Choosing you or selfish me

 The road stretched out before the truck. I went to speak but my throat closed as I choked on the words and my eyes welled with tears. I looked over and his eyes remained firmly on the road ahead. I turned to stare out the window before he saw the shimmer in my eyes and to fight back the tears that hovered at rims of my eyes and threatened to stream down my face. I focused on my breathing and sights out the window rather than words in my head. 

"Well?" he questioned as his eyes remained fixed on the highway ahead. 

"Just need a minute," I replied in barely a whisper.  

How did I even start the conversation I was having in my head. I felt so lost and so confident at the same time. It was a complete conundrum. 

I felt he was in this with me, but was he really. I believed he loved me, but maybe I was fooling myself. I vowed I would choose him daily, but maybe in holding on, I was choosing me more than I was choosing him; maybe to choose him, I needed to go, let him go. As I thought of those words again, of choosing him and letting him go, my throat closed yet again, and tears threatened again to spill over my eyelids and down my face; it hurt to breathe and my insides felt split in two. Was I being selfish? 

I took another deep slow breath, and exhaled slowly as I regained some composure. 

My voice was shaky and cracked as I spoke, "I wrote a letter." 

"Yes." 

"You didn't respond or comment." 

"I believe I did. I told you it said a lot of what I had already said." 

"I poured myself into it. I bore parts of myself. I tried to open myself. Telling me it contained a lot of what you said is not really commenting on it. I still don't even know what that means." 

Silence as he drove and again my emotions were getting the better of me. I was trying to remember my vow to be open minded in conversation, especially the tough ones; and also my vow for honesty. I believed he loved me. I had seen it in his eyes. Maybe I was seeing what I wanted to see. He had never said it that I clearly remember....I think I dreamt one night he had, but had he really ever said it out loud? If I were being honest, if one of my friends had discussed a relationship like ours to me, I would support them but all the while worry I was wrong in doing so. On the other hand, why did it have to be conventional? Did conventional actually work for people? If we could find our own way, if this worked for us, why did it matter what we should be doing, in place of doing what worked? But, did this work? 

As he let the silence sit and I worked to regain control, I stared out the window. I willed myself to not cry, to not become overly emotional, to regain control of my thoughts and stay on topic. I was not trying to point fingers or make accusations. I was trying to gain information that would assist me with knowing how I should proceed.  

Again, a deep breath in and slowly exhaled, all while willing myself to regain control of my emotions, to quit thinking negative and focus on the positive. 

"I keep hearing you tell me we are either too much alike or too different," I started. 

"Agreed" was the answer in return. 

"I am lost how two people can be both. How we are so much alike it is negative and yet so different it is a negative. I am lost in these statements. I almost feel you are trying to talk yourself out of this.....relationship." I further explained. 

To this, his eyes remained on the road and space between us seemed immense. I only wished to be near him. I wanted to touch his hand, but he was too far away. I truly wanted to be beside him in the seat, but the truck did not allow for it. 

"If a friend told me they were in a relationship where their significant other told them they did not see a future where they would ever be together, I would want to support them, but I would think they were crazy. For us, things work as they are. I hurt when you state you do not see any future for us. I get the complications. I try to keep my requests within reason. My future is all hypothetical, and yet, I was told no. I think when I brought up how much it bothered me, you rephrased."

"I do not see things changing so there would not be a future. When you explained your pain, I explained that in the hypothetical situation you presented, nothing would change between us. Meaning I would not choose you but I also would not walk away. It would just be as it is with maybe a little less complication." 

"I am not trying to point fingers or beat things to death. I am merely trying to explain why I have questions. I am trying to not bury the questions and make assumptions. Yet, when I question directly, often, those questions still go unanswered. Maybe I am better to keep those thoughts to myself and make my own assumptions.
    Am I becoming a drain on your energy? Am I actually choosing you? Is this making you happy at all? Or am I only causing more stress? While I think I am choosing you, am I in reality actually just choosing myself, being selfish, forcing us down a path that makes me happy but leaves you wanting out? I believe you said it and I admitted, I need a lot. I need conversation and interaction. I am not sure you have the time nor the energy for me and what I need. So, I ask again, am I being selfish? Or are you up for the challenge? I will choose you every time, even if it means sacrificing myself. So I will hurt, but if I am not what you want or need, if this is more than you have time or energy to deal with, if you would rather just not anymore, I will choose you and respect those wishes, despite the hurt." 

At this, the tears were streaming down my face and I turned to stare out the window again. I was willing to live by our own rules and not those society feels you need to live by. However, only if we were both committed to the relationship. I was tired of being a burden on everyone, I wasn't going to be a burden to the one person who meant so much to me. I just needed to hear the confirmation that he was in, or that he was done. Either way, I would respect his wishes. I hoped it was he was in, but I much work as I can be, I would understand if he were done. 

I sat in silence, waiting for his response, and trying to not sob while the tears still slid silently down my cheeks. I love him. I only hope he does truly love me back and it is not a lie I have convinced myself to believe. 

Too young

He was close to perfection yet a perfectly fallible teen. Every girl wanted to date him. Every guy wanted to be him. And somehow, she was a part of his world for a small moment in time. She never believed he saw her as anything more than a friend. There was once talk from others of his interest in her beyond friendship, but she would never know. 

She was happy just to share what little company he was willing to provide. She felt comfortable around him. It amazed her that he would enjoy coming to her house and spending time not just with her but her crazy mother and slightly goofy step-dad. Her house was small and old and left a lot to be desired. The carpet, where there was carpet, was still 70s shag orange and gold. The tile was laminate and green or cream, but most of it was cracked and peeling. The bookshelves were over run with too many books. The church pew held too many items for anyone to sit upon it. There were too many records for the shelve with record player to hold them all. Behind her step-dads chair was a dancing Elvis clock. The kitchen table was never used for eating and contained too many items even if it were wanted to be used for a meal. He had been in her cluttered room once, only to see the art work and poems on the walls. 

He enjoyed it at her house and she never understood why. He once said because he felt wanted. She is glad he had that feeling. She is glad she and her wacky family gave him that small comfort. 

At 16, he was the embodiment of perfection. Tall, athletic, blonde hair, and blue eyes. Today, she could not tell you his weight class, but he was a boxer, on his way to the junior Olympics for the second time and so proud. Her parents loved to talk boxing, a dying art they called it, and she always felt the shared interest and intrigue in his life and sport kept him coming back to visit. 

He would use her as a barbell. Looking back now, her body weight was easily 100 lbs less than the weight he used to work out regularly, but she always worried she was too heavy, fat, because she had been told so most of her life. Her brother had used her has a home weight set at a very early age so she knew how to keep her body straight and rigid. She'll never understand truly why he started paying attention to her, why he started talking to her, but she is go glad for the short time she knew him. 

His name is Billy, or I suppose in honesty, William. He died at the age of 16, only months after the friendship began to blossom and only a few short months before she was going to watch him box in the Jr Olympics. She didn't attend his funeral, not many people knew they had grown close and she was afraid of the ridicule from those who'd never understand. In her heart, she was there. 

The story is told his parents were fighting. The fight was getting extremely out of hand. In an effort to make them stop he grabbed a gun. When they still did not stop, he turned it on himself.  His dad tried to grab the gun from him when it discharged in his abdomen/chest. His younger brother, roughly 14 at the time witnessed the event. His parents called 911, but he bled out before they made it to the hospital.  

He was 16. He was kind. He cared about others and had a huge heart, too good for this world. He was an athlete, a brother, a son, and a good friend. He potentially had a great life ahead of him and it was lost too soon. 

I wish I would have seen Billy at age 20, age 30, and now at age 40. I can only imagine him in great shape, doing all he can for those who have less, still being kind to those around him. He was a great example of looking beyond appearances to the heart and soul of a person. We had long late night talks about what lay beyond; the meaning of it all.  Our souls matched each other, much too old and wise for our years. We found each other like we had known each other before and were destined to know each other again. His life and his death were all part of some bigger picture I am not aware of, but I am blessed our paths crossed and we found each other briefly before he was gone too soon. 

Procrastination

 Welcome to the world of yours truly. I am a procrastinator. I always think there will be enough time to finish a project or complete a task, then I become distracted with any number of things in front of me at the time and next thing you know, I am scrambling to complete what needs to be done minutes before it is due. 

Take for instance this evening. I have 7 hour to complete a paper. This paper was to interview 6 professionals and write a brief synopsis of each professional then review their interview questions to write several paragraphs of reflection on what I learned from these professionals. An hour ago, I had two of these six interviews complete. I have another two in process. I will have to go with four of the six and suffer the consequences for the lack of fully completing the assignment. 

As I am sitting here, attempting to put my focus on the assignment, I instead open my blog and begin to type. At the same time, I am looking around my room at all the clutter I need to remove from my life. I am also thinking about my over-run closet and my kitchen table and stacks of mail. My mind is moving from one scene to the next for things I need to do, should have already done, and at the same time, I am trying to focus on my task at hand.

I have just received my third interview. This is giving me hope. I do not think this project will take long. I just truly wish I would have paid closer attention to the requirements three weeks ago. I did not realize I needed to many outside sources to assist with this. I had read it and believed it was all for teaching and educational staff. That was my mistake for reading through it so quickly. 

Well, somehow, I managed to type out my semi completed paper in 6 hours. Actual type time was actually closer to 4 hours. 

I am still looking around at all the procrastination. All the things I keep because I am afraid to let go or move on. I need to start cutting ties with all the extra in my life. I need to be able to look at what I can pack simply and quickly. Eventually, I will move again, so what do I feel like packing and unpacking yet again. And I still have a storage building full of stuff. Why do I hold onto so much? Why can't I let go of the past? 

Rusty

Been a hot minute since I've written. It isn't that I am lacking in material. My imagination always gets the better of me; whether just my anxious spin on real life, my sleeping dreams, my waking fantasies, or just my life that reads like a lifetime movie - I have more than enough material to utilize and write. 

After my last post, my last panic episode, I went for into EMDR. Maybe there is some correlation between the therapy and my lack of words. I am attempting to bring it back; but did my words stem from the trauma? Can I only write when I am dealing with ghosts of my past that keep my screwed up in the head? Is my writing a way to release not just my imagination but also my demons? 

Seems I have a lot of possibilities to explore. 

Speaking of exploring, my life...what am I doing? I should be working on a paper which is due tomorrow, but I am caught up in everything other than school. I need to downsize, but I look around at all the clutter. This isn't who I want to be. Even if I don't downsize, I want to happily invite people into my home, not stress about what they may see if they come visit. 

There is a few new potential friendships in development. I am not sure if it will amount to anything. I do not feel I have a lot to offer anyone. I also feel I need to walk away from old toxic relationships. I have been left so many times, I find it hard to cut those ties. I have so few people in my life, even if it is toxic, I am not sure I can afford to lose anyone from my life.