Things Unsaid

There's always things that we don't say. There's always things that just end up forever locked in our throats, because saying them would be inappropriate. Maybe saying them would be pouring salt in wounds, maybe saying them would reopen chapters best left closed. Maybe saying them would be simply childish and petty on the part of the sayer, and no one wants to be perceived that way.

But still, we all know the things we want to say. We've got them planned out and ready to go, should the perfect opportunity to throw them down ever arise. Not that it will. But we like to be prepared.

I'm a nerd, ok? I'm a girl scout. I'm always prepared. Sue me.

So here's my list. It's the current list, which means that it'll change slowly as situations develop and life grinds on. It's already changed considerably. Five years ago, none of these statements were on my list, and in the interim, I've actually managed to utter some things aloud, thereby scratching them off.

"You're a child. Grow up. I may have my issues, but I'm pretty darn glad I don't have to deal with yours anymore. You're a bad person and a bad manipulator, and all you've got going for you is a nice face and bank account."

"You, also, are remarkably childlike. Grow the fuck up. Do you really think I don't know you're lying? For someone that likes to compliment my intelligence, you sure do think pretty lowly of my critical thinking skills."

"I love you, but you drive me insane. I need far more time alone than I get. Would it kill you to go out every now and again?"

"Ignoring people is not a reasonable strategy for weaseling out of your commitments. When you say you're going to do something, either do it, or own the fact that you're not going to do it. I grow tired of being disappointed."

"The hoops you make everyone jump through are ridiculous, and no one ever does the course to your satisfaction anyway. I'm done playing."

"I love you, and I want very much for you to be happy, but we're probably never going to be close again. We're just both too bad at keeping in touch."

"Come home. Come home now. I miss you."

"We've run through our chances. You're not happy, but I'm not going to make you happy. That's something you're going to have to do for yourself. So go do it."

"You know, this could work. If both of us stopped being such chickenshits. Too bad we're both such chickenshits."

I find it therapeutic just to put things out there. I'm sure it's also passive aggressive, but whatever. I never claimed not to have issues of my own.

Fairy Tales.

I still believe in fairy tales.

Ridiculous, non? Yeah, it's pretty ridiculous. You'd think my history of incredibly poor decision-making would have cured me of that particular childish desire years and years and years ago.

But, the truth is, I still believe in happily-ever-after. I still believe in forever and sunsets and growing old and grand gestures and the power of love and romance and all that other 10-year-old girl stuff.

And I want a fairy tale. I want happily ever after. I want a relationship that's going to last forever, or at the very least, the rest of my lifetime.

My Prince Charming appreciates my cooking, and is perfectly willing to do the dishes. He'll indulge my ridiculous desire for low-key drama because he loves me. In return, I'll put up with whatever childishness he's still holding on to, because let's be honest, we're all little children somewhere in our emotional selves. Somewhere there's that one thing that everyone else outgrew that we just didn't. That one idea that was implanted by deep social conditioning that most people manage to expunge, but we just didn't. That one that took root real deep and isn't getting ripped out anytime soon because it's become part of the foundation of our identity.

There are so many of these messages that not everyone gets stuck with the same one. Some people get indoctrinated with gender roles, that men work and women cook and that's love. Some people get indoctrinated with holidays, that birthdays and Valentine's Day and the like are the real measure of love. Some get stuck with ideas about what good sex is, or what good sex is not. Some get materialism in full force, the "white-picket-fence" syndrome.

These are all pieces of baggage that individuals bring to relationships.

Me? I get stuck with commitment. Somehow, somewhere, I picked up this idea of committing and committing fully and that as long as two people meet as themselves and remain fully committed, they can work out anything. You ever seen that movie with Heather Graham? In a way, I'm like her. I'd really like to believe that if I ever get married again, I could get a tattoo for a wedding ring. I'd really like to find someone that understands that about me.

I guess you could say that "I'm looking for baggage that goes with mine."

And maybe that's really the key to a good relationship. We all have these little bits of social more lodged in the crevices of our brains; so much gets thrown at us that something sticks, no matter how rational and above it you like to think yourself.

So the key is finding someone whose bits of accumulated peer-induced flotsam match up with your own.

Not real helpful as a revelation, is it? No. I thought not.

And still.

I had a personal revelation today. It is as follows:

Consciously protecting one's heart hurts just as much as letting it get pierced.

Seriously.

I gave this whole "Play it cool, don't lose your head, don't let yourself get too involved, don't open up until it's a mutual thing" thing a shot. I really did. I even hedged some bets, kept myself occupied with a whole slew of new projects (bread baking, cheesemaking, apron sewing, butter churning, and a variety of baked desserts) and a whole stable of interesting people.

And still, and still, and still.

My fenced and guarded heart bleeds. It just happens to ooze behind a wall this time, where it's harder to see and also harder to bandage.

So guess what? I was right all along, even though I hate that statement more than anything right now.