I Think I Broke My Tear Ducts...

So when it comes to tears...I am a hard core NIMBY (Not In My Back Yard). Tears are for other people...you know...the sensitive types. The kind that cry every time Celie's children arrive from Africa at the end of The Color Purple no matter how many times they've seen it...like this time around it's going to be some white people by accident. You know who I am talking about...the people that cry at weddings as if someone just died. Ummm...funeral=box/dead person...wedding=white dress.  But today...Pedro Julio is going back to New York, and just about every second I feel as if I am about a nano-second from whipping out a tissue and screaming...CELIE! NETTIE! And doing the hand clap game with one of my co-workers as I play Miss Celie's Blues in the background.

I know I am going to see PJ in just a few weeks...but those are going to be weeks that I spend missing his soft skin, his arms around me as I'm sleeping, his crazy hair in the morning, his glasses that I love and he hates, his insistence on translating everything he says to me in Spanish into English, trying to trick him into eating vegetables, the soft kisses and whispered te quieros and I love yous in the middle of the night, his snoring, watching silly movies, holding hands, and all those little moments in between that are so important and so special. I know I am sounding like some sort of sappy melodramatic queen in love...but...well...shut up.

Last night we spent a lot of time talking and crying and misunderstanding each other and then crying and talking some more. I went from sad to angry to confused back through the entire range of emotions again. At one point PJ rose dramatically from the bed, tossed his hair, and locked himself in the bathroom...so I...at 1am...put on some jeans, a tasteful hand knitted scarf, and some sturdy shoes and headed towards the front door...it was the Drama Olympics for a minute or two. But through it all,  basically, I was reminded once again at how many wounds we take moving through the world. We spend so much time trying to live our own truth while trying to fight off others that would rather beat us (either metaphorically or physically) that we are rarely afforded the opportunity to heal. We get cheated on. Dumped. Smacked around. Left. Rejected. Ignored. Abused. Stomped on. Stolen from. And it all feels horrible. It becomes easier to avoid the good and the bad because it takes the risk out of the whole deal. But in the end you end up missing the stuff in life that makes life worth living. I heard words come out of in our conversations last night that I'd said so many times in so many situations and had so many people tell me that I am coocoo bananas. But until I heard someone else saying those same words...I had no idea what my friends were talking about. Until recently I thought love wasn't for me. I thought being cared for wasn't for me. I thought being valued, cherished, appreciated, celebrated for all the things that make up who I am weren't for me. Then I went to rehab and learned where all that shit comes from. I was surrounded by friends that made it clear to me that I was worthy of all the love the world has to offer and more. Of course...once I was told all of those things I instantly believed them...changed 28 years of programming and life experience...and I am now a completely mentally healthy chap that has the best self-esteem and could teach classes on self-love. Please oh please read the sarcasm in that sentence. But I am a lot better off than I was just a few months ago. Some days though I am terrified. I have had more than my fair share of hurt. I've had enough hurt and abuse and disappointment and pain in the first quarter decade of my life that I should actually be totally exempt from any more negative experiences until I die or the Return of Christ...whichever comes first (and hopefully neither will happen soon). And sometimes I run like hell from anything that might hurt me---Flo Jo ain't got nothing on me when I'm feeling threatened. My own Mom called me out not that long ago. She was on the phone and she said...you know baby...every time you get close to someone...come near to loving someone...you charge up your bus card and head for the city limits. I told her to shut up and crossed her off my Christmas Card list. 

Last night I made a committment to PJ that I intend to honor. I love that man. Oh lord I love that man. Don't know how it happened. Know that it happend for  reason. Don't know why. Don't care. I know that now that I've found him I'm absolutely petrified of losing him. (See...Love/Fear...two for one special). A wise person once said...the harder and deeper you love the greater your chance of happiness and fullfillment and the greater your chance for hurt and pain (not sure which wise person...pick one that you like...go on...I won't tell.) You can't have one without the other. I've tried. Not this time. I'm going for it all in. And unlike Coya...when I go all in...I ain't bluffing.