Love is a finicky thing. For some it comes and goes, for others it's strong and consistent regardless of the state of the relationship. For me, when I love, I love strong and fast and forever. It's intense and true. It's overwhelming and amazing. I need a man who loves like I do. I don't think it's needy or should be perceived as insecurity. It just is.
My husband. I have never stopped loving him. We spend the last year in turmoil and stress, angry with one another, sad for ourselves. Half of the year we spend apart walking barefoot in the neighbors grass and trying to find out who we really are. For my part, I spent the majority of my time attempting to get my bipolar under control. It's a scary thing, you know, not feeling in control of my emotions. First I'm at the bottom of the mountain of life, I climb and climb and it's so hard and so stressful and so overwhelmingly emotional. All the work gets me to the top and I teeter there for a while, I am waiting for the meadow of life. The soft hills and valleys, all covered with moss and wildflowers. Waiting is hard. Waiting to make sure the medication is the right combination, waiting to see if I can handle the ups and downs of life, they never go away. They surprise you sometimes, sneak up behind you and push you down the mountain that is always waiting.
As I said, the waiting is hard. I love my husband. I want him. I need him. I will never love anyone the way I love him. Besides my son, of course, there is no one I want more. There never has been, even before I met him. I waited to get right myself, I waited for him all my life.
To my profound happiness, we have reconnected and we are starting anew. We have bumps and edges to get past as we learn to live with each other again. We are making it through. And in some aspects, the very good ones indeed, we are like newly weds. That last part surprised me, but I am very very very happy with it.
My problem, and it's not even a real problem, but an interesting one. There are people, people that called themselves friends, that aren't pleased with our decision to reconcile. I say, even if you think this is the most fucked up thing I could possibly do with my life, keep that shit to yourself. Smile. Tell me if I'm happy, you're happy, which is a kind way of saying "What the hell, lady?" Those that tell me I'm making a mistake, I don't know what I'm doing. I understand that you have a strong and significant opinion on my life and my mistakes. For the past, I do appreciate you lending an ear. I regret what I told you about my marriage and it's downsides. I wish I had told you more upsides to balance it out. If you think on it, I never said bad things about who my husband is, I complained about the things he did, maybe the things he said, but I also repeatedly said he was a good father and a good man. Those things get lost in the shuffle when a marriage is in danger and the "friends" only remember the frustrations and anger and sadness. No one is perfect, everyone makes life altering mistakes, everyone pays for those mistakes in one way or another. No one gets it all right.
So to end this incredibly dramatic and fairly emotional (*for me) post I give you this:
It's mine, as much as anyone ever could own it, I do. I lost it for a while- not my feelings, never those, but the rest maybe, but it's back and I am NEVER. LETTING. GO.
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