(Note from July 2023: the relationship that provoked this post ended with them withdrawing after a few months. I took things from the experience, grieved, and moved on. I’m declassifying this now because it no longer hurts me enough to fear posting it.)
I never noticed how much of my life was ruled by fear until recently. How much of a coward I can be. Looking back over my life, fear has always warred with love. And, usually, won.
It makes sense, you know. I’ve generally considered myself brave, but how can you be brave unless there’s something to be afraid of? Something to strive against. Something to be brave despite?
I’ve spent the last year of my life in circumstances that, honestly, are miserable. But they do pay the bills. For now. And now, on the tail end of it, I’ve recovered enough from the tragedy of my failed marriage to really, deeply care about somebody else. To feel joy in their presence, enjoy their quirks and their passion and really see the beautiful parts of their personality. To see, through their eyes, the beauty of the world around me.
Nothing will come of it, I’m sure. There are a lot of factors against anything serious coming of it. But it’s so beautiful and the feelings are so good that the idea of losing them apparently shook my unconscious so badly I started resorting to unhealthy behavior in an effort to prolong it… frankly, in circumstances that weren’t really even threatening to the relationship.
I feel ashamed. And small. And so, so weak.
My therapist would say, with a supportive and encouraging smile, “Well, it looks like you’re still human. And that’s okay.” And she might also point out, after so long being miserable, it makes sense to be desperate to keep that kind of joy close.
But I’ve always wanted to be better than human. To not fall prey, over and over, to the same stupid mistakes. To be done with it eventually, and just be able to live unhindered. It’s why I’ve worked so hard on self-improvement. It’s why I try so hard to be kind to others. I want to break limits.
It’s an impossible dream, of course. Until, perhaps, God comes again, I’m stuck being human and having to forgive myself and making mistakes and having to be kind to myself as well as others.
But I have to try.
realisticautistic 