In the beginning, the very beginning, when nothing was expected and no demons flew out of their dark hiding places, I knew that he loved me. It was the look in his eyes that sliced into me, gripping my heart with intensity, asking me if I was the one. And I looked back, saying “yes, I am. Yes, I am and where have you been?” In one moment the walls we built for ourselves crumbled and we sat together, staring at each other in uninhibited bliss. And one moment leads to the next and to the next…and suddenly we find ourselves lost, wondering what the hell happened?.
In my youth I imagined love as a fairytale existence…every moment spent in exaltation and giddiness. A land of never-ending romance. I dreamt of a big, fancy wedding with hundreds of guests, walking down the aisle in a big, beautiful princess dress on the grounds of a majestic house (which I might even own, of course). I picked names for my babies, even before I had ever been on a proper date. I have always been a hopeless romantic…which is funny, because I have also always been shy, self-conscious and ridiculously awkward around men.
He and I clicked instantly. There was no awkwardness between us when we met, most likely because we were drunk as hell.
At the party, I ran around the party bragging to my friends about how I hadn’t smoked in a month. This was to be my one last blow-out with my friends before I went on the wagon to take the time to clear my body and mind. I had been on a path of personal betterment the months prior to the party, and it was something I really wanted to continue. I wanted to cut back on my drinking, not that I was a horrible drinker, but I always used drinking as a crutch, especially in social situations. There is nothing like alcohol to quell social anxiety (then again, there is nothing like alcohol to help make yourself look like an ass). In fact, all of us at the party could throw down a drink…or ten.
At some point the boys began shot-gunning beer. For those who don’t know what shot-gunning is…you turn the can of beer upside-down, and puncture a hole in the can where the pocket of air is inside of the can. This helps the beer flow faster (and of course you want to use cheap beer because you will chug this, and absolutely cannot waste good beer by chugging). Then, on the count of three, everyone participating pops the can open and you chug, trying to out drink your competitors. Now, I am have always been competitive, especially when it comes down to the sexes, and I would be damned to let any of those boys beat me. Well, so-and-so beat me, but he always wins so I wasn’t concerned about it. I came in second. At this point, my males friends are mad, so we must have a rematch…and then another, and then another…
Needless to say, I was drunk, and I needed a cigarette. I had seen Him earlier at the party and paid no attention to him. He was cute, but not really my type, and cigarettes had not been the only thing I had given up in the prior month. Men were also an unhealthy addiction, and almost as carcinogenic as my cancer sticks. I had finally stopped looking to meet anyone, and I was not about to get into any more trouble that evening. But He had cigarettes and I had none. And I was drunk. And I really really really needed a cigarette! So I asked him for one. He barely gave me a glance and handed me his pack and I excitedly skipped to the backyard when I could partake of my gift.
Moments later, He and a friend sauntered outside and sat next to me, lighting up themselves. This is when I first got a real look at him – we was wearing a plain red T-shirt and black and red plaid shorts, for which he repeatedly got shit for throughout the evening, and dirty, worn Chuck Taylors. He had the goofiest smile, looking ostensibly Celtic, specifically like a happy drunk Irish man at a pub. His blonde hair was buzzed close to his head (which I wouldn’t realize until months later made him look like a baby bird, he had gorgeous hair when he finally grew it out), and his light green eyes squinted from behind his huge grin. I took note, but did not pursue. And to my surprise, neither did he. I was sure that huge grin of his meant he was going to make a move of some sort. But, no bother…maybe I could just have a little fun with him.
Meanwhile, at this point I am hammered, with no sense of right or wrong or social niceties…besides I was at the house of some of my closest friends. I could make the biggest fool of myself there and they would love me anyway, and vice/versa. Where is that little man with the cigarettes, I wondered, and began to search the house, then backyard. I found HIM out by the fire pit the boys had set up in the furthest end of the backyard smoking a cigarette with a beer in hand. I sauntered over and sat in his lap. Why? I don’t know…it seemed like the right thing to do at the time. And I guess it was. What surprised me at the time is that He made no special note of it. I sat, and he put his arm around me as if we had done it a thousand times before. And when I made a move to find a chair (after obtaining said cigarette) he gently and calmly took me by the hips and pulled me back down. Nice. Strange, but nice.
Strange because I don’t do that with people I don’t know. Strange because it somehow felt familiar and comfortable. Strange because it was not how the night was supposed to happen. So, instead of making a big deal about it, I gathered my things and prepared to leave. I almost escaped him, but I suppose fate brought him back into the house as I put on my coat and he planted himself square in front of me.
“Are you leaving?”
“Yes, I need to get some sleep. It was nice to meet you though.”
“Well…I’m basically going to just be sleeping here in the dirt.” He said.
I, a little shocked, ”are you inviting yourself over?”
Without hesitation “yes.”
Wow. That took balls. How do you say no to that? And so I didn’t. Instead, he slept on my dirty futon mattress on the floor of my dirty studio apartment. And we slept well.
The two of us recognized that we had never before felt so comfortable with someone. From then on out we were inseparable, rushing to leave our other obligations to be with each other and finish of a pack of beer or a couple of bottles of wine, leaving behind the reality of the outside world for a while and playing about carelessly in the world we had created ourselves. Together we were happy, we were comfortable. We were right for each other.
Some months later….
It is a cold winter night in Los Angeles. I sit on the porch of our tiny guest house waiting for Him to come home from work. I spend many evenings like this, alone on the porch, smoking the cigarettes I keep promising to give up, racked with anxiety about when he is coming home, whether or not he is really at work who he talks to when he is gone. Of course he is at work, there is nowhere else he would be but work or home. But I fret anyway; it is a developed pattern. The air is clean and crisp – it has rained all day, giving the L.A. sky a much-needed shower, washing away the toxins of society. I, on the other hand, consume my toxins with greed, filling something in myself that is missing. I don’t know what it is, but I have spent the past few days searching for it. Somewhere, somehow I have forgotten that everything I need is right there inside of me. I just need to trust that it is, know that it is.
We have been fighting for a month, in a way, clearing the air between us, only to find more hidden corners and crevices filled with dust. We scramble desperately for the metaphorical Clorox, looking for the magical solution to make our relationship shiny again. Desperate is our love for each other, yet in our journey together we have learned that love is not enough, a solid relationship takes work and patience, and give and take from both sides. We have learned that love behind a window of intoxication is distorted and unstable, and although it is not false, it hides the slate that still needs to be wiped clean in order to move forward. We love each other desperately in an attempt to fix each other instead of turning inward and declaring what part of this mess is mine? What do I need to take responsibility for?
My anxiety is self-induced. I forget that I have a choice in the matter. I have a choice to either change what I can control, to change my own behavior…or to walk away. I can’t walk away. The thought of it kills me.
I also can’t continue to live in fear and behave the way I behave because of that fear. It is not fair to either of us.
Flash forward a few months…I am alone in the tiny house. The dog still sometimes sits on the edge of the bed looking towards the door, wondering when his master is to come home. I sometimes stay awake at night listening for the sound of his car. My chest is heavy with sadness and regret, and I pray for something to life the weight, for I can’t seem to do it on my own.
Love is not enough to make a life together. I ride through the earthquake of loss…the denial, the grief, the anger…my instinct is to blame but there is no one to blame. Sometimes two people do not fit together no matter how much they think they want to fit together. The mistake is to try to make it fit.
What has happened, specifically, does not matter. For some time, we lived in that fairy-tale world of love and lust, and when we stepped into the reality of the relationship we were forced to not only see each other in a new light, but to see ourselves in a new light. The more serious our relationship became, the more we saw just how much we didn’t compliment each other.
I can only speak for myself:
Mistake #1: Those things that I found questionable in the beginning of our relationship I was willing to disregard because of my infatuation, hoping that they would change in time.
Mistake #2: I didn’t follow my instinct. I hoped that I was wrong.
Mistake #3: I wasn’t honest with myself about what was important to me.
Mistake #4: I asked him to change. When he didn’t change, I asked him again. And again. And again. And so on.
That was my bad.
I look back on the times when we tried to control each other, and see that it only lead to resistance. I look back on the times we tried to change each other, and see that it only lead to resentment. In some ways it is fortunate that we both jumped ship before the conflict escalated into a full-blown rage.
Despite my anger and frustration about certain circumstances, I think of him and I feel the void that was once occupied by not only a lover, but also a friend and confident. The closest person to me in the history of my life. Despite the conflict, he will always hold a special place in my heart. Just because we were not a good fit does not mean that we didn’t care.
Lastly, I must, for myself, look back on the band-aid called alcohol that we used to cover our wounds. Clearly, it was a reoccurring theme here. Am I an alcoholic? Not really. Do I drink too much? Sometimes. The important question I now ask myself, is why am I having this drink? Because from here on out I don’t want to use it as a crutch or an elixir that makes me forget or….not feel. Or a potion that alters my behavior. I want to be me at all times, I want to be honest with myself and with others at all times. I want to be healthy and happy without the “Happy Juice.” It’s possible, it really is.
I do not presume to know everything about people or relationships and how we function. I can, however, take the lessons I have learned and apply them as I move forward into the next relationship that awaits me. Those lessons are also applied to friendships, and generally, how I relate to others. I know more about what I want, I know what I can’t compromise on, and I know that I can’t allow myself to compromise just for the sake of being “with someone.” In relationships, as well as other areas of life, we must know what we want and work to achieve our goals. I still feel the pain of my loss, and I may for a while longer. But I must also be confident that I have grown from this experience, and will be the better for it when “the next one” comes around the bend. Who knows…he could be “it.”
