After my last relationship ended due to my health complications, I was rather hard-pressed to enter another relationship. Especially on that level.
There was always something special about Oz though, which drove me to voraciously pursue him. I had one big fear though, which I happened to revisit tonight.
That great fear stemmed from the time period which we entered our relationship. We started in fall.
I actually called up my friend, crying, saying, “He’s not going to have enough time to fall in love with me before winter.”
Even now, just a few days before spring, I can feel the draft coming off the window, icy. Most people love winter. All the holidays, the snow. Everything seems pristine. Winter can be a seasonal death sentence for me, though. Often times, I wish I could just hibernate. Once the temperatures descend into the twenties and teens, my fibromyalgia pillages my body. My body just can’t take it. The cold is a vice grip across my chest, a throbbing in my legs, a shortness of energy only rivaled by the shortness of sunlight in winter. It takes layers, naps, stretching, and copious planning for winter-time activities. How would a new relationship handle that kind of stress, so quickly?
Not well, it turns out.
How do you explain to someone that you are still in there, under the scarves, sweaters, tears, angry words, and pain? That underneath it all, you just wish that both of your souls could just hold each other for a time. Speak without words. Hold deeply the heart beat of another.
I was so close to freedom. It is truly only a few days before spring. But I see behind me a battleground. A long list of behaviors set into play by circumstance. Do this. Don’t do this. Really don’t do that. Be careful of this. Avoid talking about that. The most heart-wrenching of which is finding out that Oz won’t call because of the 50/50 risk of me being in pain and something from either of us getting mis-communicated, leading to an afternoon or evening of festering and tears.
I was supposed to be the bearer of joy. The one that soldiers on, no matter what, and illuminates the path ahead. Fearless. I know it is tough to see such a strong person fall, but I was just trying to be honest about my disease. And mostly, trying to be human.
(I guess being human is, in and of itself, a failed adventure.)
I don’t know what to make of it.
And if I was being honest, my biggest fear wasn’t that Oz and my relationship would end before it began. But now here we are, pain, painkillers, emotionally involved, honest, and daring to dangerously hope. Diabetic Oz and Fibromyalgia El. A modern beauty-and-the-beast, if you will.
If I was being honest, my biggest fear was that this relationship might actually work.
So I’ll ask the same question I ask myself every morning when I wake up in breath-taking pain: where do we go from here?