After two months of contemplating and waiting for the right moment, I finally talked with Ethan last night about our relationship. We're on the same page. We love each other, but we have a deep, close, loving friendship rather than a romantic one. The window of my romantic interest was small and fleeting, thanks to the introduction of Andy which helped me clarify my feelings for Ethan. And Ethan's in no place for a relationship. But I'm ready for a relationship and I'm not waiting around for anyone anymore. I also told Ethan about Andy. Ethan was jealous (what the fuck?!) but was honored to listen as I explained the boy-related things that have been going on with me over the past few months. Ethan could sense when I was emotionally drained, but, other than vague abstractions, he didn't know what was going on with me. When Ethan and I talked about "dating" in March, I told him that I was seeing someone else too but never brought it up again, mostly because I didn't think there was anything yet to tell. And Ethan confessed that he didn't believe I was seeing anyone else because I spent so much time with him, which has been part of my stress over the past month. It felt great to share with Ethan my journey with Andy (and to a far lesser degree, Bobby) over the past few months. Now that Ethan knows everything, a huge weight's been lifted off my shoulders.
I hoped my conversation with Ethan would bring some peace of mind. Yes, and no. Yes, because Ethan and I have defined our relationship and I feel liberated to openly pursue other opportunities. No, because now my relationship with Andy seems more real, more scary, more uncertain, more tenuous. And now that I'm no longer stressing out about having a relationship conversation with Ethan, the vast expanses of my brain have expanded to accommodate a plethora of chick thoughts about my relationship with Andy. I haven't heard from him in almost a week. Perhaps I've scared him off after I cried my way though sex? How could I have? We saw each other a week later. Maybe he's had more time to reconsider my psycho chick behavior? Who knows. Well, I guess he does but I don't know yet. Will I ever escape these chick thoughts? Probably not.
Being an analyzer and critical thinker is great for work and my dissertation, but it really sucks in the context of romantic relationships. I know this, yet I still give in to my thoughts and it causes me unnecessary distress. Today my brain was like a scene from Hitchcock's The Birds. I felt like Melanie Daniels in the image below, staving off the birds the best she could by protecting her head and screaming. Only my birds were swarming around inside my head - picking, picking, picking at me with their voracious assault beaks. I wanted to scream like Melanie, but I was at work so I tried my best to distract myself from the demon birds. Then I contemplated changing my pseudonym to Melanie Daniels. Fortunately Melanie survived the birds, but I was losing the battle so I reached out to my friend G who's an excellent demon-bird catcher, and she helped me quiet them down to a soft flutter sans picking beaks. I don't know what I do without G. I'd probably succumb to my thoughts, drive myself crazy, and live in heaps of misery. Thanks G. :)
Early this morning, a friend of mine was disappointed that she didn't get a hoped-for comment from her love interest about the description of what she wanted to do to her hair in her upcoming hair appointment. She wanted to hear that he would like her no matter what she did to her hair, and all he said was to have fun. My advice: first, men (and women) aren't mind readers. If you want to know the answer to a question, you have to ask a direct question. What she wanted was reassurance, which she wouldn't get from the context of their conversation. Second, if he wouldn't like her if she cut her hair a certain way, then was he the right person for her? I suggested she do what she wanted with her hair and let the locks fall where they may. But, before advising her (yep, I dispense advice that I often disregard for myself), I thought about my ex-boyfriend Eric. I was 18. He was 17. At the time, I had natural white blonde hair of mid-back length. Just before Christmas, I had my hair cut to my jawline with lots of fun layers. When I saw Eric, he patted me on the head while wearing a sad face, like someone just killed his puppy. Then I left for Christmas festivities but when I returned home, he had slipped my Christmas present in the mail slot in our front door - a very nice sliver bracelet. I called to thank Eric for the gift, then he broke up with me - because I cut my hair. As an indicator of how little I thought about myself at the time, I thought it was a mistake that I cut my hair and that Eric dumped me because I wasn't good enough for him. I've always lacked self-confidence and self-worth in the context of romantic relationships, and still do at times. But in retrospect, I realized that Eric was obviously not the right person for me. Do you know when I came to this realization? Today. At age 43. Hence my advice to my friend. So to take my own advice: if I scared (or eventually scare) off Andy, then he's not the right person for me. So begone demon birds!
I hoped my conversation with Ethan would bring some peace of mind. Yes, and no. Yes, because Ethan and I have defined our relationship and I feel liberated to openly pursue other opportunities. No, because now my relationship with Andy seems more real, more scary, more uncertain, more tenuous. And now that I'm no longer stressing out about having a relationship conversation with Ethan, the vast expanses of my brain have expanded to accommodate a plethora of chick thoughts about my relationship with Andy. I haven't heard from him in almost a week. Perhaps I've scared him off after I cried my way though sex? How could I have? We saw each other a week later. Maybe he's had more time to reconsider my psycho chick behavior? Who knows. Well, I guess he does but I don't know yet. Will I ever escape these chick thoughts? Probably not.
Being an analyzer and critical thinker is great for work and my dissertation, but it really sucks in the context of romantic relationships. I know this, yet I still give in to my thoughts and it causes me unnecessary distress. Today my brain was like a scene from Hitchcock's The Birds. I felt like Melanie Daniels in the image below, staving off the birds the best she could by protecting her head and screaming. Only my birds were swarming around inside my head - picking, picking, picking at me with their voracious assault beaks. I wanted to scream like Melanie, but I was at work so I tried my best to distract myself from the demon birds. Then I contemplated changing my pseudonym to Melanie Daniels. Fortunately Melanie survived the birds, but I was losing the battle so I reached out to my friend G who's an excellent demon-bird catcher, and she helped me quiet them down to a soft flutter sans picking beaks. I don't know what I do without G. I'd probably succumb to my thoughts, drive myself crazy, and live in heaps of misery. Thanks G. :)
Early this morning, a friend of mine was disappointed that she didn't get a hoped-for comment from her love interest about the description of what she wanted to do to her hair in her upcoming hair appointment. She wanted to hear that he would like her no matter what she did to her hair, and all he said was to have fun. My advice: first, men (and women) aren't mind readers. If you want to know the answer to a question, you have to ask a direct question. What she wanted was reassurance, which she wouldn't get from the context of their conversation. Second, if he wouldn't like her if she cut her hair a certain way, then was he the right person for her? I suggested she do what she wanted with her hair and let the locks fall where they may. But, before advising her (yep, I dispense advice that I often disregard for myself), I thought about my ex-boyfriend Eric. I was 18. He was 17. At the time, I had natural white blonde hair of mid-back length. Just before Christmas, I had my hair cut to my jawline with lots of fun layers. When I saw Eric, he patted me on the head while wearing a sad face, like someone just killed his puppy. Then I left for Christmas festivities but when I returned home, he had slipped my Christmas present in the mail slot in our front door - a very nice sliver bracelet. I called to thank Eric for the gift, then he broke up with me - because I cut my hair. As an indicator of how little I thought about myself at the time, I thought it was a mistake that I cut my hair and that Eric dumped me because I wasn't good enough for him. I've always lacked self-confidence and self-worth in the context of romantic relationships, and still do at times. But in retrospect, I realized that Eric was obviously not the right person for me. Do you know when I came to this realization? Today. At age 43. Hence my advice to my friend. So to take my own advice: if I scared (or eventually scare) off Andy, then he's not the right person for me. So begone demon birds!
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| What It's Like to Live in My Head Source: http://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/films/news/mystery-behind-hitchcocks-birds-is-solved-at-last-6282470.html |
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