“I have drunken deep of joy, And I will taste no other wine tonight.
— Percy Bysshe Shelley
I certainly had a lovely Christmas. My sister and niece are visiting from Texas. I got to spend some time with them. And Batman’s mom had invited me over as well.
I’m think I fall more in love with Batman each day. Yeah, he’s a pain in the ass some times. Overall, he makes me hella happy. His mom. . . is awesome. She’s super nice and sweet to me. She always makes me feel included and liked. His step-dad is cool too. Him and his wife complement each other very well. And they both make me feel as if I’ve been welcomed into the fold.
This has been a great Christmas. Batman’s parents even surprised me with a gift. It was so sweet of them. I also met Batman’s grandmother, his mom’s mom. She’s just as sweet as her daughter. So far, I like that side of Batman’s family.
I hope everyone’s Christmas had been as good as mine.
“You are imperfect, permanently and inevitably flawed. And you are beautiful.”
— Amy Bloom
I try not to worry about my relationship with Batman too much. It’s flawed, imperfect, and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Occasionally, the uncertainty bothers me. For instance, I had dinner with his dad for Thanksgiving. I think meeting his parents is an indication of something serious. However, at his uncle’s wedding-which I did not attend-his dad “encouraged” him to “go after” another woman. He didn’t. But the reason his dad thought it was acceptable to do that is because he’s under the impression that Batman is single, that there is nothing serious between us.
That bothered me. I felt like I was justified in getting upset. Where did his dad get that impression? From his son, obviously.
I love Batman. I do. And he loves me. But. . . Sometimes I wonder if I love him more than he loves me. I wonder if I’m completely delusional and seeing something serious where there isn’t. We practically live together. I’ve met both sets of his parents. I’ve celebrated various holidays with both. Am I crazy? Am I imagining a relationship where there is none?
I don’t know. And that bothers me. I’ve already established on several occasions that I dislike uncertainty, the unknown. But being in love makes me feel as if I’m going crazy.
“We are flawed creatures, all of us. Some of us think that means we should fix our flaws. But get rid of my flaws and there would be no one left.”
— Sarah Vowell
“Every weakness contains within itself a strength.”
— Shūsaku Endō
I’ve been bottling up a lot over the last few years.
Tonight, my trigger was my aunt, my mom’s sister. She’s a diabetic and is currently in a nursing home. She is only ten years older than me. She had a stroke recently. I love her like a sister. I miss the way she was before she went to the home, when we used to bicker like sisters.
Survivor. There’s a certain strength in that title. The thing is, I don’t want to be strong.
I want to be weak. I want to be coddled and comforted by my grandmother or Batman. I want to let the pain wash over me. I want to succumb to the sorrow, guilt, and shame. I don’t want anyone to look to me for guidance or as a role model. Because maybe if I scream till my throat is raw, it will all go away. I will no longer feel as if I’m walking on egg shells around my own emotions. I won’t avoid some of my favorite tv shows because they’re “triggers”. Maybe certain places, smells, news articles, and songs won’t trigger a panick attack or a flash back or a meltdown. Maybe I’ll actually be okay. Maybe I’ll become whole by falling apart.
Maybe the world won’t end if I actually allow myself a moment of weakness.
“Don’t bother just to be better than your contemporaries or predecessors. Try to be better than yourself.”
— William Faulkner
I started a post on this a week or so ago but scrapped it because Batman and I had our first serious argument since we’ve gotten back together. It was an eye-opener for me. We’ve. . . come along way in a short amount of time and I thought we were going to call it quits once and for all. I got scared. Real scared. I don’t even know how to put into words what he means to me or how happy he makes me. To make a long story short, we handled it like adults by talking it out and eventually making up. I also don’t believe that I’ve mentioned that I have met both sets of his parents. I actually spent Thanksgiving at his dad’s house.
Lately, I’ve been feeling. . . . self-absorbed. Almost as if I’m in a bubble and I only make a sparing glance at the world outside. I feel as if I’ve been hibernating. I’ve certainly taken more than one unintentional hiatus from this blog. But I’m awake now and. . . . I don’t like how some things have. . . deteriorated in my absence. It is as if the president had went into a coma and awoke to discover the world had been laid to waste while he slept. I don’t know where to begin to fix things or how to prevent myself from retreating back into my bubble where I’m happy and everything is fine. I’m not even sure if I’m making any sense.
But I’m happy. Blissfully happy. Happier than I’ve ever been, not to say I don’t have ups and downs because I do. But overall I’m happy. And this happiness is addictive. I just want to be cocooned with the source of this happiness. A bubble where only he and I exist. Dangerous thinking, unhealthy thinking. The minute I leave this self-imposed bubble, everything seems so bleak. Like a wasteland in comparison.
I don’t want to be one of those girls that doesn’t exist outside of the relationship with their significant other. I still want to be me. I still want to have a life when I’m away from him. He’s not controlling. He’s not restricting me from having a life away from him. Its just the intensity of my feelings for him that makes me want to form this bubble with him. I’m not sure I’m making any sense. I’m starting to confuse myself. Either that or I’m starting to lose my sense of self.
“When life gives you lemons, make lemonade”
The semester is coming to a close. Finals are next week. And I’m coming to the realization that. . . . I’m just not putting enough effort into my studies. I’m disappointed in myself this semester. As the possibility of failing a class becomes imminent, I found myself not really caring as much as I should.
Maybe it is Senioritis. I was filled with excitement and motivation during my first semester. That motivation and excitement has tapered off into disinterest and dread. I no longer look forward to my classes. They rarely, if ever, interest me. I’m just worried how my GPA is going to fare after this semester. I hope next semester is better and that I get my head back into the game and my eyes back on the prize.