silentstandoff

I loved him from the first time I saw him. He is the only person I have ever met who I instantly adored and yearned to get to know. There was just something about him! The problem for me was that I was too shy to say so. So for 3 years, I settled for a smile and a wave as we passed each other on the street or ran into each other at concerts. I always got butterflies, but never the nerve to open my mouth and say hello. In the mean time, someone else began pursuing me. The relationship was awful. He hated my friends, and checked up on me when I went out. He insulted me constantly and made wild accusations about things that made no sense. I knew I needed to get away from him, and made the obvious decision to break up with him. Then suddenly it hurt to pee. I got a fever. The skin on the back of my legs hurt. I had herpes. Needless to say, I was devastated (as we all are). The person who gave them to me took advantage of the circus going on in my mind at that delicate time and convinced me that no one else would ever want me now, and that I should just stay with him. He was the only one who would ever accept me. Even though I hated him for what he had done to me, I believed that he was right. I was a monster now. Disease infested and disgusting, he was my only choice. Our already ugly relationship got worse as he continued to mistreat and manipulate, and my resentment for him and his betrayal grew day by day. Looking back, the right course of action was so obvious the whole time, but anyone who has been infected will understand the feelings of worthlessness and the prognosis of perpetual solitude we face when considering our herpes filled futures. Unfortunately, it's just not that easy. But finally, after too many months of living this way, I decided to free myself. Being alone forever would be a paradise compared to being trapped in a relationship with someone I distrusted and despised. So I prepared myself for a lifetime of wine fueled girls nights in. I got a kitten. I ended it. In the months following, I went on a few dates. Never with the same person twice. I kept them short, and never let the conversation progress beyond superficial chit chat. I spent the whole date imagining what their face might look like when I told them what I had. I never let them kiss me. I never called them back. None of them were worth the heartbreak and embarrassment that was sure to result from my honesty. Then I ran into him. For the first time since I began dating the now long gone inconvenient gift giver of my past. And for the first time...ever...he talked to me! He walked straight up to the place where I stood swaying to the music of the band that was playing and told me that we needed to hang out. How could I say no?! I instantly became horrified at the thought of him ever finding out about my secret, but smiled and gave him my number. Him, who I had wanted all along. Our first date was the very next night, and as it turned out, he was not only the handsome & talented musician with the crooked smile whom I had adored from afar these last few years. He was also a highly intelligent, kind, caring, empathetic person who had lived a colorful and sometimes difficult life of his own. He was amazing. It. Was. Terrifying. This incredible human was the person who would be on the receiving end of my very first disclosure. Beginning with our first date, we spent every night together for 3 weeks. I told him that sex was an important step for me and that it just wasn't something that I could rush into. He respected me. He didn't ask questions, or try to convince me otherwise. He just pulled me close, stroked my hair, and kissed my forehead every night. He didn't demand an explanation, so I took the easy road and didn't offer one. After 3 weeks of this, I really began to feel like a fraud. In the beginning, I wanted to be sure that our time together was leading somewhere before I disclosed, but now that time had passed. It was clear that we cared for one another, and now I was just staying quiet because it was easier for me. So I told him. His response was equally as kind and considerate and caring as he is in every other aspect of his life. He thanked me for being honest with him and trusting him enough to open up to him about it. He told me that he was sorry that this had happened to me. That I didn't deserve it. That he wished he could change it for me. He even offered a very personal story of his own, and told me about something that happened to him when he was young to try to make me feel less exposed. He then told me that nothing that I have been through makes me any less funny, intelligent, beautiful, or worthy than before and that this didn't change the way he felt about me at all. That was 3 months ago, and he still holds me close and strokes my hair and kisses my forehead every night. Tonight I have another disclosure to make to him. I'm gonna tell him that I'm in love with him.