evitae.net

I took too long thinking of the name of this post instead of just writing down what came to mind first, which I wound up with here. This just goes to show that sometimes I just need to trust my instincts first. I have a tendency to over analyze everything, down to the smallest, often (but not always) most insignificant details. Behind the scenes, this blog has become a testimony to that.

Anyway, Friday night, at the eve of a party, I was sitting alone in my boyfriend’s bedroom, watching M. Night Shyamalan’s The Sixth Sense. Although I had seen it at least three times prior, I found myself watching it with an intensity that I did not have the capacity for in the years following its release. Courtesy of my English major, I found myself analyzing it heavily during the beginning of it, but by the second half, once Cole finally begins to trust Dr. Crowe, I was so engrossed in the film that I forgot I (unfortunately) had an hour or so to spend by myself. Once it ended, I found myself in tears.

Me, cry over a movie? I used to make fun of my mom for the same thing. As simple a tale as The Lion King would make her tear up. Over time, however, I have begun to understand her sensitivities. There was a time when I watched things with a cold, unfeeling eye that was so natural to me during my apathetic phase, which was pretty much the entire time up until the point that I started dating my boyfriend. I’m discovering that love has changed me in more ways than I bargained for. While I remain aloof in some contexts, I am far more attentive to my emotions, and watching that movie over the weekend has shown me that. It has also shown me that many of us do become so much like our parents after all.

In general, I wouldn’t think of myself as a selfish person. I like to share with people, and I seldom deny anyone of anything, unless of course, I have my doubts that I’ll get it back in one piece or at all. Of course, it also depends on the object and its importance to me. I try not to be materialistic, but occasionally, there’s just that one thing that’s near and dear to my heart that I refuse to let out without a watchful eye. Maybe someone special had given it to me and as a lasting impression of my appreciation, I decide to take the best care of it that I can. Or perhaps even more likely, I thought I’d never have this object and I feel so lucky to have it. That sounds a lot like love these days.

While I realize that relationships and people are no objects, I’m sure anyone who’s ever been in love has come to know that possessiveness that takes us over for that special person on occasion. These are tiny moments when their attention and their life are under the constant grasp of your scrutiny and it is just so difficult to let go for even the smallest passage of time, to let them flee the love nest and be themselves without you for a while. It’s something I’ve been struggling with a lot with lately, especially when the summer has offered a plethora of time between the two us. I am fighting to change and grow out of it, to reclaim any semblance of independence beyond what has allowed me to stray from my own family nest, but it is really so damn hard, and it’s going to take such a long time.

Some days I don’t remember what I am without him. Personal hobbies? Personal friends? Bah! What good are those things when I have the greatest person in the world?! It’s really quite pitiful, and wrong. I don’t like to make him feel guilty for wanting a break for a while, for wanting to hang out with his friends without me, for wanting to be a guy, no strings attached. AKA a dick, sometimes, it feels like. But I realize that’s just my insensitivity, my selfishness talking. And if people are going to be happy, sometimes they need to switch up the scene for a while. I know that, but it’s taking forever to get it through my thick skull. I leave him to escape from the cage himself when there shouldn’t be one to begin with.

It’s gotten so bad that I’m not even interested in meeting new people. I avert my eyes and keep on moving. Friendly neighbors? Fuck that. They must want something. Fucking sluts. That’s how I felt last week when he made a passing remark to one of his friends about a pretty girl next door. I’ve answered the door to her twice, and I can’t bring myself to look at her. I still don’t know what the hell she looks like. I had never felt the pangs of jealousy so strongly in my life. Sure, let’s go admire Kim Kardashian’s ass together. Hell, I’m down with Halle Berry and that one porn star you like so much too. Ah ha ha, there’s a boob shot! That’s hot, right? But the girl next door? Hell no. Somehow she’s too easily attainable. But he was never interested in her anyway.

So you see, I have a problem. I’m trying to do something about it by staying out of the house and making plans with local friends, but its going to take some time. I just hope he doesn’t give up on me. It’s quite possible he has been just about ready to these past few days. Can’t say I blame him. He’s doing his part, being patient and open and independent. Now it’s my turn.