This is what I hate about love and intuition and imagination.
I see myself as weak, becoming brainwashed and my well-being dependant upon your validation. Like a drug better than any other, talking to and texting you all day long getting your responses, it’s a buzz. The chemicals my body creates are amazing. I feel joy and vitality and arousal almost constantly.
Then you disappear with no word for 11 and a half hours,and counting. (How stupid of a short time is that?)
My imagination starts positive with, “his phone is dead” then quickly moves to “no, it’s turned off because he is with someone else.” Then, “Lord I hope he didn’t get a DUI.”
“No! Don’t think of that! Go back to the girl scenario that is better than anything that would damage his reputation and job prospects.”
“Is it really? Cause then you have to look at yourself smartie pants”
“His phone is dead. Just have faith his phone is dead. I love my love…”
“This is nuts you know? He is just a man and your life doesn’t depend on him for anything”
“But I want it to…”
“Don’t be sheepish! You are surrendering too much, AGAIN get the fuck out of a relationship that makes you like this!”
I feel totally unrealistic because the more I look at myself the more fucked up and fragile I see my mental health. Like, Damn. I hope I have a brain tumor or some shit that is making me feel AND ACT this crazy, “maybe you should sse a doctor, Ms. Responsibly Independant?” but soon I am gonna be dead and not have to worry about a Damn thing any more, so, “YAY! No doctors!”
As cuddly and sweet as my pain-in-the-ass dog is, I want another person beside me. Right now that is you, darling, but instead I know not where you are or your state of being. It is almost unbearable. Particularly after these three days of talking over polyamoury, monogamy, trauma, relationship patterns (this is why I suggested counseling btw, someone to help us learn more ways to navigate such deep waters) these three days have been EXHAUSTING. There is this turmoil inside me that I can only distract from but can’t truly turn my focus to anything else.
And then he messages me. Somehow he makes me laugh, by mocking but encouraging my frustration and writing outlet. We write. We connect. We share new ideas and masturbate together. He gives me “the fix” when you cannot. He is my calm, you are my strength. He is my safety, you are my adventure. There is not a face of me for each of you, you each reconcile me with contradicting parts of myself.