Afraid Of Commitment

I will get to that "Medication Nation" entry, really I will.

I realized, especially since breaking up with Rob, that I have a major fear of commitment.  It’s funny.  Dolly once told me, and as far as I remember, we were about ten when she said this, that she saw herself as the homebody person.  The one who got married and had kids and lived the simple housewife kind of life.  Not to say she wouldn’t have a job/career, but you get the idea.  And she saw me as the ones traveling around the world, breaking hearts along the way.

I always thought she was crazy.  She’s the tall, thin gorgeous one who guys would fall all over, have crushes on, ask out, etc.  And I . . . wasn’t.  I’m not any of those things.  I admit, I’m not ugly, but at best I’m pretty.  Most of the time I hate how I look.

Anyway.  I always thought she was nuts for speculating that.  Yet more and more, I can’t help but wonder if it’s true.  She’s marrying Zeb soon and settling down with him and Bobby and you know what?  Maybe she doesn;t have the lifestyle we always pictured ourselves having, but she’s happy.  She found her Prince Charming.

I think when we’d talk about our Prince Charmings when we were kids, we had two different ideas of what makes up a Prince Charming.  I think, ultimately, she wanted someone who would accept and love her for who she is.  Me, I wanted . . . Want . . .  So much more.

I think I’ve raised my expectations of my "Prince Charming" so high that no one could meet them.  And yet, ven through discovering that that’s very likely what I’ve done, I don’t want to lower them.  I don’t want to settle for what I think/hope is love.  I don’t want to stumble into love.  I want an all-out fall.

It scares me to realize I’ve become this, though.  I mean, even though I was happy about the idea of planning a wedding to Rob and living our lives together, I knew I wasn’t giving my entire heart to him.  After awhile, I felt . . . trapped.  Like I needed to get away, but I wasn’t sure I could.  Now that we’re broken up, I feel so much freer, it’s amazing.  Yet it’s strange to feel happy about something like that.

I see so many people around me who are happy in their relationships and talking about how great it is to have someone who understands, supports, and loves you.  And while it may not be a perfect match up, it’s perfect to them, because they make it work.  In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve ever had that.  I mean, as of today, if all had gone according to plans my senior year, I’d have been married for three months and one day.  To the person I thought would be in my life forever.

After everything that happened to me in eighth grade, I promised myself that I was never going to expect someone to be in my life for any real length of time.  I wasn’t going to look to the future and think, "Oh, yeah, they’ll be there."

But three and a half years later, I broke that promise to myself and let Mike in.  I always thought, whether I loved him, hated him, or anywhere in between, that he’d be there.  He told me he’d be there.  And I can’t even describe the anger I feel at the fact that he lied to me about that.

It pisses me off that so many things I can think back on now, I’m realizing were just him excluding me.  He and Dan going to this Improv thing in Redbank, and Mike claiming it was a "guy’s night out."  Yet they were meeting Shannon, Jacqui, and Kathy there.  Yeah, guy’s night out, my ass.  And Rocky Horror.  I mean, he knew, or should have known, how much I would have loved to have gone to see that movie and be able to dress up, if not like one of the characters, then at least in a goth-ish like outfit.  But he didn’t even bother to invite me.  He didn’t even bother to tell me about it except in passing after the fact.

I remember he once told me that he never wanted to forget how the other kids treated him as he was growing up, because if he did forget that pain, that feeling of exclusion, then he’d be capable of turning around and doing it to someone else.

At least I know now that he’s completely forgotten what being excluded from things feels like.

So many things still hurt me, or piss me off about all this.  And all anyone’ll say is that I should get over it, or that they’re a bunch of asses, or other things of that nature.  But none of it helps.  I want answers.  But no one wants to give them to me.

I wish there was a way for me to go up to every single one of them and show them what they’ve done to me.

You know, another ‘funny’ thing . . .  I know that one of the reasons Mike stopped inviting me was probably because he was afraid I’d say yes.  Ironic, really, that he needn’y have worried about that.  All I wanted to do was be asked.  I wouldn’t have said yes.  One part of me wasn’t completely stupid.  One part of me knew I wasn’t wanted.  It’s just that the rest of me yearned for the illusion that I was.