Doubt.

Some days, it’s just hard – hard to get up, hard to put a smile on, hard to do the day to day things that everyone takes for granted. Some days, I doubt everything that I am and everything that I do. Today is one of those days.

I feel unworthy. I feel like I’m not pretty enough, not funny enough, not smart enough… not anything enough. I feel needy and overly emotional and like I need a giant hug. Of course, for the next eleven hours, I’m sitting in an office full of people who really couldn’t care less how I feel, and then I have an hour and a half drive before I can even get a hug.

I don’t want to be that girl who always questions, and Jedi has given me no reason to doubt his sincerity. However, I just can’t shake this feeling that I’m not enough. I feel that everything in my life has more or less fallen into place and because I have done nothing to deserve it, it’s all going to blow up in my face.  Logically, I know I’m being irrational, and that – Que sera, sera – whatever will be, will be. But I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. I’m waiting for the bad news, the pain, the heartache… because that’s what I know.

I don’t want this to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. I hate having so much negativity floating around me. But right now, I just want someone to tell me it’s all going to be okay.

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Falling

Falling in love is late nights and early morning. It’s long drives and sleepy eyes and going to work after three hours of sleep and hoping the boss doesn’t figure out you’re napping on company time. It’s that same experience, week after week, because you just can’t get enough time with him. Falling in love is a surge of joy when you realize that it’s his turn to make the ridiculous commute, followed by a twinge of guilt for reveling in that extra hour of sleep while he’s fighting traffic at 4am.

Falling in love is introducing him to your favourite TV show. It’s watching his reaction and hoping he finds it just as hilarious as you do, because being with someone who doesn’t find Chris O’Dowd endearing just isn’t an option. It’s listening to his favourite songs and trying to get a glimpse of what they say about him, even though, most of the time, they just sound good. It’s looking for pieces of who he is in everything he adores. Falling in love is realizing that a person’s preferences don’t usually tell you much about them at all.

Falling in love is creeping his ex on Facebook with your best friends and making them tell you how much prettier and smarter and less crazy you are. It’s pretending you don’t have any idea when he references the shitty things she did, even though you both know that social media has given you more detail than you could ever want. It’s secretly being thrilled when his friends “like” his newly announced relationship with you and hoping that his ex girlfriend sees it, even though she kind of terrifies you. Falling in love is being terrified to meet his daughter, his dad, and his friends but doing it anyway because you know it makes him happy.

Falling in love is getting lost in the moment and just looking at one another. It’s discovering the nuances and quirks of his soul while simultaneously memorizing every last freckle on his back. It’s cuddling close to him and falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat. It’s softly kissing his cheek when he drifts off before you do and thanking the Universe for leading you to someone who makes your soul sing the way only he can.

Falling in love is waking up in the middle of the night and feeling his breath on the back of your neck and realizing that there is nothing more you want in the world than for this moment to be infinite.  It’s realizing that no matter how much you try to fight it, you’ve already fallen.

Release.

It’s reached a point where I feel the need to share the deepest, darkest, most hated part of my soul. I need to confess my sin, bare my inadequacy, and eliminate the pretense.

I’m not perfect, no matter how much he tells me I am. He knows almost everything about me: my hopes, my dreams, my fears, my quirks, my loves and hates. But every time I go to tell him this one thing, I freeze. My lips stop working. My thoughts slow down and my heart speeds up. My mouth goes dry and I find myself changing the topic of conversation to avoid telling him.

I don’t know why I’m afraid.

He’s never been anything but understanding. He’s never given me a reason to think that he wouldn’t sympathise, or would judge me, or would look at me any different. But yet, I hesitate. I’m scared to say the words. I’m terrified to feel their prescence looming in the space between us whenever we’re together. I’m ashamed to see the look in his eyes when he processes the truth, and I’m worried that he’ll start to read into the nuances of my personality and my preferences, finding causation that isn’t accurate in the slightest.

How do you tell someone you were raped without it colouring the way they view you? There’s no way to go back from that point. What has been said cannot be unsaid. And so I hesitate.

I had hoped that before we’d reached this point, I would have found a way to tell him. But I didn’t. Or maybe I didn’t take the chances that were given. Either way, the conversation is still pending and my stomach drops in fear every time I realise that I’m getting close to revealing the truth. It’s like I know that everything between us will change once the statement has been made, and I haven’t yet decided if it will be a positive experience.

I don’t doubt that he will support me. The very depths of my soul tell me that there is nothing I could say to change his feelings for me. But letting go and admitting my brokenness is a step I’m afraid to take. And so I resist, waiting for the perfect moment to drop the bomb, knowing that the longer I wait, the more I will fight the urge and keep the secret buried deep inside.

Dangling my toes over the edge has never felt so perilous.