I think about myself now vs. the me from one year ago, and I want to weep at the difference. I think back at how dysfunction and chaos were par for the course, something I thought I had to accept and tolerate in order to be with someone who said he loved me. I equated “love” with “pain” — that’s what I’d grown up with, and I’d long since come to expect that if someone said “I love you” then it was only a matter of time before the firestorm began. And I could make the choice to blame the people who hurt me, but they are only partially responsible: I was the one who sought out dysfunctional situations. I was the one who allowed them to continue. I was the one who stayed when I should have been long gone. This doesn’t mean those who hurt me are not culpable, only that I need to remember that I could have left at any time, and I did not.
Talking with The Green-Eyed Boy tonight, we both marveled at how this relationship is different from ones in our pasts. He said, “I’ve never been with a ‘normal’ woman before,” which made me laugh, because for someone to think I’m on an even keel and completely awesome and cool means I’ve made a lot of positive changes in my life. And on my end of things, I’ve never been with someone quite like him before — he is so devilishly handsome he takes my breath away every time I see him, but he also makes me laugh heartily, and he is so easy to be around, and he is also strong and masculine and I can feel safe with him in a way I’ve never fully experienced before. And when he says, “You’re my girl,” my heart does a little flutter that escapes in the softest of sighs.
Maybe I did pontificate a little bit, but give a girl a break. I’m head over heels, and I deserve a little compassion.