As near as I can describe it, it feels something like this…
I am sitting on the grass. My friends have just gone home, and I am enjoying some time on my own. Maybe I have a beer in my hand. Or a glass of wine. Maybe I have my sunglasses on, or maybe I have my head tilted up at the sky, enjoying the feeling of the sun on my face. Maybe I am reading a book.
I am happy.
You walk over to me, reach out your hand, and smile. I smile up at you, squinting into the sun. I take your hand, you start to pull me up, and just when I am all off balance, you drop my hand and walk away without a word. I end up in the dirt, skinned knees and bruises, my book in the ditch.
When I look for you, I see you off in the distance with your arms around someone else. There is a note from you that I can’t quite read that says something about being busy, too busy.
And I wonder why you reached out to me in the first place if you didn’t want to hold on. I figure there must be a reason, because I know you wouldn’t just drop me without a reason. You wouldn’t do it on purpose. I hope you wouldn’t. I know you wouldn’t.
So when you reach out again, it’s only human nature if I hesitate a little bit before I hold my hand out to you. It’s a normal reaction if my smile is a little more uncertain now when I look up. It’s human nature if I wonder if I am going to end up on my knees all bruised again. It’s only natural if I ask you to be careful.
It isn’t because I’m being dramatic, but because there are things going on right now that are hard for me. If I tell you how I feel, it isn’t because I blame you or because I am being critical or hostile, but because I hope you’ll understand that I am a little more breakable than usual right now. It’s because I’m hoping you’ll be kind. It’s because I hope you want to hold onto my hand enough to be willing to work some things out even if they are hard, or even if it makes you uncomfortable.
And it feels like if I can put the words in just the right order and say them with just the right inflection you might understand that it’s OK for you to tell me where you are, and what you’re doing, and why you won’t be around. That I would rather have you let me know you need to take a step back than reach out for my hand if you don’t want it. I would rather hear you say you don’t think I am who you want at all, than have to watch you back away silently.
It feels like I have to take all of the responsibility for what happens into myself because I’m not saying things the right way. And I know that is wrong. I know it is, but that is how it feels.
And every time you tell me I don’t trust you, I know I’m not saying anything the right way, because if I was you would understand that telling you everything is like putting a gun in your hand knowing you won’t use it. I am giving step by step instructions on how to break my heart and trusting that you won’t do it. I’m giving you the keys to my interior nuclear arsenal because I believe you will keep the keys safe.
I will even fight with you, and I am never willing to fight with anyone. I would love you to be willing to fight, too, but all I see is walking away. I think you will come back and reach out again, but I never really know.
I am telling you everything because I do trust you, not because I don’t.
And this is how it feels.