ooopinchme: it’s very different with him
Its just Mari 12: i can tell
ooopinchme: almost different enough for me to think i didn’t really love Oz
ooopinchme: or… with Oz it wasn’t love but something else
Its just Mari 12: hmm..
ooopinchme: rebellion? or i felt like i was drowning and i had to grab on to ANYTHING
Its just Mari 12: maybe at one point you did love him
Its just Mari 12: but that love turned into dependency
ooopinchme: because he came around when i was pretty depressed
Son-of-a-bitch. Expressing myself shouldn’t be such a goddamn trial. I have become so good at coming off as nonchalant, cynical, caustic, or just damn satirical that I cannot write with any feeling.
Yes. The above chat. I don’t mean to belittle that relationship. It taught me a great deal about myself.
It’s a bit sad that I feel it necessary to ask myself whether I loved him.
Maybe things feel vastly different this time simply because David is a very different person. Maybe. But I don’t think it’s possible to fall deeper in love with each successive relationship. It’s more likely that one can fool herself into thinking she is in love, for various reasons, out of a sense of duty, or perhaps pity.
(I feel like I’m trudging through muck as I write this. It is so difficult to get through. I write like I am detached from my life. I’m simply an observer.)
My writing was more emotional before Oz. I have a friend in Colorado who I love dearly. I took him for granted, but that’s another story. Before Oz I used to entertain thoughts of Danny and I being together. He understood me so well, and could cheer me up almost instantly by saying some inane thing. He still does, in fact, whenever we do get a chance to talk. I used to write volumes about him. And it wasn’t all flowery or googly. It was simple, direct and honest. And more than anything else, it was real.
I used to write a lot more often before Oz too. Pretty early on in our relationship, we got into an argument that resulted in me leaving and going home. However, I was barely five minutes on the freeway when he called me. He sounded terribly angry. The first thing that came to mind was that he read my journal and found something in it that he didn’t like. And sure enough, I was correct. I tried to be understanding. I stifled my anger. But a part of me shriveled, then. After that I really didn’t feel comfortable writing. He’d invaded a part of me that I had wanted to keep private. But I forgave him because I thought I loved him. The seriousness of the affront didn’t hit home until months later.
Over the course of that relationship, I was hurt, humiliated, and manipulated. Sometimes I was a real victim, and other times I wanted to be punished because I believed I was an awful person and deserved it. I still cringe when I think how I begged and pleaded, how I cried myself to sleep sometimes. And he did things to me that I never imagined someone who loved me would or could do.
I crawled inward. I was becoming a shell of myself. I was crying inside but I ignored myself. It was so much easier to pretend that everything was fine than cry and feel even more alone, even though we were supposed to love each other.
Oh god. I really did feel alone. For a summer I was literally trembling all the time from trying to physically keep myself from going to pieces.
I was hurting so much but I thought it best to hide it.
And now when I’m trying to be open, I’m stuck. I can’t get myself to be as emotional as I used to be.
I want him to know me. All of me. But I can’t expose it all. I’m really too goddamn scared. I became very agitated when I realized that my past relationship is being detrimental to this one.
There are many times when I want to say something to him about how happy I am, but all I can muster is a quick glance and a small smile. I’d like to give him so much more.
And sometimes it even makes me want to flee. It seems like it would be much easier to stay away from him, rather than struggle with the immensity of my feelings.
I find myself apologizing at times for my lack of affection/expression. He doesn’t mind, but I feel like I’m lacking. He tells me that it’s enough for him because he knows how I feel, but I don’t feel like it’s enough.
I am ridiculously lucky to have him in my life.