I wish the answer to life was as simple as read the book, follow the rules.

I am a girl.  I like just above the knee dresses, summer days, really good bronzer, and freshly shaved legs.  But I pride myself on being that tough girl who likes old sweat pants, rubber boots, unwashed hair, and getting dirty while pushing a rusty chuckwagon in the pouring rain.  Despite what I look like and what I like to pretend I am, I am still just a girl. 

The kind who holds back the stinging tears even when she's alone. 

The kind who falls for stuff and people so hard that it almost always causes pain (this includes ice cream and men).

I have been reading this book, "Why Men Love Bitches", bought for me my a very good friend who sees my constant struggle with boundaries.  I really try to work the principles in the book, just like I do with my blue book that so rigorously outlines how I need to live, but it's hard.  I am that nice girl that goes out of her way to make people happy, that says exactly how she is feeling, that pays for dinner, and that often gets wound up so tight that she inevitably snaps.

I slept with someone and it was different.  Or maybe I was different.  That's it.  It took me a very long time to get even close to overcome my issues regarding the opposite sex.  The need to consistently please or fear being left has haunted me for years.  When I was with this person (C, for generic sake), I didn't feel that need.  Unfortunately, despite every effort to convince myself it was nothing and I could compartmentalize the sex and the feelings and lock the feelings away, I couldn't do it.  It wasn't long before I felt the barrier around my heart start to crumble and I began to have "insane" thoughts like, "I want to hold his hand" and "I wonder if he would have a three B Saturday this weekend!?" 

And then it happened again.  Same person.  Slightly different circumstances.  Even better sex.  Well, give me that euphoric feeling of acceptance and I don't even consider leaving in the middle of night, and I am pretty much hooked.  Half smiles, random flashes of lame things like the color of his eyes and how I catch him looking at me in public.  I was like a fish that is almost caught - squirming uncomfortably, knowing full well that if I pull off, I hurt, and certain if I stay hooked I become dinner. 

Thank God for fear. 

Fear kept me grounded today.  Fear said, "told ya so," when he told me tonight that I'm "awesome" but we need to "cool it for a bit."  Sadly I know that my fear is an excuse.  The fear that I carried with me today that I would be rejected was real; but using fear as a cop out knowledge based excuse is bullshit.  It hurts to be rejected.  Even by someone you were only with twice.  Hurt is a feeling.  Fear is the brains way of dodging that bullet that results in tears creeping out the sides of my eyes and chain smoking until 1am.

I like to be the girl that can go from hurt to acceptance in 3 seconds, or at least I like to pretend to be.  I am smart.  I can work my way through my part pretty quickly and make my hurt a direct result of how I was selfish/insecure/lustful.  But what if part of the solution is getting there.  What if I am supposed to sit back and cry for a minute and feel that rejection?  I don't feel resentment, truthfully.  I trust C a lot after knowing him for a few months and know his reasons for pulling away are valid and I believe he feels like an ass as he claims to.  And I don't even resent myself in the situation.  I hurt.  And that is okay right?  To like someone for a while, and break all the rules in the book about when to text and what to say and what to do and when to have sex, well that makes me human - which is also okay.

I'm usually the girl who acts tough and says the right thing to bandaid feelings and stop the first awkward tear from falling, but tonight I am going to be me instead.  I am going to hug my pillow and maybe cry because getting pushed away brings a lot of feelings to the surface for me.  Tonight I am going to embrace my inner awkward, hurt, kind of scared little girl, and hopefully wake up tomorrow morning and find a renewed sense of purpose.  And if it doesn't come right away, that is okay too.  I think tears are like sleep, we don't get enough and we need them to grow.

Hope is the fire that burns the brightest

I sat at the beach yesterday with a friend who shared with me his zest for life.  We exchanged light conversation about the pros of being single; the freedom to eat what we want, sleep when we want, and watch whichever baseball team we want on TV.  His total confidence in the subject of love and what it means, even when single, gave my relationship status virtue.

I went to a wedding yesterday.  There was a 13 year old girl there (the daughter of the groom) who made a speech so eloquent about love that everyone in the room was moved to tears.  The true definition of love rang from her lips so crystal clear that it made my knowledge of the subject seem utterly inadequate.  The bold observation that one soul without its mate is incomplete, made me question my earlier acceptance.

I carried on a flirty text message conversation in between dreams last night that made me wake up with a smirk on my face so sly that even the Tim Hortons employee seemed to know I had a secret.  I peered eagerly into the future of what was to come of that.

I sat at a meeting today and listened to lady share about her growing pain at 10 years sober- the discovery that she was willing and capable of giving love but terribly afraid of receiving love.  I questioned again what is to come and how do I really feel?

Lately I feel as if I bought a plane ticket to destination that I never seem to arrive at.  I looked boldly into the future when I met C earlier in the year and expected a brief lustful rendezvous; when that expectation failed me, I leaned on the friendship pillar and prayed endlessly for acceptance of that.  Today I over analyze every comment, every text, and every gaze.  I dare to state that I usually know what is coming, because I always have.

When I was with X, I knew what to expect when we got back together.  I knew how the fights would unfold, how the sex would go, and what we would eat for breakfast on Saturday mornings.

I am confused.  I don’t know what is coming, the hopeful side of me finds that very exciting.  The fearful side of me finds that very terrifying.  C is more complex than I ever expected him to be.  I have exhausted all efforts of giggling and even tried the not giggling game.  I am not sure if it is the pursuit of a challenge that makes this so tempting or if it is truly feelings based. 

The power struggle between my ego and God has not allowed me to put C’s name on a piece of paper and turn it over.  Or maybe literally I would, but symbolically I know I can’t.  I can see this plane I am on landing and it won’t be gentle.  I will wake up one day with the ultimate feeling of rejection heavy on my heart and I will hurt.  I will tap into the heart shattering pain I felt the first few times X left.  The crash landing I am setting my heart up for is going to rattle me, but maybe riding this plane is the only thing I can do right now.  I have always been told that “life is a journey, not a destination.” 

But the same author wrote “People destined to meet will do so, apparently by chance, at precisely the right moment.”  So maybe, just for today, I will hold onto hope.