He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me. He loves me not. He loves me so much that he watches me as I sleep, and I awaken to his dreamy stare that freaks me out and makes me jump out of my skin because I know I sleep with my mouth wide open, dried spittle on my chin, breathing breath so toxic it could literally singe his eyebrows. And he loves me so much that when he feels me pulling away even from 350 miles away, he rushes to comfort me because he loves me that much.
The hardest part about being a relationship columnist is that by the time I write my stories, they've usually already been told. They have already played themselves out and I'm just recalling them from memory. This time is completely different. This time, my story is unfolding as I sit in front of my computer staring at blurry words through tear-soaked eyes and write the first story that I haven't lived to completion yet. But I know that the heartbreaking end is in the next room, waiting patiently to say the things that need to be said and to find out if we are going to fight for our love or walk away.
I'm up against deadline, my column is due in the morning and my boyfriend is sitting in the next room looking for answers. Answers I'm not sure I am prepared to give.
You see, I've been meaning to reintroduce Jay for a while now, but every time I wanted to tell my "the drunk dialed him and he came to Vegas to see if we had anything left to work on" story, we'd have a falling out and I'd decide to put it off just in case it didn't pan out. That was me playing it safe, me not telling about how I decided to take a leap of faith and invite this amazing man back into my life ... just in case it didn't work out.
But, as is true with life, sometimes it catches up with you and suddenly you're called onto the mat and you're forced to make uncomfortable decisions. This story is about facing fears, questioning true love and wondering if the choices you make in this instant will haunt you for the rest of your days.
You see, I did call Jay and he did come to Vegas, and it was everything I remembered it to be the first time we fell in love. It was sweet and safe and comfortable and all the things that a good relationship needs to be in order to grow. It was kind, considerate and dependable and filled a void that I'd been feeling since we parted company all those months ago.
It was also selfish, self-serving and hurtful on my part. I knew before I called him that he would come running just as fast as his legs could carry him and not because he is weak or spineless, but because that is the way he loves: all the way, never faltering, never hesitating, never questioning. I also knew that he loved me in a way I haven't been able to love since my ex-husband and that I probably never would. I knew that to call him was to say that I was ready to go all the way too. And I also knew that I wasn't truly ready for that type of commitment, but I called him anyway.
And true to form, he came running, and he picked up right where he left off, loving me, adoring me, going out of his way to try to make my life a little easier, helping the kids with their projects, loving them as though they were his own, and whispering in my ear when he thought I was asleep, "I want to marry you someday, Sonja, someday when you're ready."
But there was always something missing. Not anything tangible that I can put my finger on, but something really important. I wondered if I would ever be ready. And I found myself asking: Is this real? Am I settling? Am I so afraid to be alone that I am willing to suck all the glorious love that this man has to offer out of him, knowing that I can't return it? Not to the same degree, anyway. Not the way he deserves to be loved.
I hate myself for pulling him in, knowing that as much as I love him, it doesn't come close to the amount of love he feels for me ... and probably never will. Am I destined to continue to punish everyone who tries to love me because I believe that I am undeserving of such love? Because the only time I ever felt true love, I inevitably broke his heart too. What is wrong with me?
In the end, I think if you have to ask so many questions, you already know the answer.
But then there is this part of me that thinks I should hold on for dear life because he is so amazing and I do deserve to love and be loved and that maybe this is my second chance, my chance to make things right. Yet every time I start to believe that, I pull away and put up walls and I am mean to him and I say hurtful things and I practically invite him to walk out on me. And when he doesn't, I am cold and disrespectful, pushing, pushing him away.
And now I have. He is in the other room, waiting patiently to say the things that need to be said. And I am panicking because, although the thought of spending the rest of my life with him is terrifying, the thought of living without him is devastating.
But I'm up against deadlines and it's time for honesty; I owe him that much.
He loves me. I love me not. He loves me. I love him not. He loves me. I love ...
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?