So far, so... whatever

New Year's Resolutions.

They can kiss my ass.

Not really... but there's always a couple that I put on there knowing that it will never happen. Like this journal thing. It used to be such a joy. Such a necessity. Now... whatever.

After an incident with boyfriend, though, I know the reason why I find writing here more of a chore. I've been looking for this reason for years now and we had our first major blowout after vacation and it became abundantly clear. HE is the reason. HE is why I don't write. Because there we were in this awful place and I felt like this vulnerable, over-emotional, out-of-control creature who'd been cornered and couldn't find a way out. And HE was the problem. And so all the processing, talking it out, venting and everything it is that I do to stay sane in this world and figure out my way was stripped from me in an instant. Because HE is my partner in all of that. He's my sounding board. He's my voice of reason.

And he shut me down and told me he didn't want to hear what I had to say.

And I felt this wall going up between us. And I started to withdraw and retreat away from him. I just went completely internal. And the first thing I thought about how to handle it was, "I have to process this. I have to figure this out. Why am I feeling all this emotion? Why am I feeling so overwhelmed? Why am I flipping out? I don't do this."

And I realized that I couldn't tell him any of the stuff I was feeling because he was the target of it all. And so the next thing I thought was, "Fine, then I will write about it if you don't want to hear it."

And then I realized that HE is why I don't write. Because he is to me everything that my journal always was. This space was all the things I would have said to someone very close to me, very intimate. It's the space where I always worked out my deepest thoughts and emotions. It's where everything in its most raw form could be chunked out and mulled over. He is who I share that with now. And I don't have to think as hard as I used to. And I don't have to worry as much. And I don't have to over-analyze everything anymore. Because it's so complete... more complete, of course, than ever it was when I was writing in paper books to just myself in the echo chamber... but even more complete than it was when I was writing to an audience who sort of knew me.

Because he really knows me. He sees it all. There's scarcely anything that I hide from him and the sort of vulnerability that I feel when I reveal some raw part of myself is a safe sort. I don't worry about it because I'm comfortable that he's not going to reject me due to anything I think or feel. It's okay that I'm strange and different and that I don't do things in expected ways and that I think odd thoughts.

Until the other day... then it was scary because I felt rejected and abandoned. And my emotional fight-or-flight response kicked into overdrive and in my mind I was packing my bags and cauterizing my wounds and steeling myself for the road ahead. And I was fully ready to come back here with guns blazing and spill my guts and do the hard work of picking up the pieces.

But, alas, it was a gross overreaction to frayed nerves and sleep deprivation and after some time and tears and some well-chosen and well-timed words, all is well again. Like it never happened.

Truly, like it never happened. Which is also such a strange thing for me. I have been wronged in the past quite severely and though I've moved past those things, I still hold grudges. In relationships, I slowly build a database of wrongs and have instant recall of every record at all times. At some point, there are just too many records for me to carry on and the relationship has to end. At some point, there are so many records that my face just contorts into a look of disgust that can't be hidden any more.

But there are no records here in this relationship. The first argument that we had, I remember what happened. I remember being upset and driving down the street to be alone with my thoughts and keep him from seeing me cry and be angry. I remember this. But I do not remember what it was about at all. I have tried before to remember... we both have. We laugh about how pissed I was and how it was all some misunderstanding, but neither of us can pinpoint the exact thing that was said or done. This flies in the face of every other argument or fight I've had with anyone... because I can remember everything. Minute details like what the weather was like, what I ate that day and what people were wearing, as well as every single thing that was said and done.

And this thing, while bigger than that thing, I will probably remember because of so many context clues that exist, but the crazy part of it is that I am not holding onto it. I did not make a record of it for future recall. I am not angry about it any more. I do not feel the alarm that I felt then as I began to analyze what I thought was taking place between us.

Crazy and wonderful.

In another way, though, when it comes to journal stuff... I feel like it's great that I'm having this awesome relationship with another person who I'm so connected to, but then I realize that I'm not having the same relationship with myself any more... I'm not taking care of myself in the same way. I'm letting him do that for me. Which feels great now, but then if something ever happened I'd be devastated, wouldn't I?

But what kind of relationships was I having before where I was always reserved and guarded and never gave of myself fully so that I could always protect myself? Or even those where I gave a lot of myself but only the worst bits... Ugly, no? Why did I even bother with all that?

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I meant to write about resolutions and how I'm always screwing them up before the first week of the new year is over... Guess I will do that later. Time to make dinner.