Creeping Through The Cellar Door (none_too_subtle) wrote,
Creeping Through The Cellar Door

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The way it all goes down

When you turn down the sheet underneath your blissful, over-priced comforter and duvet and slip into that smooth heaven, it's hard to go back to anything else.

That's how I see it, anyway. You can't miss what you've never had, and you'll typically pine away for what you did and now don't.

I think that includes people/personalities, too. I've been literally spoiled with a rainbow of interesting characters in my day, and those acts combined are impossible to follow. Often, I've been the most interesting; at other times, I've been a party to others who were way above me. And I like that feeling better, since I learn from them.

And now I'm perched on the side of this bed. Every bit as comfortable as what I'd expect and what I've had, and I don't know whether or not to crawl in. Why would that decision be so complicated? The colors are nice, the threadcount is perfect. The pillows are more than adequate, and there's even one of those space-camper foamy leg thingies in the bed and I still hesitate to crawl in out of some fear born from all those lovely personalities from my past. While interesting, they weren't all *good*.

I've sworn to never pigeonhole others no matter what their age, gender, sexual orientation, race, etc., and I never have. But when someone gets this close to my personal gate, and wants to come in and stay, I start looking real hard, ever watchful for red flags and trouble spots. Do I look for the good in the other person? I wonder. While thinking about it, it occurs to me that I do appreciate and acknowledge the good in *every*one, especially those close to me. It can be any action, big or small; they all have equal value in my eyes because of the action. Not the size thereof.

My life hasn't been in any way traditional and I feel this, too, contributes to my indecisive nature. I've literally lived as some free-spirited gypsy since I was 18 until I married my daughter's dad. But even then, part of me was always ready to get up and go, and continue on my previous course of travel. My job afforded me the opportunity to participate in interesting travels, events and meeting the same-type bizarre/interesting personalities, but it wasn't the same. I was grounded for the first time in my adult life, and had a hard time reconciling this. Just as I was ready to leave (and I won't get in to our first pregnancy nor when we lost our baby), I became pregnant with Kelsey. It wasn't until I first held her in my arms that I realized my nomadic existence was coming to a grinding halt once and for all; and this time, because I wanted it to.

But they grow up. And so there are several forks in my road, and turned-down beds from which I have to choose, and choose carefully. I cannot -- at my age -- make a wrong turn in any direction, as it's more crucial now. Everything I do is extremely important, due to time and the cruelty of how fast it passes us by, my health or lack thereof, and responsibilities. I group everything and everyone now nicely into this huge, vague categories, all except for those I love. The never-ending heart's real estate that does not go away, not even if I wanted it to. The blunt knife that smoothly shapes and molds the affections of my heart and my unwillingness to stop that natural progress, of its movements. I stand still, feeling it flow warmly from there throughout the rest of my body, and realize that I have enough love now in the center of me that could support love for everyone around me, yet still can't express it properly.


Not even to those closest to me. I'm clumsy, like a schoolboy even, with my love approach. I'm afraid, I think, because I'm a child of adoption, and an inner child who just lost two adopted parents. Now, I feel like I totally don't belong ANYwhere. And that I'm just floating through life with no real purpose, no roots and definitely not the nerve to say "I love you" back without being totally scared to death. I'll make jokes about it, and find ways to say I love you in every way BUT directly. Okay, with Kelsey I'm good about it. But with others, it always feels clumsy, even if the intent is true. Do they really know, then, that I love them? When I joke, or when I end a letter with those words, do they realize that I mean it? I have no doubts about it. But somehow, it just feels more secure joking about it in case they change THEIR minds. Adopted kids ALWAYS feel like we're going to be left behind. Let there be no mistake. We /always/ dread this as the worst thing to happen. As a result, some of us -- like me -- find reasons to leave first. We start looking for trouble way before trouble should even exist. And this includes friendships, as well. It's difficult for an adopted child to hang on to bonds forged even in the best of circumstances.

So I'm not taking any of this lightly. I smooth my hand over the bed on which I sit, checking twice to see if the material is close to the right thread count. If it feels cool and soft to the touch, and gives way easily to my hand. I plump the pillows around me, making sure that each one is goose down, so that I know I'll securely sleep better. One finger idly slides down the piping thread on the top sheet, and I can see and feel that the quality is superb, and yet I still can't sleep.

Therein lies the rub with me. I can either accept the fact that yes, maybe I can have happy endings, too, which are also beginnings, or run like I usually do. Start a fight. Argue the "why nots" and find more reasons to keep things going steady and predictable, instead of choosing a "new" bed that seems perfect for me, yet what about the monster underneath?

This year has been particularly hard on me. There have been those in my life who have become so dear to me, simply because of what they've /done/. They helped at a time when it was absolutely crucial. Although I've lost both my parents, and well, lost the rest of my family, too, I feel I've gained a new one in my friend pool. I do not take them for granted, because I know that if it was not for them, I wouldn't be here with an internet connection, nor a computer, writing my thoughts out at a time when I need to most.

And now, it's up to me to rush and stress and freak once again in search of security. It's been month-to-month this summer, and it's been horrible. The new situation was misrepresented (which I'm sure I've already journaled), which left me having no choice but to go.

Here I am. And I don't know which way to go, not in any direction. There are no maps, or life's lessons that could teach me what I need to know in order to straighten all this out. I only know that it would help if one of the roads I chose was the bed on which I sit; comfortable, predictable, everything I love and expect, to help me make it through another night. Maybe man and woman were meant to be. Maybe all those romantics are right, and I'm just stubborn. Or afraid. Maybe we were /meant/ to have mates in life, just to make life tolerable. I'm beginning to see the sense in that and how it /could/ work in my life now. God knows I've made a mess, or been part of one, in previous relationships. I choose for all the wrong reasons, and end up with what I've deserved every time. If I haven't learned from these, then all that struggle, all the nightmares would not have been worth it. But I did learn. I learned what I CAN'T live WITH. Not what I can't live WITHOUT. And I believe that's more important. To take one's top five bad things, give me the list, and let me decide.

Eying the bed again, I can't even find five bad things about it. I think I'm just afraid. Just as I've always been more afraid of success than failure as a writer, I'm more afraid of success in a relationship, too. It all makes sense, if you think about it. And here I am, stuck in this "oh no, it can't go WELL" mode that cripples me, knocks the wind out of me, stifles me from making what should be considered the right choice.

Then again, maybe I should get some sleep on Friday nights, so I don't end up writing down all these thoughts that *I'll* understand, but those who read will scratch their heads over, wondering what in the hell I'm talking about.

I suppose, if you've made it this far, that'll teach ya.

I warned ya.

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