No More Feelings
When I met D my whole world paused for the briefest of moments, I think so I could breath. I was 27, he was twenty years older than me, and we were both married. I married young to a man whom was so in love with me I came to believe that must be what love is. He was solid and safe and I no longer had to feel the terror that the idea of love created in me, the panic that arose when I felt anything like it. I was a genius.
In a flash D reminded me of all the reasons I had avoided feeling, but it happened so fast I didn't have time to think, my brain didn't care, my body didn't care. I was awake. I was drugged. I didn't think to ask him, I assumed it was the same for him, I couldn't fathom that it couldn't be. It was a beautiful story I wanted to hear. It should not be a surprise that he broke my heart. Of course he did. We were in entirely different stories.
The gift of our time is that I came to realize that I was capable of loving, even if I was still entirely unsure I could be loved by someone whom really saw me. I imagine that is the worst part, rejection from someone you think actually knew you, had witnessed your broken pieces and seemingly accepted them.
So when I fell in love again I crawled into it, I laid down to nap in its very lap and held my hands over my ears when the warnings came, the harbingers of the hard road this love would be. I often think I am still there on some level. Waiting, blotting out the light that will show me the house of sand I have built.
I watch as the pendulum swings past again, I notice that once again my brain sees feelings as a natural enemy, something to be discouraged or attacked, something I am not meant for. This time I reluctantly agree.