A hugely debilitating disease.
Forgive me, I’m watching House again. Hence the “debilitating disease” thing.
Still. Fear is just that.
Maybe not a disease, but debilitating? Very much so.
Suggested to my sister to use her mid-life crisis to change her life completely by going into a totally new field.
She told me on Sunday that she was scared that she’s too stupid to do it. Too stupid to read all the material. And, while she’s not stupid, she does have a reading disability of a sort. Apparently the words sort of jump around the page. Which makes reading very difficult. Something that could be overcome by giving her the reading material in an auditory fashion. I learn better when I read. She when she hears. And I’m quite prepared to read every single textbook for her if it means that she can make something in her life count. Do something she’s actually happy in.
Time will tell though, still lots of knots to unravel before we get to that point in time.
My life? Fear is very much present. In many ways. Fear of losing my house. Fear of never working again. Fear of always being a drain on my support system. Of being an oxygen thief. These are all things I can’t really do much about.
Then again, fear is not always rational.
Like my fear of heights. Consciously I know that I can only get hurt should I fall. My subconscious though – another matter altogether. If I’m up high, especially in an open structure, my synapses stop working rationally, changing me into a quivering ball of fear. Enclosed spaces are not too bad, aeroplanes and helicopters are doable. But a lift to the 20th floor? Not happening. A lookout on top of a mountain? Forget it! Even deep sea kind of freaks me out. Just the thought of all that complete nothingness beneath me – I’m sorry. Not my thing.
And then fear of personal relationships.
Not for want of trying. I’m just not succeeding all that well. Always attracting the same kind of people. People with just as much fear of commitment as I have. That’s just as little inclined to invite somebody into their lives. Which brought me to thinking that I should leave the whole relationship thing alone until I can either accept another person in my space, or until I’m completely at one with myself just the way I am.
And then there’s my dude.
The one person I would gladly make space for. In this though, he’s the one with the fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of it not working out, and truth be told, that’s also in the back of my mind.
That’s what happened to me last week Monday. For the first time in close to 3 years, I heard his lovely voice over the phone again. We caught up on all that’s happened since we last spoke. We laughed, and teased – it was as if all the time that’s passed was just gone.
Now I know that he still feels the same way about me as I do him. The same way we felt 3 years ago. The same way we’re probably going to feel forevermore.
Of course, all the phone call really did was to open the door again. To make me wonder. To even make me a bit angry and a whole lot sad. Not that I regret it – apparently that’s not a feeling I associate with my dude, regardless of how completely stupid the feelings and our actions were and are.
Angry that he chooses to stay in a place where his biggest role is that of wallet. That he chooses to stay with the known, instead of taking a chance on us being happy together. Maybe we will, maybe we won’t. Not something we’re ever likely to find out though. Rather the devil you know than the devil you don’t I suppose. I’m certainly not certain that we will make it. Lord knows I’m not the domesticated type, never have been, never will be. I’d much rather park off in the garage with him, working on a project, than to stand in front of the stove in the kitchen cooking and making my own jams and crap! I can’t see myself playing the “little woman” for any man. Stay at home and keep house and hearth warm and ready for when he returns home – had a relationship like that, not planning on having another one like it!
All this is completely moot though.
We’re from different parts of the world. Different cultures, different educations, different everything.
The only place we have any commonality in is in our feelings for one another.
And I don’t know if that will ever be enough to bridge the fear.
That being said…
I’d much rather keep him alive in my soul, dream of a time we’ll be together, imagine a life lived with somebody that actually likes me.
Rather have a ghost keep me company, than to deal with the very real disappointments and let downs and put downs I get from actual humans.
So now, it’s on-wards we forge. Trying to make sense of the things that happens in our lives. Trying to deal with feelings that is so worth having, but at the same time utterly futile…