I feel a bit off today.
The past few days have been very, very, very good days. Actually, the past week and a half has been excellent.
And it’s weird.
I feel like I’ve been sent from one story into another. I’m not used to feeling loved and accepted from all directions at once.
From what I’m working on, to the people I know everywhere, to even my job.
I always assumed I would sink into this feeling, like I belong here. I’ve been waiting for this feeling.
But it feels like I’m dissociating. I’m not a participant in my life in this way, I’m an observer.
I feel this way every time I suddenly have a very positive reputation, and I think it’s because I feel like a fraud. But this time it’s different, because I feel like I shouldn’t feel like a fraud for once. I feel like I am a pleasant person, I feel a little worthy of what people think of me now. I sincerely like myself, I approve of myself.
Once upon a time I was bulimic, and even after I was ‘cured’ there would still be relapses out of nowhere. I would have a really good month, and then some nights I would turn into nearly a robot while going through the motions of it. I would only be half aware as to why I was doing it, I felt like I needed it.
Bulimia seemed to offer, or promise, two things for me:
1. A way to become beautiful
2. A way to control my life when nothing was within my control
It didn’t occur to me that I wasn’t supposed to have the figure of a 25 year-old at age 12.
It didn’t occur to me that being in total control of my life should not be my top priority.
But I’ve always wanted to be stunningly gorgeous, and I have control issues. And when you seem to be made of more emotion than actual matter, it’s incredibly easy to be selfish. It seems like a part of life is learning how to not be selfish. When we’re kids it’s just instinct to be this way, it’s for our survival. Baby cries light up areas of the female brain to act as nails on a chalkboard for us, that make us feel protective, like we have to do something. As we get a little older we feel sparks of empathy. But it’s up to nurture to fully grow what we were given by nature.
Strong-willed child, that was the label they gave me. I think I’ve always wanted to control things. I was so darn bossy. Every unfair emotional reaction felt justified. Because when you feel things intensely, when you’re very young you just assume there must be a darn good reason for feeling what you feel, so you think it’s acceptable to express all of this very loudly and openly.
This turns you into an immature jerk. A very confused, frustrated, immature jerk, because you don’t understand why everyone is so unhappy with you. So you’re unhappy with everyone, including yourself.
My friend, Heather Weather, began raising me in little ways ever since I met her when I was 12 years old. Her bluntness, her sarcasm, her honesty. It had no patience for my bullcrap.
I wouldn’t know how to express to her how grateful I am for being a massive part in making me who I am, this person I’m happy with.
Of all of the superheroes in my life, she was the biggest, the brightest, the sharpest for so long.
And then there’s the human being who has been present enough the past year to accidentally make me the person I am now, the person I’m happy being. I’ve never trusted anyone as much as I trust him. I’ve never admired someone as much as I admire him. His sincerity and intelligence gives me a “That’s what I want to be when I grow up!” feeling. There’s nothing scary about it. But it doesn’t feel simple.
I always expected being in love to feel simple.
But people aren’t simple, so why did I think love would be?
Maybe because it’s this one thing that seems very perfect, and it promises some of the greatest things you can experience in life. And great things seem to be born from simplicity.
And love, real love, love that accepts everything complicated and flawed, seems like it would have the simplest intent. To embrace fully. To envelop completely.
And being a fan of hugs, this seemed like a pretty good deal.
And I feel loved.
More than my feelings I know I’m loved.
I know somewhere someone will think (and probably correctly) that I’m wrong about the definition of the four-letter ‘L’ word. This is what it feels like to me, though.
More emotion than actual matter.
I knew I would always be willing to travel thousands of miles over and over and over again to pursue happiness with someone, and a part of me is very happy to have been able to do that. To know I can say I would do anything for someone and feel as close to certain as possible that it’s true. I want to know I would do anything. That someone else’s happiness really is totally before mine. It would feel like knowing I’ve fulfilled a purpose in life.
I know I’m meant to love and be loved. And I want to know what it is to love fully.
I love the feeling of sitting next to him, and seeing in my far periphery when he looks down to look at me. I have no idea why. I’m sure I could guess if I thought about it long enough. It’s one of the most delicious things.
The greatest adventure. My greatest adventure.
It’s the most interesting, entertaining thing in the universe when he’s explaining something he cares about, or enjoys. I love learning things from him.
I want so badly to know that I am as grateful as I should be. That I’m sinking into all of these things that I have that I don’t deserve. My life is good. I am healthy. Everyone I love is healthy. I have more years ahead than behind me. I am crazy about the minds of the people I know, and the fact that I get to interact with them. I know the best people, the most interesting people. I have no right to be unhappy at this moment.
And I am happy. But I want to be the happiest happy I can be, I want to soak this all in as much as I should. I want to paint a proper ‘thank you’.