My recent delirium of joy has been thanks, almost entirely, to him. To his kindness, his understanding, his love. I've been in a state of bliss that is entirely alien to me. Even in my most contented, my most relaxed, I have a habit of always waiting for the other shoe to drop... enjoying my pleasures, but expecting that something will happen to screw it up. The degree of joy he's brought me is such that I can't even bring myself to speculate, even idly, on what might go wrong. I simply don't care. I feel that nothing can go wrong, which, in this world, ensures that something will, and I don't even care about that. With that convolution, it's easy to see how this might be a bit unsettling... if I could bring myself to feel unsettled.
This condition is so strange, so unprecedented, that it's prompted something of a split in my psyche. I feel as if I'm two. On one side, the Rhain who is giddy, blissful, ecstatic, truly in love for the first time and drunk with the rapture of it. It feels like a really good punch to the head, that same zinging feeling and the dizziness, and that part of me never wants it to stop. This girl is emotional, open, vulnerable, passionate, wild with astonished elation, nervous but ready to drown in this sensation.
On the other side is myself as I usually am... a solitary girl who likes her solitude, who feels a certain sense of relief when she has her head to herself, no matter how lonely the condition. Someone cold, aggressive, a force of nature with a reputation for being both incorruptible and unresponsive. Someone effective, strong, nearly fearless, and fiercely guarded.
There are aspects of this side of myself that I like. That I need, really. I have a need to be strong, to be effective, efficient, capable. To be straightforward and unstoppable, a juggernaut of will. But it's at odds with the other part of me, the part that is so in love, and there are parts of that side that I very much need also--the vulnerability, the passion, the joy, and the naked adoration for a man who is every inch worthy of every ounce of that love. I need both of these sides in harmony, but more--I need them to be one. Unified.
For this week, and next, I intend to plunge with all my heart into loving this man as he deserves, as we both so desperately need. This sensation, this unspeakably precious connection, is new and beautiful, and for this time I can let my mind fly into it devil-may-care, as I yearn to do. But after that, I've an appointment I can't break, and one that will be a turning point for me and for him--I'll be gone for three weeks. Twenty-four days. In that time, I'll write occasionally, but it won't be often. The isolation will be nearly complete.
A terrible fear rises in me at this... part of me doesn't yet know what to make of it. As I sit here, and it's late, and I know B is in bed as he should be at this hour, I also know that when I came home late tonight and missed talking to him I felt a frighteningly physical reaction of distress. It hurt, my very skin hurt. Knowing he wouldn't show up, and knowing that I wouldn't want him to rob himself of rest to do so, still I sat online as I did other things, because I couldn't not. It's quite literally an addiction.
There's nothing wrong with this per se. I would like nothing better than to be addicted to the presence of such a stunning, wonderful man. The trouble is this: that his presence isn't physical. Our interaction is curtailed to the point where we are both sometimes pushed near a breaking point simply from the ache of what can't be shared through this marvelous interweb of ours. This makes what contact we do have extremely precious, and exponentially more intense.
Maybe I'm exaggerating this danger. After all, I've never felt this way before. But what I fear is the inability to reconcile these two halves of myself. So for this reason, and for another which I'll shortly enumerate, I believe my trip to Mexico has the potential to be extremely healthy for us both. Above and beyond needing the time to detox my brain after a year of school and work, playing DDR tonight made me realize what is required to bring these two parts of myself into harmony, to truly accept him and the fact that he loves me, as the skeptical, mistrustful, paranoid part of me is afraid to do.
I played my last three songs. They're designed to destroy me; I picked them to see if I could survive it. "Captain Jack," "The Last 100 Seconds," and "Across the Nightmare," in that order. By themselves these songs are hard but not impossible for me. I beat them with comfortable regularity. But the intricacy of "Captain Jack," and the sheer speed of the other two, all three in quick succession, require an amount of stamina and strength, on top of extreme accuracy, to pull off. It's a tough set. It's my last set, every time I play, until it gets a whole lot easier for me. Then I'll pick new ones.
I did okay. It's been a few months since I played on the Student Union machine, and I'm out of practice. I mean to get back in practice, so I can whoop a certain tall, skinny lad into next week when I see him. I beat the first two, choked on "Across the Nightmare." But I wasn't frustrated. I sat down, laid down, felt sweat glossing my body, running over me, felt my chest heaving, my throat burning, and my pulse vibrating my entire body. The endorphins were high. And as I thought of how I'd done, what I could do better, the errors I'd made and why, assessing my performance as usual, I also thought of B. No surprise, that. He's not been out of my mind for a solid second in near a week. I thought of him, felt the familiar shiver of giddy happiness, and for the first time it felt complete, whole, accepted. I could think about both him and how much I love him, and my growing skill at DDR, at the same time. The emotional and the effective halves of me combined.
This sense faded a little as the endorphins did, and now I'm back to my usual heart-in-my-throat aching for him on one hand, and a dim analytical monologue on the other. But I know what it is I have to do.
Firstly I need the solitude of Mexico. I need a mental environment that is utterly silent and devoid of minor distractions. And secondly I need physical activity. I need to run, to swim, to kayak, to hike, to bushwhack. (another lovely word!) I need to stretch my arms till they ache, push my legs till they burn, pull my body till it wakes the endorphins and sets my mind into high gear... and then, while I'm there, feeling extremely capable and strong, I need to think of him, let my mind linger on his beauty, his wisdom, his kindness, and think of how I love him. Holding those two sensations in my head, they will become one in that vacuum of mental space that is that beach and jungle at the end of civilization.
I'll walk around, I'll swim, I'll look at things, and all the time I'll be thinking of things I could say to him, things I want to show him. I'll write these things down, to share with him when I return. And with this I'll be able to remain close to him. Because one thing I know--this connection of ours is unusual. Though I love talking to him as often as I can, and feel upset when I can't, as I did tonight, I know that even with a hiatus our connection will remain as long as I think of him. Not think of him in my dizzy longing way, though I'll be doing that too, of course *grin.* But think of him as a person, think about the things I love about him... the way he shares my aesthetic and my passion for beauty, the way he speaks, the way he deals with his emotions, the way he deals with me. I need only contemplate these things in an incidental way, as I search for shells, as I climb pyramids, and our connection will remain strong, because it is truly forged not of this new need but of an older respect and friendship, and of a deep understanding.
My only other fear in leaving for so long is that he will be afraid. For I know he is likely to shortchange himself, and assume his strength to be less than it is. Indeed, at this point I'm having the same doubts. If it tortures me to go without him for a night, how will it feel for weeks at a stretch? The answer is: not good. But it doesn't have to be unbearable, so long as he remembers two things. The first is easy, and I know he will keep it in mind. The second is harder.
Firstly, he must remember that I love him, and that no amount of physical space or even time can change that. He must remember that he never has to feel lonely again, no matter where I am, because I will always return to him--how could I do otherwise? It's in my nature, that I should be close to him... we reflect. But even though he needs never be lonely again, it doesn't mean he can't enjoy being alone for a time. This stunning thing between us is working huge changes in us both, and time to assimilate and accept those can only do us good--so long as we both remember that the other is never any farther away than our own spirit. A whisper will bring it near. I hear my name when it's spoken in your voice, no matter how far away.
The second thing he must remember is more difficult, because of the way he regards himself. He must remember what I already know and have complete confidence in: that he is strong, stronger than he might know. That the beauty in him is his alone and not of my make, nor of my reflection, and if he can see that beauty in himself, he will understand truly why I love him so much. And he will never forget it, nor doubt it. But nor will he be consumed by it.
At the last, I paraphrase, as I'm wont to do, the works of a greater hand than mine. I quote twice here, although there's a great deal more.
"Your friend is your needs answered. For you come to him with your hunger, and you seek him for peace. When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the 'nay' in your own mind, nor do you withold the 'ay.' And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen to his heart. For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all desires, all expectations are born and shared, which joy that is unacclaimed. When you part from your friend, you grieve not; for that which you love most in him may be clearer in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is clearer from the plain."
"Think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course. Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself. But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires: to melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night. To know the pain of too much tenderness. To be wounded by your own understanding of love, and to bleed willingly and joyfully. To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving; to rest at the noon hour and meditate on love's ecstasy, to return home at eventide with gratitude, and then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips."
And when I return, whole and accepting and deserving of your love, then we will stand together, and there will be no more apartness or distance, ever again.
I love you. I'll talk to you soon.
Labels: Brendon, Hope, Introspection, Love, Stress
posted by Rivaine # 2:00 AM 
