(no subject)
I told John the biggest thing on my mind lately. My feeling has been that we need to slow down on our "heavy" making out. We've been through this before, sat down, had this conversation. It was stressful then because even then, we couldn't figure what kind of lines needed to be drawn. The sex line isn't an issue. We're not crossing that. It's not even an option. I'm figuring now that the reason I felt we needed to revisit the subject was because it's largely a heart issue for me. There's something about it that feels too much for me, for my mind. I love kissing him, but there are rights to him that, in God's eyes, I don't currently have and I don't want to cross that line. We've pushed on that line already and the thought tears into me. At what point, in kissing, is too far?
I watched him tonight, as we stood in silence. I watched as the feelings of helplessness, frustration, and distress crossed his face and it pained me. Seeing him hurt tore at my heart and brought the tears to my eyes. I did this. I said this. If the words had never left my mouth, we wouldn't be here. It breaks me to stir the waters in his life. I am not prepared for this. I am not prepared to upset him. It only upsets me.
I drove away angry at myself and it showed as my tires squealed. He called, saying he'd never seen me drive off like that before. I wasn't upset at him at all. I hated me. I hated knowing he felt helpless and unsure of what to do. I hated knowing he felt upset with himself. Why? He didn't do anything. It's moments like that, when I'm filled with such a disgust for myself, that I find myself longing to make myself bleed. It's then that I feel that I deserve to feel pain. The pain will take away from the anger. While some boys punch walls, I punch holes in my heart. But I don't. I cry and bear it. I cry and try to make it through. And I do. I make it through.
I don't regret telling him. I regret making him feel wretched.
He said that, if he could, he'd marry me now... and it'd be a non-issue. I half-jokingly said we could take a roadtrip up to Las Vegas and not have to tell anyone when we got back. The conversation lulls. Thoughtful silence? Perhaps. Uncertain silence? It's more likely. He later asks me if I felt the same at all. Revisiting the marriage issue. I admitted something that I had been avoiding. I told him if I hadn't felt the same, I wouldn't have mentioned Vegas at all. He commented on how the Vegas thing was a joke. I said it was half a joke, but half serious... in the way that I don't think I'd be entirely opposed to the idea. He responded with a "hm."
As I watched him tonight, I realized that I really don't want to be without this kid. We both still have some emotional growing up to do. We can both be rather dramatic about things, and even if I hide it well, we feel things deeply. He's so much more verbal about it than I am, though, and I can admire that. It's something I desire to learn. He feels more willingly than I've ever really allowed myself to. I admire that, too. I'm starting to really grasp the concept that, although there are characteristics in him that are so unlike me or what I'm used to, these are his charming parts. His rowdyness, his sensitivity, his passions, his energy. His mind thinks and grasps so differently than mine. But this is who he is. This is who I love.
and that's what it boils down to. This is who I love.
I watched him tonight, as we stood in silence. I watched as the feelings of helplessness, frustration, and distress crossed his face and it pained me. Seeing him hurt tore at my heart and brought the tears to my eyes. I did this. I said this. If the words had never left my mouth, we wouldn't be here. It breaks me to stir the waters in his life. I am not prepared for this. I am not prepared to upset him. It only upsets me.
I drove away angry at myself and it showed as my tires squealed. He called, saying he'd never seen me drive off like that before. I wasn't upset at him at all. I hated me. I hated knowing he felt helpless and unsure of what to do. I hated knowing he felt upset with himself. Why? He didn't do anything. It's moments like that, when I'm filled with such a disgust for myself, that I find myself longing to make myself bleed. It's then that I feel that I deserve to feel pain. The pain will take away from the anger. While some boys punch walls, I punch holes in my heart. But I don't. I cry and bear it. I cry and try to make it through. And I do. I make it through.
I don't regret telling him. I regret making him feel wretched.
He said that, if he could, he'd marry me now... and it'd be a non-issue. I half-jokingly said we could take a roadtrip up to Las Vegas and not have to tell anyone when we got back. The conversation lulls. Thoughtful silence? Perhaps. Uncertain silence? It's more likely. He later asks me if I felt the same at all. Revisiting the marriage issue. I admitted something that I had been avoiding. I told him if I hadn't felt the same, I wouldn't have mentioned Vegas at all. He commented on how the Vegas thing was a joke. I said it was half a joke, but half serious... in the way that I don't think I'd be entirely opposed to the idea. He responded with a "hm."
As I watched him tonight, I realized that I really don't want to be without this kid. We both still have some emotional growing up to do. We can both be rather dramatic about things, and even if I hide it well, we feel things deeply. He's so much more verbal about it than I am, though, and I can admire that. It's something I desire to learn. He feels more willingly than I've ever really allowed myself to. I admire that, too. I'm starting to really grasp the concept that, although there are characteristics in him that are so unlike me or what I'm used to, these are his charming parts. His rowdyness, his sensitivity, his passions, his energy. His mind thinks and grasps so differently than mine. But this is who he is. This is who I love.
and that's what it boils down to. This is who I love.