Fear...

Will I always freak out over a relationship? Why does being involved with someone consume my mind, and stress me out to a point to where my arms and hands are in dermatitis crisis mode? Why does sharing my life with someone pull me away from the life I was living alone? Where did my little creative mind go and why is it stuck to this boy like a fly on sticky paper?
I’ve been trying my best to strike a balance between Jeff, my friends, work and my “alone” time with writing, the gym, running, necklace and earring making. It’s all overwhelming and I’m not sure what I’m doing just yet. I’ve never done this well before. When I’m with someone my life fills with them, my brain is in overdrive with thoughts of them, and I forget who I am. I’m desperately trying to hang on to what little I’ve discovered about myself and continue forward in a healthy way with Jeff.
We’re smashed together when I wake up and listen to his soft breathing before he opens his eyes and smiles. “Good morning, beautiful.”
“Hi.” I whisper. I’m off today and he has to leave by 8:30 to get downtown to work. I desperately want to eat…
We start waking up a little more. He asks me when our first date was.
“February first.”
“So it’s been a month. How are you feeling about all of this?”
I nod. “Good. You?”
He nods. “Good.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Just curious.”
We stare at each other. His phone beeps with a text message. He reads it and puts the phone down.
“I need to get into the shower.” he tells me.
I jump up exclaiming that I need to eat before drinking coffee. I can’t sit still. I can’t handle the intensity at which he’s observing me.
While he’s in the shower, I inhale my oatmeal trying to finish it before he’s done. I feel badly for not tasting it, for not taking my time, for requiring it like I do, for my fear of being seen while eating and for wanting it so badly.
Jeff went to El Salvador for work a couple of weeks ago. He brought back a small cup from a “cupping” he had to do while he was down there. It’s a fabulous little thing and I’m happy to have it. I fell asleep the night before last with it next to me because after I chose to eat granola out of stress and irritation from work, I passed out. He found it while we were getting ready for bed last night and I dodged his questioning about why it was there saying I’d explain it later. As we’re walking out the door this morning he brings it up again. I tell him I don’t want to talk about it. I’m surprised at myself because I’ve been so honest with him and now I’m shutting off? What is that?
We walk outside. I inhale, exhale and decide the only way I can change is to actually… well, change and that will mean actually talking. I tell him about the granola incident.
“That wasn’t so bad.” he says. “I mean, I don’t think so.”
“To other people, it may not be but for me it’s huge.”
He nods.
I am still so deeply embarrassed about my eating disorder that it’s excruciating to talk about it’s details sometimes. I hate the fact that I’m not “normal” with or around food, that I can’t have certain things in my house, that I can’t eat at certain restaurants, that I tend to obsess over sugar and know it’s in my best interest to not go near it. I also hate feeling like I have to explain myself when in the company of other people. My explanations are subject to judgment and I’d rather not go there.
We get downtown to Intelligentsia and Jeff starts work while I write for a while. He smiles at me from behind the espresso machine. I can’t stand for him to admire me, to smile at me, to want me. I don’t love me so how can I accept someone else’s love?
Later he comes over, hugs me and asks how I am. I try to be as honest as possible and not give him my usual “Good! Great! Everything’s awesome!”
“I don’t know. Irritated.”
I’m not present, not settled, my brain feels scrambled, and I’m insanely self conscious. I’m unable to let anything simply be. I’m pressuring myself to do a million things. I feel I need to write a novel today, get to the gym, run, be perfect in all aspects of my life but of course, like every human on this planet, I fall short of perfection. I know this yet I have this insatiable desire to continue to strive for it. I wonder what would happen if perfection could be achieved? I think that even then I’d be unsatisfied. My co-worker George asked me one day while sitting in the office at work “What happens when the dog gets the car?”
I laughed imagining how some dogs will tear after a car, something that is insanely larger than it is and…then what?
Yup. What happens when the human finally reaches happiness? Would I even know if I found it? Maybe it’s an illusion I chase after to avoid finding the happiness in the moment I’m sitting in currently? The only moment I’ll ever have is this one, until the next one…
I leave Intelligentsia and head to Whole Foods in the South Loop. I buy my usual groceries and head back home.
Later I’m headed out again to meet up with my friend Lydia for dinner. I’m still not feeling completely fabulous. It’s everything I’ve got not to cancel. I want to see her, I do, I’m just wrapped up in my head. As I’m waiting for people to exit the Clark bus, I watch a man step down on to the pavement and exclaim to a lady next to me so loudly that I almost jump out of my skin, “I LOVE YOU!” I smile to myself and get on the bus.
Dinner was good and it was wonderful to see my friend. Lydia is one of my favorite people. I still wasn’t completely grounded or present though and didn’t share much with her at all, just listened. It’s so much easier for me to simply sit and listen than it is to actually share something.
I don’t feel like waiting on the bus. I remember walking all the way downtown from this area when Shannon came to visit. I start moving. I walk and walk until I find a cupcake shop that’s…open. Without even thinking I’m pushing open the door, walking up to the counter, ordering, paying, eating.
My brain sparks on it’s sugar induced high. I don’t remember the last time I had a cupcake and this isn’t the direction I’d like to go in. I’ve checked out completely, unable to think, to make a decision, to move. I want another one once that one is finished. I want to sit in a coma, licking icing off my fingers forever and ever.
Not really. It’s inviting, the warm blanket of chocolate, butter, sugar, and cake, but it’s all an illusion. There’s no life in it, no happiness, nothing.
I catch the Clark bus back towards home. Once I’m there I drink water, text a friend from OA and try to be calm.
I pick up my journal from my time with Rob and read through a few entries. On those pages he’s still alive, we’re still physically together. At the time I was feeling all the crazy I’m currently feeling with Jeff. I’m sinking into a weird depression and eating too much yet again. It makes me cry. How is it that receiving someone else’s love sends me into a funk? Every. Time. This time though, I’m trying to fix it. I remember waiting to hear from Rob unable to breathe practically until he called, unable to live my life.
Jeff calls. I’m so afraid he’ll go away. Afraid everyone will. I’m afraid he’ll pick up on my neediness, afraid I’ll do something unattractive and he’ll disappear… but won’t that be his choice? Isn’t that something I can’t control? Is that my problem? I fear his leaving, can’t control what he does so I act out with food? Even though he’s given me no indication that he’s going anywhere? What sense does any of this make?
I contemplate telling him about the cupcake and eventually I do. He listens, saying nothing which makes me nervous but what do I expect? When I’m quiet he tells me thanks for sharing. Relief floods my overactive brain and I thank him for listening.
He has no idea how amazing it is for me to feel safe enough to tell him all of this. I already feel insane for my thoughts, my food and all the crazy that surrounds my life. Having him simply hear it makes it so much better.
I can’t actually believe he wants to hear it. He’s taken such interest in my life that it’s sometimes overwhelming. I can’t imagine that someone finds me interesting enough to want to know all of this.