Second guessing, a.k.a. freaking the eff out

December 12, 2007

It's hard for me to do those sweet little thoughtful things for him. I naturally would want to give my all to the someone I am involved with. The problem is I already gave my all to someone else in the past. I'm pretty sure I haven't gotten all of myself back yet. Or if I have I'm not ready to give it away again, not for someone new. Those things were always reserved for “him.” He is the one I did those things for. I wanted to do those things for. I'm not ready to give someone else that same treatment. Of course I don't want to give it to him anymore, but that part of me seems to still be reserved for him. I'm getting better. I've gotten a lot back. I don't think I have gotten it all yet. Baby steps.

I'm just not sure and I'm just a little bit scared of how quickly things are moving or have the potential of moving slowly out of my control. I'm afraid of how far I've already let it go. I'm afraid of being afraid. Has it already gone too far? I'm not sure. I'm a little bit freaking out. I want to press the rewind button and slow it down, or better yet, the hold button. I'm getting hit from all different directions...Kevin, Brandon, the ex, John, Alan.... all at once. What do I want? What about my girl friends? I miss them. I miss the time that Jen and I always spent together. I miss her and the company of the girls. I feel like I'm getting caught up in quick sand. As conscious as I am of not wanting to get carried away it’s as if I am regardless. As if it is just naturally happening and is beyond my control.

I want to get back to me and to my friends. I want to get back into the driver's seat. I need to regain control. I don't want to feel obligated to make that phone call, spend that time, do this and do that. I want to do what I want when I want without the slightest feeling of regret or obligation. Some how I feel like I may have surpassed that opportunity a long time ago. I feel envious of women who can remain happy in relationships. Why aren’t they flipping out? Can you go back to being more casual after letting things get a little bit serious? Can you put on the brakes without crashing? I hope so because that's sorta what I want to do.

When I'm feeling distressed I often seek comforting words from other writers. It makes me feel as if I'm not alone.

"I restore myself when I'm alone."

-Marilyn Monroe

Below is an excerpt from author Stephanie Klein's blog (Straight up and Dirty, Moose). I think I'm feeling her pain.

From Greek Tragedy – Stephanie Klein – Sabotage (Is that what I do to myself? More specifically, is that what I did to Alan and I? Did I sabotage out of fear?)

“I’m getting worried. I’m too used to being alone. I like taking over the entire bed. As soon as I find someone I like, I approach the intersection of insecurity and anxious. I’m happy in my own private world, with my small life and circle of friends. I’ve been so afraid of alone, for so long, that I’ve forced myself into it. Here was my take on anything painful: get it over with. Face the worst, so you won’t hate it anymore. I faced the worst of it, and eventually, I became okay at it. I became comfortable with it. It’s happening now. I’m running my life, in such a safe, meticulous way, having learned from everything, playing it safe. And the problem is, I’ve left her behind. The passionate one, the one who’s messy and full of heart, the one who doesn’t run. I miss the me who dives, who’s messy. And lately, I’ve been reaching out to her.

Today, in a hair salon, I checked the horoscopes (which I never do—no really, I don’t. It’s all crap). I still don’t believe in any of it. The point is, I didn’t just check mine. I found myself checking his horoscope. I found myself leaving and finding refuge in Victoria’s Secret for something that matched. Who am I? I’m all of a sudden this girl, some teenage girl with gum and a locker, with shin guards. Fuck. How did I get back to this juvenile place? It’s enervating.

Here’s the thing: I genuinely believe blessings come to our lives when we’re open to receive them. And being open, means being vulnerable. A good home is an open vulnerable one, open to strangers and stories, and to the uncertainty of life. It’s hard when we live in such a cautious time, when we don’t just bolt, we slide chains over our lives. We’re very worried. My heart has a chain-lock door, the kind you can only release from the inside. And, I’m trying it now. But I’ve gotten so used to things, the way they are, set in my ways, in my safe one bedroom life. But, shit, do I really want to get comfortable here? I mean, I was terrified of alone for a long time, but now that I’ve faced it, it’s become more comfortable than “together.” See “together” becomes ‘tragic.’ It becomes, “Shit, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” And I don’t need that anxiety or heartbreak again. It’s easier being me and the dog and the bad dates. It’s easier when things are light, and nothing is at risk. But, I’ll tell you one thing, from a girl who has been on both sides of that… there’s nothing like a messy life. There’s nothing like passion and feeling alive. Sometimes it’s reckless; other times it’s the timing is bad. But when it lasts, it is what will keep you from ever really enjoying “safe.”

Life, I imagine, is filled with struggles over more than who hogs the covers. It’s bloodshed, in-laws, heartbreak, embarrassment, lust, guilt, and The Gypsy Kings. It’s Pina Coladas, extra towels, sex in the middle of the afternoon, flip-flops and calluses you wish you didn’t have.

Just as I became comfortable with running, with the one thing I hated more than tuna fish out of a can, I became more comfortable with alone than with “us.” And whenever “us” is a possibility, I sabotage it. I’m afraid of the one thing I want more than well-done fries. I’m afraid of the one thing I actually want more than anything. It makes me sad.

It’s all about balance, I suppose. Three quarters of the battle is knowing you can’t control anything but your reactions to things. The other bit is timing. Magic and fate is a sprinkle in there somewhere, at a bar where they make your Caesar salad in front of you in a wooden bowl with some Mexicans serenading you with their guitars and Guantanamera renditions. Man, that’s life, with your hair braided, flip-flops, and drunk with the people who make you smile just from thinking of them. I want that life again. It’s worth the vulnerable heartbreak; worth the, “I can’t get up to shower” type of depression. Mostly because I rarely shower anyway.

Today, three years later, I realize what really scared me then: losing myself. Compromise, (something I still HATE to do). Giving in too often or too much. I'm still working on that one. It isn't only an open, vulnerable home, that allows us to lead rich lives. It's an open mind to change, without sabotaging it all with a "that's just who I am, so deal."