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howfunnytocry-blog · 7 years

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A Different Kind

I almost cried at work last week because I was so overcome by the joy of falling in love with someone - again.

That is, I felt so lucky to have found love again, to find delight at the mere existence of this man, that I was almost moved to tears. I sat hiding behind the mannequins, staring expectantly at my phone for his response, and my eyes welled up, so touched I was by happiness.

But this was again. This feeling was neither new nor unfamiliar. By my count, I’ve fallen in love four times now. Their names, stacked up, are like apostles: Greg, Miles, Matt, John. I think most of these are apostles but I was raised by heathens so I can’t be sure.

Perhaps then the tears weren’t coming from a sense of joy but rather relief or welcome at an old friend. Love, again. The possibility of ecstasy. The marvel that another person could be so alike you, in all the right ways, and so different from you, in all the right ways.

Every thought is confirmation bias. He speaks about the potential of lifelong love and you infer that some part of him must be testing the waters of your capacity for romance. He shares a video of a woman in red singing by the seashore and you conclude that he wishes you were there, sharing this moment with him, instead of his straight male companion with faint wisps of blonde hair. He says something about how climate change dooms his hopes and dreams, with the exception of love and companionship, and all he’s doing is texting you, and you literally misread it to say that he’s seeking love and companionship by texting you. Until 12 hours later when you review your day’s conversation and realize that as usual, you missed a crucial comma.

How many commas have I missed in my haste? It’s hard to say now because I’ve also deleted the conversation when it took turns that frightened me. So I just play it cool, super cool, and no one is the wiser.

Except my frayed nerves and the insomnia and the anxiety rash. Last night I took, in order, a melatonin (10 mg), diphenhydramine (Benadryl generic), marijuana (Indica strain), and finally and conclusively, half a dosage of alprazolam (Xanax generic). I also read Just Mercy, My Brilliant Friend and watched an episode of Game of Thrones and West Wing. I listened to a 15 minute sleep meditation. I worked out. I journaled. I ate right: a grain bowl with baby kale and a chickpea stew. I rested and relaxed this weekend in the countryside, splayed out with two puppies and had every whim catered to by two retired white parents. I slept in silence.

And all that isn’t enough because my nerves are frayed and my soul is agitated. I am uncomfortable. I am uncertain. I am fearful and joyful at the same time. And I know this is all me and he is nothing but a catalyst, setting off an entire chemical chain. But that doesn’t make this state of mind easier to ease.

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