I didn't realize how bad I am at conveying my feelings to people until him. All he was doing was asking me, in the nicest way, what was wrong and it was like my body was rejecting chemo and I was shutting down. We are sitting in his car and my body is just pressed up against the door, my arms folded, and my hand over my mouth. I just wanted to open the door and run away. Because I'm so used to "picking and choosing my battles." But now I think I just would prefer to not say anything in fear of them lashing out. I would rather be tormented by their actions for a second than have to deal with an altercation once. I've become so accustomed to just telling myself that I'm crazy for feeling this way and that I shouldn't say anything in fear of them validating my craziness (if there was in fact any crazy to be had). And if I just walk away, I'll be fine in a couple minutes. So now, when this perfectly sweet man is asking me what is wrong, I feel so horribly attacked because he doesn't understand that by me saying "nothing," to me it really IS nothing. To me, the reason why I'm so annoyed or frustrated or angry at that moment is so trivial it's not worth mentioning. Only because I'm afraid if I tell you how I feel, I'll be judged. Because before you, all I've heard is how dramatic I am, how unreasonable and unbearable I am. How crazy I am. It's scarring. So me clamming up and saying nothing is my body's way of protecting itself. I'm so afraid to open up in fear of being judged. I've been taught to choose my battles. And to me, sometimes they're not worth fighting over because I know I won't win or I know you won't change--so what's the point? Let me sulk for a few minutes and I'll be okay. But you just sat there, pleading me with your eyes to open up to you. To resolve your profound confusion over my issue to explain. Speaking softly and reassuring me that you just wanted to rectify the situation. You'd rather talk it out and make me feel better than to let me sulk and fester for a few minutes. And you're right. Im still trying to make you like me. And you may say that you've long since boarded that train--past no return, but I don't believe you. I'm still afraid you'll think I'm slightly off my hinges. That I'm unbearable. Hard to love. That I would be better off living alone because I only like the idea of loving someone--I'm unable to do such a thing. Nothing is perfect and I have my flaws and I see things in you that, yes, I don't particularly like, but that's natural. To me, you're wonderful. Passionate, loving, optimistic, quick on your feet...you're a man willing to make things work no matter what. You'd rather spend time with me and make sure I'm okay than anything else. You're an alien to me. You're not real. There's no fucking way you're real. I've convinced myself, 75%, that you're from another planet and/or are a figment of my imagination. I'm not used to this. I'm used to being treated like a doormat and being left and lied to and all the other bullshit douchecanoes bring with them from the depths of hell. Because I can pick them real well...I'm not used to being with a guy who is sincere and honest and vulnerable. Be patient with me. It's hard for me to convey my feelings when I am not so sure of them myself. But when I figure them out, you'll be the first one I go to-- or I'll try and go to. I've never had to express my feelings so much before. I guess because it was easier since I was around the person so often. With you, being in the navy, this is fucking hard. I have to be 100% clear and open and if you're not sure about anything, you're quick to clarify. You'll be home soon and I'm hoping we make it until then and my stupid ass doesn't somehow manage to fuck it all up. Because I really like you. And by some miracle, the feeling is mutual. I'm still trying to feel out the situation. My toe is in the pool, but I'm just not there yet. I'm trying.
