Babies. Marriage. (Probably)Married-Activities-That-Potentially-Make-Babies (and, ya know, stuff). Boys. Relationships. Family. Future Being Anything Other Than Alone.
All these things have started scaring the ever lovin’ snot out of me. I had this wonderfully long list of stuff about 2013 that I wanted to post for the new year, but I just can’t get this out of my head long enough to write anything else.
I’m scared. Very very scared. I’m enjoying the whole college thing. And the whole almost independent thing. And it’s not like being alive is scary or anything. I’m even pretty happy with myself. As long as the only person I’m affecting is myself. But anybody else being in the picture scares me half to death.
Friends who are just a few years older than me are getting married and having children. I’d love to be married and have children someday. I think it would be fantastic. Having a family with someone. But the uncertainty of it scares me. Everything leading up to being married or having children scares me. The fact that it might not even work in the end scares me. And I know neither a husband or a child is anywhere close to happening. So it shouldn’t be a big deal, I’m kind of borrowing tomorrow’s worry and stuff. But something regarding my future family is more than likely happening in the next ten years, if not five. (Along with college and my life plans of loving on people and having Random Church while doing who knows what to actually make money.) Because that’s just the age I’m at.
And I’m scared.
It’s probably normal.
But I just need to write like I’m scared for a moment. I need to take off the hat of “why of course I know what I’m doing even if I don’t. Because confidence.” And just be scared.
As far as children, I’ve been assured that it’s perfectly fine for pregnancy and babies to freak me out until I’m at least 26. Because babies ARE scary. Having them is scary. You’re all of a sudden a Mom running on very little sleep and responsible for another life. Completely. If you’re lucky. If stars have aligned and you’ve been smart. AKA: if the baby’s Dad happens to want to be a Dad. There will be someone there with you. But even then, you’re both not going to be dealing with postpartum depression. You’re both not going to be experiencing some serious hormonal problems. You’re both not going to be physically responsible for actually feeding this tiny former peanut alien. And Dads, I’m really not trying to diminish your role in the whole baby thing, because goodness knows every Mom I know has been thankful for the support, empathy, and love of their husbands. Also, what if something goes wrong? That’s scary. I don’t, nor will I ever, know how to care for a itty bitty life. And I know nobody does. It’s kind of impossible. Because you’re not actually that itty bitty life. BUT YOU HAVE TO PRETEND YOU DO CAUSE A SMALL THING DEPENDS ON YOU.
But, like I said, I have another 8 years to be content in being terrified of ever having children. And currently I’m going to take advantage of that and be okay on that front.
Onto the mere thought of ever having a significant other.
First things first- This funny whatever it was feeling for this boy that’s been going on for like four years is actually over. And done. Because he’s got a girl. Well, the same girl. Just again. And I’m happy for him (and, no, I’m not repressing some anger or sadness, I’m allowed to be honestly happy for him). I’ve somehow decided to trust his judgement that we wouldn’t work. Which is bizarre and a new philosophy of mine I’ll come back to eventually. But the hope that this kind of love- which started when I really had no idea (and by no idea, I mean even less of an idea that my current one) what love entails (for a lot of reasons… age, family situation, etc)- would somehow stick around so I wouldn’t have to fall in love again, and so I wouldn’t have to risk this insane hurt again, became a hurtful kind of hope. And then things happened. And we talked. We are friends. He has apologized for what seems like the millionth time (and, as per our usual, I’ve forgiven him, and this time assured him that I’m okay, which was not a part of the last couple times), and he’s assured me that he’s got my back. And the hope is gone. And now I’m breathing again. No more wondering. No more figuring out what to say to him. And I’m seriously fighting the urge to berate myself on how ridiculous I was. Because I got SO wrapped up in a guy who was never that wrapped up in me. Why did I do that? I have no idea. But right now I’d like to chalk it up to life and move on.
So now I’m very excited and very terrified all at once. I don’t want to hurt again. I don’t want to fall in love again. I want someone to want to share life-y stuff with me. But I can’t shake the fear that that’s just not gonna happen. I really just want someone to share life with. Which sounds so cheesy and weird. But little things and happy things and weird things that I experience… I want someone to share them with. And I want to know somebody else’s little things and happy things and weird things. I don’t want friends with benefits. I want to kiss someone and it mean something. And then keep kissing them for a bazillion days after. And for the love of all that has ever been Holy, I want an honest relationship. I WANT TO BE ABLE TO TRUST SOMEONE. Someone who actually knows me and my weirdness (like, I might propose on the spot if a guy is ever able to survive, or *gasp* enjoys being around me even though he knows how I act when I’m by myself). I want to know that there’s someone who wants to be with me. And I’m having a really hard time believing that right now. I’m not sure I ever believed it in the first place. But there has been something to distract me from dilemmas like this for the past few years. And before that I thought boys were gross. (Actually, that’s not true, that skips a couple years I’d like to forget.)
But here’s the thing. What if I find someone who wants me, someone who cares, someone I have a loving relationship with and somewhere down the line they decide they don’t want to be married to me anymore. What if we do all the right things like being honest and open to communication and compromise and for some reason he just decides he wants to be with someone else, or he wants to be somewhere else? What if, despite learning things from my mistakes and the mistakes of people around me, it still ends? Then what?
And the problem is so much bigger than just not wanting a relationship or a family or whatever. Because I do want those things and that’s what makes it so damn frustrating. I just apologized to a friend-type boy because I didn’t want to annoy him at work. I also recently messaged a guy friend of mine after we had been talking on and off for several days and informed him that I was really close to asking him if I was being annoying. They both replied in the way of “well, we’re still talking aren’t we? You’re nuts, woman.” I also apologized to that boy who I’ve talked about way. too. much. And he says talking is a good thing to be doing. They’re all three my good friends. So why do I feel the need to apologize preemptively? WHY? Because I hate the thought of imposing on anyone. I hate the thought of leaving any sort of mark on anyone. I hate the idea that I could be seen as clingy and that they would decide to end our friendship. I hate thinking that I’m acting like a ridiculous “lazy waste of skin.” I spent a long time, in my infinite preteen wisdom, just *knowing* that if I took up less space, and if I was quieter, if I was less bothersome, if I didn’t need so much, then my Dad would come home. And somehow this has transferred into my automatic response to talking to any guy I’m friends with. Because if I take up too much room, I’m going to lose a friend. Sometimes my subconscious is an idiot. And guys who prove it wrong are the best. Sometimes I hate being tall. Sometimes I hate being overweight. Sometimes I hate taking up space. And again, it’s not an issue with life. I don’t want to disappear. I just don’t want to be in the way. I don’t want to be a nuisance. How am I supposed to expect anyone ever to actively want me to take up a huge part of their life? What makes me that important? I really don’t know. I honestly have no idea. But I hope someone does eventually.
So, here’s my goal for the next little bit. I’m going to be alive in my own way. A way which is usually quiet. Usually calm. Usually loving. But I’m going to do it in a solid, loud, real, big way. I’m going to spread out and make art and tiny life epiphanies. And trust that the people, especially the men, around me, who take time to talk to me and reassure me, actually want me to be taking up space around them (just like I want them to be taking up space around me).