Absolute Perfection and Complete Catastrophe

"We all fuck up and go a bit batty. It doesn't mean we're not loveable, it means we're having a hard time with something." -GFC

I'm just so frustrated at this point. And I think that's a big part of it. I'm pissed that I wait years - YEARS! - to find someone who makes me feel that certain way again and in just days he says he has me. I'm his "property". "But I have not be claimed!" I protest to a man I barely know well enough to call it "dating" let alone exclusive relationship. Desire is not entitlement. I want my commitment to be earned, not commanded. I want to be wooed and courted and all of those things my step-dad so rightfully insisted. That takes more than 19 days, particularly on the heels of five weeks' absence. Even still, I liked him. Our time together in August had the promising makings of a really terrific story - except for that whole moving and five week holiday shit. I could barely enjoy the time together because for each smile, kiss, laugh and blissful moment, I knew there would be a countering ache once he left for five fucking weeks. I couldn't commit to an absence because each blissful moment became a silent terror of future heartache. Yet, I had hope (that bitch) and I didn't even consider not postponing my move because YEARS! (what's another few months) - and that way he just looked at me. 

But he flew away from my panic of each anticipated absence-countering ache, and left it quietly with no reassurance to screaming insecurities. Completely unexpected of the man I thought I could grow feelings for, he was nothing once removed that I had imagined. He was so quiet and almost cold. Once abroad and silence, I demanded my version because I knew we didn't know each other well enough for it to make sense the way he wanted. I knew better that our jilted communication and limited interpersonal knowledge couldn't sustain us - sustain me - in the way either had imagined. I wanted flowers and wooing - he wanted a girl to just sit an wait for his call. I needed it to be casual until he returned and he surprised me with his willingness to sacrifice postpone his wants for my needs. "Okay, pal." A fair trade, I thought, for having pulled me into this particularly bizarre and uncomfortable situation. However, as weeks passed, he still acted as though he had rightfully claimed me as his: aaaand I OFFICIALLY HAVE NO IDEA WHAT'S GOING ON. What I did know was that while I wasn't dating anyone, it was also not his place to tell me that I couldn't: and to confusion, enter inflamed frustration. He remained intermittently silent, while our separate wants and needs aided miscommunication and then a dual frustration. We were flipping through the same fantastically infatuated book, but we were never on the same page with what we wanted, what we needed, and who we were in the moment - there was never enough time to work that part out. It reeked of absolute perfection and complete catastrophe.

But there was good there!, my heart screams, as it cracks a little at the seams of a sutured history. It hurts again - a familiar pain of wanting what wants you so badly, but persistent is the nagging drone of insecurities and unknowns and the history of you-should-know-better-by-now. It's like a break up with a thing that never had a chance to accelerate beyond a crawl; an infant you lost at birth. And all Skyping serves to do is let you see and hear what you want, but cannot get to - a familiar frustration indeed; the embers of a scar. And all I want is the fucking chance to see if he is something I have waited years for; we were never incompatible, simply unfamiliar. But as time goes on, the increasingly confused separation becomes a sopping wet blanket. I'm so tired of waiting after this: "I don't want to do this anymore!" I exclaim to him when he tells me he has to stay nine more days. It feels like a game of bait and torture; I'm a prisoner of war. Oh look here's this carrot...now FUCK YOU. I'm so tired of waiting and my heart has everything to fear. Every piece of history that sustains my contentment as single and worry-free, is able to haunt five six weeks of semi-silence and total mind-fuckery. I want so badly to just start from scratch with him - to see if there's that chance without all of the bullshit - but who even knows where we stand now. I can't play these games anymore. I want a normal fucking story. I want promising circumstance. I want love - unfettered. Un-fucking-fettered. Not another broken promise of what could be: that hurts now more than anything. Please, I beg of you, my destiny, enough with the bullshit.