First, happy new year. Life has been crazy, as you might imagine. Raising twin boys and a man child is exhausting especially during the holidays. I was asleep before the ball dropped and it was amazing.
Forgive me while I deviate from my normal sarcastic posts about crank and spank. Today I need some therapy. Some will argue I need therapy everyday. And they aren’t wrong. I’m looking in your direction, Jason.
I don’t give many chances to people. I don’t tolerate being let down, being used, or being lied to. I don’t give second chances to anyone who has hurt me. I don’t like those things called feelings. They make me feel things and make me cry. You could call this a defense mechanism in order to keep the peace inside my skull.
I didn’t grow up in an overly affectionate family. We cried at funerals but never weddings. We never made a scene and didn’t share our feelings; good or bad. We kept secrets like a good Irish family and never talked about the hard things.
This way of growing up, served me well. There was a lot of turmoil within my household and stuffing it down and away was beneficial for everyone involved.
Until I was in my earlier twenties. Everything came to blows. And my head exploded. I was angry, depressed, lashing out at the wrong people, acting a fool. I walked around with this monkey on my back because I didn’t know how to talk about it, I didn’t want to “upset” anyone. It was easier to stuff that shit way back down where it came from then face it head on.
So I told you I wanted nothing to do with you. I told myself I didn’t need anyone, especially a man who let me down so many times before. I shut down anyone who brought it up. The beauty of living in a small town, everyone knows you but you. My friends knew to stay clear of the subject. My family knew to not bring it up. I was living in my own little world where none of this exsisted. To believe it exsisted, would have made me vulnerable. And if there was anything I learned, it was vulnerability was a weakness.
But somewhere way down there, deep within my soul, I wished you came. I wished wanted to know me. I wished that I had a connection with you. But I stuffed it away. Eventually, I worked through all the anger. Eventually, I let it all go. It is, what it is and I am a better person for going through all of it. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without it all.
Then as quickly as I made the decision to let it all go, you walked back into my head. I put my guard up and was ready to fight. Against all my instincts, I allowed myself think could we? Could this happen? Wonder what he’s like? Wonder if he thinks about me? What will we talk about? How does he feel about all of this?
But then, you didn’t call. So now I’m back to those feelings. The only difference now is that once I close this door, I will never open it again. I will go back to the person was…happy, secure, and funny as hell. I gave you the in. The in to my life, and so far you haven’t taken it. I am impatient person. I am a doer. I don’t understand people who don’t go after what they want. In my head, if you want something bad enough, you will find a way, otherwise you will make excuses.
I will not accept excuses. After 36 years there isn’t an excuse short of you dying that would be appropriate.
I truly hope you call. If you don’t, then that’s your loss.