A Hostage Situation

(Next, I will return to my regularly scheduled posts.  Noted: Hats off to military wives.)

I was angry. I was sad. I was panicked. I was falling for someone. I worry now. I worry for someone beyond myself; beyond my family; I worry for this person I’ve known for less than a month. I long for him. I wonder if he’s okay. And I find it fucking obnoxious.

In my moments of panic – when I knew I was really beginning to care for this person – I’m fairly certain now that I was subconsciously trying to push him away. Because I knew what was coming; I’ve been here before: The Ex and I were dating for only a few months - and I had told him just the night before “I love you” for the very first time - before he flew off to work in Egypt for six weeks. And it fucking sucked. That was nearly 10 years ago and I still remember how awful it was waiting for his call once a week - twice, if I was lucky. Beaming at the sound of his voice; learning how to navigate the awkward pauses of an international satellite phone. And absolutely pitiful when it was time to hang up. I would miss him even more and knew it was that much longer between the next time we would speak.

It was so incredibly difficult because he had become a part of me, part of my heart. And it is terrifically awful to have your heart away from you, so fucking far away from you and for so long – particularly when it is so new; fresh; exciting. While my current situation is different in that we've only been dating a few weeks and aren't in a relationship, the infatuation is still being ripped away and you can’t curse the other person, you can’t grieve or cope by hating them - this isn’t a break up: It’s a hostage situation.

Last week, when I knew shit was happening, when I began to really feel something for The Turk and thus understand it was going to be just as shitty as Egypt, I asked him more than once “Do you have any idea how hard this is for me? How difficult what you’re asking me to do is?”

It’s bullshit. It really is. But I can’t blame him; I know that. And you can’t control matters of the heart. My brain didn’t even stand a chance. It tried to fight in intoxicated moments, but the sober reality was that my heart left no choice but to not move and wait for him. To stand with my fucking hands in the fucking air for five fucking weeks - baited by just three.

I want to say what he should have done was just wait, wait for him to leave and come back before chasing me, but he would have been chasing my trail – I would have been gone by then. I would have been twenty two hundred miles away by then. And the way he looked at me - even that first day. That weird intense stare that creeped me out - like his heart feeding through his eyes - how could I ignore that? In the moments we met, it’s like he knew something I didn’t. You can’t fight that kind of thing. And he did what he needed to do to keep me here, all while urging me to leave “if that’s what you think is best for you.” He didn’t want to stand in my way, but that weird guy and his intense stare drew me in; he grew on me unimaginably in 19 days.

And now after I have been content single for so long - at times longing for a partner - all I want to say is: this fucking blows. Dangling a carrot and saying 'wait five weeks to eat it'; having to worry about and yearn ache for a guy 5,200 miles away all while living my same single life as if nothing has happened: what a seriously fucked up way to re-enter the dating world. But even while I have my fist-shaking frustrations, doubts, or insecurities while he’s gone, I’m not questioning waiting. I'm not certain as to why I am certain, although I am cautiously curious of the outcome after 36 days.

As for today, I'm only five days in. I assume it gets easier over time; that I’ll acclimate to my hostage environment. Or at least, Dear God, I hope so, because my brain appears powerless over the activity rumbling in my chest. Or maybe they just agree for once. And it's fucking obnoxious.