Please, sir, may I...

Just when I think I’ve dealt with one thing, another stupid thing crops up.

I survived the Filmmaker being gone for more than ten days for the holidays without freaking out too much, which is a huge step for me. Like most men, he’s not very communicative when we’re not together and I’m learning that that’s acceptable. With others in my life, particularly CB and The Poet, no communication means that they’re done, our friendship is over and they’ve left me behind. But not every guy has that idea so I’m learning to let that one go.

And I was proud of how uncrazy I was throughout most of the time he was gone. And he had his kids for a good portion of the time he was on holiday so I didn’t want to bother him because he has precious little time with his children.

And he got back late Monday night and contacted me first thing Tuesday to come over. We had a really great, passionate reunion, spent a really good day together and everything was lovely.

And then today, I lost it.

Over a simple thing.

Over wanting to text him to see if he wanted to get together.

Totally froze me.

Because I’m not allowed to ask. Not by him.

No, wait, that’s wrong. My past has told me I’m not allowed to ask.
In fact, on Tuesday when I saw him, I told him to let me know when he wanted to get together again, as he’s been kind of driving that part of our relationship. And he simply said, you, too.

You, too.

As simple as it sounds, it kind of made me stop.

I’m not allowed to reach out because “I’m too much” and I scare guys away. That’s the tape playing in my head. Can’t tell him you want to see him because… well, the chickenshit men who came before couldn’t handle it.

But he can because he wants to be with me. Wow. That’s a change.

So I woke up this morning, realized I had nothing on my schedule for tonight. And I thought, I’ll text him and see what he’s up to. He gave me permission to do just that.

And then I froze.

And I couldn’t figure out why.

Just a simple text. A handful of words - “what do you have on your schedule tonight” to a man I’m sleeping with regularly and who grabbed me and held me so hard yesterday that I wasn’t sure he was going to let me know, who showed me in that moment how much he cares about me and how much he missed me.

And I couldn’t text him.

Because…

Because…

Because…

Because the echoes of my past have not left my head. Because I still have the residual of being told that every decision I made was wrong. Because I still am terrified that something I do is going to be wrong and I’m going to be punished for it. Because I have been taught well. Because I have been brainwashed well. Because I believed all the bullshit I was fed for more than 16 years.

I stared at my phone for a very long time, wondering what would happen if I sent a simple, silly text asking the man I’m involved with what he was doing for the evening because I wanted to see him. Baaaddd. Stupid. Don’t do it, he won’t like it.

Because…

Because I needed permission to do this. Which he gave me. Which is ridiculous.

But I agonized foolishly over this for about an hour. Seriously. An hour. Over a simple text message to the man I’m crazy about, who is crazy about me, because my abusive ex taught me to question every feeling, every thought, every decision and find them wanting.

I’m so afraid that I’m going to do something wrong and upset this beautiful, delicate balance that we have. The echoes bouncing around in my head shatter the seven years of confidence I have built up and make me go back to where I was when I finally left him - broken, afraid, terrified, destroyed, lacking the ability to make the simplest decision. He taught me well.

But I pushed past the echoes and picked up my phone. It was so hard to just type in, hey, you, how’s your day going? And then to type in, “what’re you doing tonight?”. And then waiting in terror for… I don’t know what. Something horrible. Something terrible. Something that told me I finally screwed this up, that I finally made the Filmmaker hit his limit.

And guess what?

Nothing happened. Or at least nothing catastrophic. He had to work with his production partner on their web series tonight. That’s it. Nothing more.

I battled back the clowns who were screaming that he was lying, that he was disguising the fact he didn’t want to see me, all the echoes and the recriminations from my past rising up to drown out everything.

And I shut them down and just replied simply, great, have fun.

Because, above the noise and the chatter and the clowns, I could feel his arms around me. I could see his face smiling down at me. I could remember how he held me after the passion yesterday, cradling me in his arms, holding my hand against his face, letting me know with every touch, with every caress that this is exactly where he wanted to be and that I am who he wants to be with.

And I hung on to that, marveling at how ridiculous I allowed myself to be over a stupid text message.

But that’s what years of abuse do to you. They make you question, they make you uncertain, they make you so broken that it takes years to put yourself back together.

And with each silly little triumph, like sending a text message, I build myself back together. The echoes get softer and the clowns die off, one by one.

And as this relationship grows -- or ends -- there will be lessons that will continue to be learned, but hopefully lessons that are less and less difficult and lessons that will be filled with growth first and pain last.

And so, I go to bed tonight, alone and a bit lonely, knowing he’s only across town from me. But also knowing that very soon, I will be back in his arms again. And that’s a huge thing -- a man who isn’t afraid of me, a man who can take the full impact of me. That’s a very, very new thing…