My text messages chimed first thing this morning, and I knew it was H.M. with his usual 2:00 a.m. text (from a time zone four hours back, this time, at least), and I was right. And of course my stupid heart leapt, and those three meaningless texts meant more to me than anything anyone had said to me this week, and... bleargh. My logical mind pointed out that nothing he said to me indicated anything beyond friendship, my heart countered that he was thinking of me whilst on vacation and that I was his last thought before he went to sleep, and... bleargh again.
I'm starting to think that I will literally never get over this guy. We'll be Just Friends, and I'll want more, until I'm dead. Because I for sure don't have the willpower to pull back (tried that before; EPIC FAIL), and he seems to be signaling pretty hard that he's not interested in moving forward, which leaves us... where we are. Swell. Dr. H. will probably have advice on pulling back, but of course I'll have to confess to her that "no longer attracted to him" has mutated into "love him utterly."
I think part of it is that I don't want to pull back. even if we never move forward, I'd rather have this small piece of him than nothing at all. And while I know I'm trying to move beyond traditional standards for "normal" (which this certainly isn't), the question remains as to whether it's healthy, which it probably isn't. Again, a question for the good doctor.
In the meantime, I'll suck up whatever scraps are thrown my way until I have official medical orders to stop. "It's the scraps of love you throw my way that have got me on all fours." I have overinternalized that song way too much. And it's about a dog.
In other news, I did have that talk with Mom yesterday, and although it wasn't terribly satisfying at the time--she kept bringing up her own reservations and worries, which kind of ticked me off, and I had to confess that I hadn't always been forthcoming when my emotional state was less than ideal, which made it hard for them to give me the support I needed--after letting it sit overnight and seeing/talking with/hugging her this morning, I feel a lot better. More hopeful. I think we both understand better where the other is coming from, and we'll make more of an effort to communicate in the future. Honesty, honesty.
Where's Dad in all of this? No telling. I've enlisted Mom to get him to back off with the medical second-guessing, which is the wimp's way out, but I still don't really know how to approach him. I'm not terribly inclined to talk to him anyway. Mom pointed out that he never realizes when he's hurt me, which means that I should tell him, but I've only gotten excuses and accusations of being hypersensitive in the past. And now he even has the crazazy to explain away my hypersensitivity (bipolar is the new "are you getting your period or something?"). So I don't particularly feel like talking to him, either about his attitude/behavior the other weekend or his reaction to this whole crazazy thing. I know it's totally a textbook case of not wanting his damn jack, but the fact is, I don't.
Or maybe getting over my daddy issues means learning not to want his damn jack. Dr. H.?
No comments:
Post a Comment