I’ve spoken recently about how odd it feels loving two men.  It’s as if I’m straddling an invisible line between the present and the past.  The stronger my feelings grow for S, the sharper my present (and my future) become, while my past takes on a softer glow, losing definition around the edges.

I recently told S that when I think of A, the feelings are kinder, fonder, sweeter.  The pain associated with remembering him is dulled, softer somehow.  Don’t mistake this to mean that my memories are dulled, because that’s not the case, nor do I think it ever will be.  But the razor-sharp sting has been replaced by a more bearable ache.

Perhaps this is a result of the pain now being shared.  Science has never really been my thing and so I don’t know the technical term for it, but when something is dispersed over a greater area, it becomes diluted.  That is my heartache right now.  S has been acting as a sort of lightning rod, seemingly taking on some of my anguish when the moments threaten to strike, and shielding me from their most direct force.

We recently had a discussion (and I use the term loosely because I mainly feel like our discussions are me unleashing a litany of insecurities and uncertainties on him, which he then calmly and rationally refutes) over a miscommunication.  More of a non-communication, really, which I completely misunderstood.

I started to panic, thinking the oversight was intentional, and a way for him to distance himself from me.  And much like the promise I made myself when A died and I insisted on feeling everything, I have promised myself that I would not ever let my own anxieties and self-doubt get the best of me, and now I insist on discussing everything (sorry, S!). When I speak to S about the many (many) things that my mind convinces me are real, he doesn’t dismiss my feelings.  Rather, he often points out why it’s rational for me to think or feel a certain way, even if the logic may be faulty, and the conclusion untrue.  He then reassures me that we are in this thing together, and tells me I should continue to let my crazy loose whenever I feel like it (my words, not his, although I doubt you’d hear him argue their truth).

So now I let my own personal crazy train out of the station on a regular basis. I refuse to let things fester and grow until an imagined distance becomes a real one, and I’m learning that as long as both parties are on the same page with this, open and frequent dialogue does a lot to ease a troubled mind.  Strangely enough, this is such a difficult lesson to learn, yet it seems so simple a concept.  Perhaps we are so hesitant of allowing those closest to us (and those trying to be) to see our true selves – you know, the wonderfully imperfect, cracked self through which your inner light shines – that we hold in all the doubts and fears and anxieties until we make ourselves sick with worry.

We despair that we may lose someone if we expose how human we are.  News flash – we’re all flawed and insecure and looking for someone to love us anyway.  But how could they?  How could they really and truly love you, if you’re not allowing them to see you?  If being your authentic self scares someone else off, they aren’t your someone, no matter how badly you may want them to be.

So while my relationship with S may be fairly new, I – we – have taken great pains to not get caught in that “honeymoon phase” trap where you present nothing but your best side only to learn somewhere down the road that the side you never got to see didn’t suit you at all.  I’d rather let my crazy out now so S can decide if it’s something he can live with.

I’m happy to report that so far, he hasn’t run away screaming.  Despite what my insecurities may tell me from time to time.  I truly believe I have found my new someone, and perhaps we are meant to ride this crazy train together.  I’ll keep you posted.

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