A traitor to the cause
The things that have happened to me the past few months, are the stuff that … stuff is made from. I was presented with the risk of having my ex asking for full custody, if I didn’t stop mucking about with the days in which I have our daughter staying with me. And by mucking about, I mean trying to get better, so I can see her more often. I want to say in his defense, he’s not APPLYING for it. It got put on the the table that he had been considering it, for the sake of the little one. And I couldn’t argue. I told him he didn’t have to worry about me not accepting the terms, because we’ve been down this road before. And I can’t make the decision to give up my time with her one more time.
Thankfully, through accepting the unacceptable, I’ve come to terms with the terms. Thursday-Saturday, every other week. I can still pick her up once in a while and have her for a few hours. There’s no bad blood between me and the x, both of our immediate families are very involved (thank fuck for grandmas) and no one thinks for a second I would do anything drastic.
Drastic though, was the immediate consequences to that meeting. I was seriously considering asking my mum to come round and take my passport away from me. I didn’t feel the urge to plot my demise as I usually do, but I just wanted to leave. So basically this year started as 2016 ended, awfully. In 2016 I aged about 4 years. But… It was also the year that, as it drew its final convulsing breaths, planted the notion in my idea, that all hope was not lost. Which is where I get back on track, at least relating to the title. Because I met someone. By sheer dumb fucking luck, I had wandered into another persons Tinder radar. I’ll spare you the sordid details (of which there are many) and skip straight to the part where I find myself a — you got it — traitor to the cause
One of my earlier posts dealt with the fact that I a) wasn’t really sure I ever loved anyone and it’s just a big hoax anyway, created by Hollywood and b) no one would ever be able to love me back in equal measure — in case love was real. I now have to do a completely backpedal on both accounts. The Turncoat Trot. The Cha cha cha of Changing One’s Mind. The Politician’s Polka (you know the one, you’ve seen it on tv).
But now? Here I am, pining every second we’re apart. And as I’ve heard myself say, more than once (in another context): “Every idiot knows how to fall in love.” I admit it. I’m an idiot. But this idiot realises it’s real. It’s not just infatuation. Or gratefulness for someone wanting me back. This is home. This is not Sparta. It’s the courage to speak of the darkness and embrace the pain. Because I’m not magically cured by his love. I’m not all better now all of a sudden. This is not a happy ending. Yet.
This is something that could mean a real difference to me, to finally be able to look someone in the eye and see nothing but a total acceptance of who you are and not having to apologise for your flaws. Every part of my view on dating, relationships and the horrors of emotional attachment is put to shame, when he tells me he belongs to me. I’m almost shameful to admit I’m kinda sorta dreaming about a future with this man. And you know what? I’m starting to believe it might be true after all. That love IS real and I can have some. All I know is, I’m actually capable of this and as much as it freaks me out… It’s also a relief. I guess I am human after all. Yuck ❤
Our next class, will be about whether or not we’re robots and everything we call emotions, are really just put in our system by our programmers and everything is a simulation. And by we, I mean me.