What was I thinking again?
I wrote this a bajillion years ago and d'ya think I can find it in my frelling journal??? NO! Dammit. So I have to reprint it so I can find it again, godsdammit.
Sometimes I need to remind myself of things. Can I please get some damn sleep now?
~~~~~~~~~~
Love Crash
Somewhere someone has done a psychological study on the impact of losing one’s first love, or if they haven’t, a federal grant needs to be set up to spend some tax dollars on it.
I am wondering on this topic because I think that as a result of that loss, some of us spend the rest of our lives protecting ourselves from love forevermore. This may be a foregone conclusion to some people out there. And to others, a completely ridiculous conclusion. And then there are the slowpokes like me who are just now figuring it out.
I am not sure where the phrase “falling in love” comes from, but I am willing to bet that it is a result of someone’s experience of First Love. The crash at the bottom when that love ended made them realize what was really going on, they were in total, uncontrollable freefall, terminal velocity, blood rushing, ground coming up to meet them faster than they could breathe.
And it is a great feeling, that falling. All the fun and joy and wonder is better than the most expensive wine, the highest proof vodka, the best herb ever smoked. Unfortunately, the crash is usually as intense.
So having survived that tumultuous First Love, usually at a young age, some seek to find that head rush again. Some love that feeling of uncontrollable flight. Others find some caution. And some just never want to be that hurt again and seek control in all things.
I married a guy who is hooked on the flight. He loves that discovery process, the fun of finding things in common with another person, the joy of sharing new experiences. But then the honeymoon is over when everyday stuff like work and bills and who snores louder starts to intrude on the rose coloured corner of the universe he likes to inhabit. I am not saying he is a bad guy, just not all that realistic when it comes to things like communication and the mundane details of maintaining a household. I was not all that realistic either, come to think of it, when I agreed to become wife number six. I am now ex-wife number six and he is working on number seven. I have to admire his ever hopeful outlook and his perseverance.
I realize looking back at that relationship that it was not a passionate one, on any level. We were comfortable together, we had interests in common, and we had similar beliefs and agreed on most topics like religion, guns and dogs. We read the same books, like the same action filled testosterone flicks and listen to the same radio station. We make pretty good friends. We made lousy lovers.
The longer I go away from that relationship, the more I suspect that a large part of the failure of that relationship was my own self-protection.
My first real heartbreak was at age eighteen, my sweetheart went off to college. Suffice it to say that it ended badly. I figured out two things back then, one: I can live without the man I love, and two: the crash at the bottom of the cliff of falling in love really, really hurts.
I think that in order to protect myself from ever again feeling that sort of life changing pain, I have never since given myself over to another person. I certainly did not give my ex-husband very much of me, he doesn’t know what my fears are, my dreams, my motivations, my desires on any level, what makes me cry, what makes me contemplate, what fires me up or what calms me down. And maybe he never wanted to know, but I never gave him a chance to ask. I kept it all locked in an internal box the whole time we dated, lived together, were married and then divorced. No wonder I was depressed and needed medication. And it was never his fault. I wanted to protect myself from pain, and as usual that just results in a whole different kind of pain.
Certainly I have made connections with people, and some of them profound, but always with people I knew were only temporarily in my life. There is no risk of crashing pain with someone if you know that they are only available for a small amount of time. Knowing those people were only going to be in my life a short time, I could give them information, parts of me that were vulnerable, hidden bits I hardly ever show. And I stayed safe, never giving power to them, only small looks at what is really inside. I could let myself connect with them momentarily in that deep current where I really live, and though painful to lose them, it was not the world rending pain of the loss of my First Love.
Maybe it is a self fulfilling prophesy, this living without the one I love. I know I did before, and will again, and so I have two choices; I can have brief (if intense) relationships with wholly inappropriate or unavailable men or I can refuse to even invest the deepest part of me in any relationship and thus stay safe and ensure my survival after the relationship is over.
Neither of these choices are really appealing.
I realize I have spent more than half my life trying never to need anything from anyone, trying to never give another person the power to hurt me.
This is a pretty cold goddamned place to be.
Contemplating falling in love again is the same as saying I think I might see what happens when I walk off this cliff, realizing I am saying it while looking at the cliff edge from underneath, it is too late, I am already over the edge and there is no time for contemplation, only flight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
oh, right, the other reason I am avoiding dating. Now I remember.
Sometimes I need to remind myself of things. Can I please get some damn sleep now?
~~~~~~~~~~
Love Crash
Somewhere someone has done a psychological study on the impact of losing one’s first love, or if they haven’t, a federal grant needs to be set up to spend some tax dollars on it.
I am wondering on this topic because I think that as a result of that loss, some of us spend the rest of our lives protecting ourselves from love forevermore. This may be a foregone conclusion to some people out there. And to others, a completely ridiculous conclusion. And then there are the slowpokes like me who are just now figuring it out.
I am not sure where the phrase “falling in love” comes from, but I am willing to bet that it is a result of someone’s experience of First Love. The crash at the bottom when that love ended made them realize what was really going on, they were in total, uncontrollable freefall, terminal velocity, blood rushing, ground coming up to meet them faster than they could breathe.
And it is a great feeling, that falling. All the fun and joy and wonder is better than the most expensive wine, the highest proof vodka, the best herb ever smoked. Unfortunately, the crash is usually as intense.
So having survived that tumultuous First Love, usually at a young age, some seek to find that head rush again. Some love that feeling of uncontrollable flight. Others find some caution. And some just never want to be that hurt again and seek control in all things.
I married a guy who is hooked on the flight. He loves that discovery process, the fun of finding things in common with another person, the joy of sharing new experiences. But then the honeymoon is over when everyday stuff like work and bills and who snores louder starts to intrude on the rose coloured corner of the universe he likes to inhabit. I am not saying he is a bad guy, just not all that realistic when it comes to things like communication and the mundane details of maintaining a household. I was not all that realistic either, come to think of it, when I agreed to become wife number six. I am now ex-wife number six and he is working on number seven. I have to admire his ever hopeful outlook and his perseverance.
I realize looking back at that relationship that it was not a passionate one, on any level. We were comfortable together, we had interests in common, and we had similar beliefs and agreed on most topics like religion, guns and dogs. We read the same books, like the same action filled testosterone flicks and listen to the same radio station. We make pretty good friends. We made lousy lovers.
The longer I go away from that relationship, the more I suspect that a large part of the failure of that relationship was my own self-protection.
My first real heartbreak was at age eighteen, my sweetheart went off to college. Suffice it to say that it ended badly. I figured out two things back then, one: I can live without the man I love, and two: the crash at the bottom of the cliff of falling in love really, really hurts.
I think that in order to protect myself from ever again feeling that sort of life changing pain, I have never since given myself over to another person. I certainly did not give my ex-husband very much of me, he doesn’t know what my fears are, my dreams, my motivations, my desires on any level, what makes me cry, what makes me contemplate, what fires me up or what calms me down. And maybe he never wanted to know, but I never gave him a chance to ask. I kept it all locked in an internal box the whole time we dated, lived together, were married and then divorced. No wonder I was depressed and needed medication. And it was never his fault. I wanted to protect myself from pain, and as usual that just results in a whole different kind of pain.
Certainly I have made connections with people, and some of them profound, but always with people I knew were only temporarily in my life. There is no risk of crashing pain with someone if you know that they are only available for a small amount of time. Knowing those people were only going to be in my life a short time, I could give them information, parts of me that were vulnerable, hidden bits I hardly ever show. And I stayed safe, never giving power to them, only small looks at what is really inside. I could let myself connect with them momentarily in that deep current where I really live, and though painful to lose them, it was not the world rending pain of the loss of my First Love.
Maybe it is a self fulfilling prophesy, this living without the one I love. I know I did before, and will again, and so I have two choices; I can have brief (if intense) relationships with wholly inappropriate or unavailable men or I can refuse to even invest the deepest part of me in any relationship and thus stay safe and ensure my survival after the relationship is over.
Neither of these choices are really appealing.
I realize I have spent more than half my life trying never to need anything from anyone, trying to never give another person the power to hurt me.
This is a pretty cold goddamned place to be.
Contemplating falling in love again is the same as saying I think I might see what happens when I walk off this cliff, realizing I am saying it while looking at the cliff edge from underneath, it is too late, I am already over the edge and there is no time for contemplation, only flight.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
oh, right, the other reason I am avoiding dating. Now I remember.