the conversation was directed at me, my mood, and all of my issues. Poor kid, before even had a chance to rethink bringing it up, he was waist deep in my baggage and only sinking further in by the second. He doesn’t know that no one is supposed to bring it up unless I ask to discuss it. He doesn’t know that more than anything in this world, I hate to cry. He doesn’t know that you even think the wrong thing while this topic is at hand and I’ll rip your entire arm off. My poor fiancé, he just didn’t know. But he is to be my husband in less than three weeks, it had to happen sooner or later, and so, within all of fifteen minutes, he knew. He knew how crazy I am, how messed up and unfixable I truly am. He knew of my fears, of my worst dreams come true. He knew what haunts me on a daily basis, and how it effects me. He knew a completely different side, but a very big part, of me.

At one point in time, in the midst of it all, I caught a look in his eyes. A look of fear. And as much as could have easily been a fear of “holy hell, what on earth have I gotten myself into, where can I run where she won’t find me, am I going to die right here, tonight? is there any way I could get that ring back?!” it wasn’t. It was the fear of, how on earth am I going to fix this, how can I help this woman that I love? And even more so, it was the fear of knowing, deep down, that he can’t.

This is a battle that only I can fight. One that I have fought for almost half of my life. One that even those who were there, even those people that lost what I lost, don’t understand how it is. Because we all are different. All of our relationships were different. All of our faith and strength—we’re all different.

I mask. I put up that facade and don’t let anyone see behind it. Nobody even knows that its there, that is how good I have gotten at it. They can look straight into my eyes, and only see themselves, starring back at them through my pupil.
I smile. A lot; even when it’s killing me. I’ll laugh and have a gay old time just making everyone else think that I’m doing far better than I really am.
I move. I keep busy through everything. I go out, i dance and sing with my friends. I go to breakfast at village inn and lunch where ever we can go that only takes ½ an hour because Millard West is retarded. I have dinner at my friends before going and having a movie night or dance party. I keep my mind off of everything as best as I can. And if still, this isn’t enough.
I hide. I hide in my room, turn up my music, burry my face in the pillow and cry. I cry because I’m alone. I cry because I hate being vulnerable. I cry because I remember what used to happen when I was little and something would make me cry. I cry because I’m not laying my head on my mom’s lap as she plays with my hair and tells me she loves me to try and calm me down. I cry because I’m hurt, frustrated, pissed, flustered, lost, confused, and sad.

But TK didn’t know any of this; after all, most people don’t. In fact, the most that a lot of people know is that I deal with it on my own. There are a few that know that if I want to discuss it, I’ll come to them. And even then, it normally consists of me just sitting there, a tear running down the cheek, needing someone to hug. I don’t want anyone to tell me that they understand or that what I am going through is normal because no one understands and no one should have to because it ISN’T normal.

I will outlive my baby sister –my first roommate, my best friend—by a lifetime. She hadn’t even lost her lisp yet and her outfits were always too big and mismatched because she loved wearing her older sisters and even mom’s clothes. My mom doesn’t get to help me put on my wedding dress in less than three weeks as I get ready to walk down the isle to marry the man of my dreams, the love of my life. My sisters don’t get to be my bridesmaids and stand in the circle to catch the bouquet. This is NOT normal. They should be here, living the amazing lives that they deserve.

And I live with all of this. Everyday. Knowing that each day that they are gone, my memories fade faster. I feel horrible. They should be unforgettable and yet I have to strain my brain for hours just to come up with something. It’s horrible. They deserved so much more. I needed more time with them, it was too short.

And now, my husband-to-be, is being forced into a life in which I have had 8 years to adjust to… if you could even call it adjusting. But he has to adjust to not being able to do anything other than be there, tell me he loves me, and hold me while I cry. I pray that I won’t scare him away with my baggage. That it won’t suck him up like quicksand and suffocate him. But I couldn’t blame him if he did. Its too much to not be able to handle. But I have to. Everyday.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Popular Posts