In the first hour of 21/12/21 - realised that I need a refresher on love.
Can you tumble backwards? Does barreling down a familiar hole make things scarier, or more comforting? Last time was so rushed, and before I knew it I was ensnared in this weird fixation. My emotional state became tied to someone. That’s bound to disappoint just about anyone. I don’t even really remember what made me trust this feeling the first time around, what Rebecca Bunch would liken to “glitter exploding inside of me”. I just looked up and there he was, looking at me with the same curiosity.
That was before, this time it felt discovered. Like finding a cool rock, and then you turn it over, to find a gorgeous pearl underside. The way he talked to me as if there was nothing else more interesting. I apparently did too, as both Tristan & Marwan just looked at each other and walked away. The conversations shifted organically, a comfortable if overexcited rhythm took shape. I explained what I did. He didn’t need to since the camera was around his neck. The phone trick did it, and he knew that.
I don’t want to just tell the story here, it would just feel matter of fact. What I want to tell, is some of the painful stuff. To address the obvious, he can very easily read this & know it’s about him (Hi Tarantino 👨🏽💻) so that’s not the easiest audience to write for. To be quite honest, I’m not sure what made me write this entry. I wasted an hour on my phone because we’d said goodnight. A desire to let everything out kicks in when I’m around him, though I know somethings wouldn’t be worth it in the end. The question probably driving this story is does this mean I’m lying?
The notion of having to bare my soul for someone new is daunting. Getting hurt is one thing, but hurting someone else makes you feel that pain 2 times over. Could be labelled overthinking, but maybe I just enjoy philosophical musings over grey morals. Because I definitely have stuff I don’t want to rehash. In all honesty, I thought I would have more single time to work through some of them on my own terms. Now someone’s come in and me care about them. Never-mind that just 2 months before meeting them, I was angry crying over Adrian. Is that enough time to re-learn how to love someone? At least to love them in the way that’s best for both of you. I couldn’t tell you my love language if I wanted to, because I don’t know.
I love that he makes me feel special, and that worries my ego. I think back on a night after a shoot, when I thought me wanting to be intimate was a form of seeking male validation. That was back in September, when I hadn’t started the new job yet and my days felt a bit empty. As if sex would’ve even filled that gap if I had made a move. What does an FWB validate? That I’m attractive? That I’m worthy of being slept with? So I just went home, but we could even flip that. What does saying no an orgasm validate? That I’m somehow stronger than my vagina? Please.
It’s now been 45 minutes of straight writing. I don’t know how this came up suddenly, I’m not exactly the believer of sudden it bursts of inspiration I used to be. I haven’t even written in here since that last entry on The Funk, about a different kind of male validation seeking. I guess I have a pattern.
During November I told Farida I wasn’t ready to be a girlfriend again. I still feel that way sometimes, especially when I get the fight or flight feeling from moving to Norway. I love him, but I didn’t take the jump for love. Sounds fucked to say, but I don’t trust love like that anymore. I took the jump for him, because I felt like he was worth it. You’re probably reading this & going “you dumbass, that is what love is”. But love just makes me think about the blind emotional investment I made in Guildford. How intense and unhealthy it was. I was inseparable from my love. It didn’t feel like a relaxing cup of cocoa by a fire, but actually like a drug I needed to get through my day. Those times I had no choice but to be separated from love, like when he had jury duty, were so good for me internally.
To end with, I don’t want to keep secrets. I want to be the most open book for him, but I don’t want to hit that one detail that sets off everything going downhill. The point of no return kernel of information. The one that gets fixated one, and becomes a scab I pick at when I’m feeling bored or toxic. I’m trying to watch myself, I’m scared of love the same way I’m scared of a cold shower. He feels right.
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