11/18/10
Gabriel,
So, how else am I going to process what has been happening for the last couple of days but to write about it? Our first tiff, or argument I suppose you could call it, when I expressed irritation that you didn’t answer your texts right away, and the subsequent rescinded invitation to visit this morning, or perhaps me crying because you had been so distant yesterday and you got to see me petrified that the stigma attached to something like HSV II would break us apart… all these things have made it a packed 48 hours.
The truth is, I am often unsure of how you feel about me. Surprised? Don’t be. It’s not that I assume that you don’t feel, it’s that I am unsure of how it is that you’re communicating it. At your most comfortable, you are touching me somehow – reaching for my hand, an arm ’round my shoulder, a spontaneous kiss, an embrace here and there, but all of this goes through a massive translator machine in my brain that eventually spits out (after enormous but not unwelcome effort) “He digs you.”
Take that away, give me a day where you don’t greet me with a kiss, a hug, reach for my hand, and walk around looking generally distracted, and I’m floundering. My mind is looking for something to translate into “he digs you,” but without words and without gestures, I am sadly devoid of such a message. Panic ensues. I ask you what’s wrong. You say, “Nothing at all,” but you still haven’t reached for my hand, and you’ve got a look on your face that is not quite satisfied with something. Your energy changes, but you offer no verbal explanation as to why, and I am left to wonder what is going on in your mind, and if the absence of touch and the silence that follows it is somehow related, then I’m thinking I did something to provoke it. I ask you if this is the case and you say “No, not at all,” but you are still distant.
This doesn’t compute in my brain for some reason, unless I theorize that you become distant with everyone you are close to when your mind is working on something, and I begin to make comments like, “It would really help me out if you could tell me you missed me, if you are missing me.” A suggestion such as this would only come if I am feeling like I have lost your primary form of communication and need the assurance of the affection you had previously given in some non-verbal gesture but have inexplicably withheld.
I say “inexplicably” because to me it is inexplicable. Perhaps it makes perfect sense to you, but if I have no word out of your mouth of how you’re feeling and why, it will stay inexplicable to me until an explanation is offered. With each passing minute of silence, I am left to wonder what’s eating you, and I am tempted to say “bullshit” when you say “nothing at all.”
This afternoon I came to you in a fragile state, I admit that much freely after having texted you that I thought you needed space (and I had to admit to myself that I was reluctant to give it, but what else was I to determine by your distance? This brings me into the dodgy field of assumption, but if not provided with an answer, the mind will supply one of its own volition. Something was eating you yesterday, and it turns out that later you said you felt rushed.
Interesting. Does this word have a double application to the morning at the gym and to our relationship?), and I was unsure whether or not you had gotten my messages yet, and if you had, how you handled them. I was afraid you would see my black-and-white thinking as just too damaging to your psyche and do what most Fish do – passively resist, that is to say, not resist at all, and oblige my suggestion to give the two of us a break. It’s not that I’m double-talking. I do believe that you put out an “I’m not sure about you and me” vibe yesterday, but I didn’t want you to think that I wanted to take a leave of absence.
Interesting that today’s conversation reinforced my suggestion of putting you and I on hold. My mind said “I knew it!” when you said that you needed some space, and here I remember asking you if I had bothered you yesterday and you had said “no, not at all.” I should have just answered with “Bullshit” right there. But see, when I am unsure of how you are feeling about me (a.k.a. your affectionate gestures are absent) then I lose a bit of courage as well, and I am not as straightforward as usual.
So, what happens now? I am left wondering again. I have nothing concrete to draw strength from regarding how you feel about me (hence my October request for a letter), except for the assurance that you don’t feel any differently about me than you did before, but that in and of itself is nebulous. If you don’t feel any differently than you did before, then how is it that you felt about me in the first place? I have this idea (“he loves me”) but still not much aside from that.
And as that phrase is open to so much interpretation, my mind is cranking the translator overtime, but there is nothing to feed it, because you have asked for space. Practical application of the idea is missing, and so it is just a phrase, empty until reinforced with action of some kind. So, I rely on trust, try with little success to shut off the (now in overdrive) translator in my brain, and at last ask God for help, since I clearly can’t handle the situation myself.
You saw me cry today because I was facing the possibility of you deciding that I was just too much work, too much risk, or too much whatever, and I am embarrassed to be so vulnerable in front of you. However, I am tempted to gently remind you that you aren’t the only one who has been hurt in the past. None of us can completely relinquish our baggage, as I am learning with much chagrin, but I suppose God has a reason for that, too. And, I was crying because I couldn’t figure out what happened. One minute you were by my side, comfy and happy as ever, content to continue our morning routine as though it were completely natural and had always been, the next minute you were telling me that you needed at least two days of sleep a week, as though I had been keeping you from resting in the mornings. If that were the case, I would have liked to have been told as much to begin with, instead of after I had been coming round every morning for a month. I was under the impression that you received me with pleasure. Was I wrong, then? Do you harbor some secret suffering that compels you to hide the fact that you are actually dog-tired and that said fatigue is because of my early visits?
I don’t believe that I will get an answer to any of these questions, as it is doubtful that you’ll be checking your email any time soon, and even more unlikely that you’ll take the time to address my concerns via written word, as you are so ashamed (for reasons that are completely unnecessary – except perhaps to injure your pride) of your devolved writing abilities, but, it is of little importance…
You said you needed some space, offered me a reason that was beyond my control (me possibly having HSV II but quite unlikely so (like, mind-numbingly unlikely) and even more unlikely the chance of you having it), and left me wondering if one of my worst fears was to be realized – that you would leave me not because I had done anything wrong, but because of who I am in general. I would much rather you have asked for space because you had a personal grievance, as at least then I could have rectified it.
This, this HSV II business, there is nothing I can do about that, so you reject me simply because you can’t handle who I am, the extreme reaction to this mere possibility has me nervous. It doesn’t give me much confidence in the phrase “I love you.” It reads more like this in my mind: “I love you, or at least I did until I found out that you were a dirty whore. Now, I can’t bring myself to love you anymore, or at least not enough to date you. But rest assured, it’s not anything wrong you’ve done, it’s who you are that I don’t want.”
Nothing would give me more pleasure than to be wrong on this score, but until you assure me otherwise in a concrete way that is specific, I can come to no other conclusion. Let me be clear here, Gabriel, this explanation is not one I am happy with, nor one I will cling to if you decide to refute it.
However, you must refute it first for me to relinquish it.
Until then, I will keep asking you (provided I see you again) what is on your mind when you get that distant look and start drifting away, and if you say “Nothing,” then I won’t hesitate to retaliate with “Bullshit.” If you don’t like it, you are invited to exit the relationship, but for Shatner’s sake, leave because of something I’ve done, and if you cannot, then at least be man enough to tell me to my face that it’s who I am that you don’t like, and invite my wrath at being horribly mistreated.
Regards,
Violet
P.S. The pharmacist says that yeast infections and HSV II flare-ups have exactly the same symptoms, that transmission rate is extremely low, and that if I haven’t had a recurring outbreak since the initial one, then there is as much a chance as me not having it as there is of me being the few that have only one outbreak their whole lives. There is a blood test, which I will be taking, but I have to warn you that the only test that is 100% accurate is one taken from the actual area of inflammation, when it is inflamed.
The likelihood of me having HSV II is just the same as your previous intimate partners having it, so for all I know, they could have it and not know it, mistaking a flare-up for a yeast infection, and could very likely have passed it in turn to you. If this makes you queasy, then I’m sure there’s a monastery that would be overjoyed to have a new brother take up the cloth. Have a pleasant Thanksgiving.
© 2010
