(And so, the conclusion of part one.)
I sat myself down one day. I stopped mindlessly dating. I started dating with a mission.
What ensued was a string of guys I really should have run from. Not abusive, horrible guys; just guys whose heads weren’t in the game. Guys who didn’t like me much. Guys with better things to do. Guys focused on work, or booze, or bands or any number of things that guys can be focused on. I understand that; I was those guys for years. In their defense, I really am “a lot of look,” as Tim Gunn would say. It takes a special person to tolerate my special brand of crazy, my over-analysis of everything, my neurotic fear of things that are decades from happening, and my habit of endlessly bitching about my hair/foot size/skin/whatever. Couple that with the fact that the Neurotic Crazy Town Amy doll comes packaged with a Siamese cat, a posse of protective, scary friends and a mom who doesn’t mess around, and that’s a lot for any guy to handle.
Then, the universe (and one friend who will never let me forget it) delivered to me someone who is my type physically, mentally and sexually. Someone who has a bizarre habit of staying stuff I was just about to say. Someone who practically volunteered to meet Scary Mother. Someone who was willing to go see Jane Eyre. Someone who has voluntarily talked about his feelings on more than one occasion. Someone who isn’t afraid to take the piss out of me. People kept telling me that I seemed happy and glowy. I was in denial for a long time. Then, more realizations:
1. In his arms, I have felt perfectly safe, comfortable and understood.
2. I have looked at him and seen a long-term future that doesn’t freak me out.
3. He knows how to handle and wrangle my brand of crazy.
4. He is not one to give up easily.
I wasn’t using the L word because I feared that it wouldn’t be returned.
I wasn’t using the L word because I wanted to make sure I meant it.
I wasn’t using the L word because of one other thing we’ll discuss later.
I almost used it once before, with someone else, then felt like it would have been a misuse. Wild horses, rhinos and guns couldn’t make me have anything to do with him now, but I still hope for his eventual happiness. I just also hope that I have nothing whatsoever to do with it, as he could never have made me happy. Sometimes we love people who don’t love us back. It happens. It doesn’t mean we shouldn’t trust ourselves or our definitions of love; it just means we should find someone else and love them longer and better.
With that said, I’m afraid my current mister is doomed.
He did this to himself, after all.
So there it is.
I have fallen in love.
Hell has frozen.