Emotional Vampire

This from a few days ago. We've discussed it; argued it out. Found out that we were both, oddly, trying to protect me. Phtt.

1.13.5

Ok. I’m scared. Not of the meeting or of loving that girl. It’s the old fight or flight in me. Having my perceptions of all this questioned by my insides.

Or… maybe it is that I am truly feeling something. I mean, I know that I am. Fuck it. I’m not going to try and explain my head. You read this, deal. It’s going to come out chunky.

Fight or flight. Cut your losses. Go before you get hurt. All those old arguments. And I don’t want them. I don’t. But on the day when those old fears creeped in -after heavy and uneasy conversations last night- …… I don’t know. I just feel like the plug is about to be pulled on me. It doesn’t seem to matter much that I know that is untrue.

And I am smart enough to know that this reaction in me is due entirely to the things I am feeling and their magnitude. I know that. But you know what I have to say about intellectual knowing and old demons. Intellect rarely stands a chance.

Did I think myself immune from this massive feeling of vulnerability just because I have granted myself freedom and autonomy?

My usual response is to shut down, nearly. To, at the very least, be somewhat aloof. To actively not call. To actively not write. Fuck. I hate feeling like I need to be coddled. Because being coddled from being read for it just pisses me off; it feels patronizing.

Here’s the thing. I want the intensity. It’s the only way I can truly feel. No lie. Look at what it takes to make me laugh hard. Or to feel pain. Things in my world must be intense. And beginnings are intense. I just had hoped, maybe, that they could stay in that area. I am wrong, I’m sure. Is this why I flit around the way I do? Not an emotional vampire but … well. Maybe this actually does make me an emotional vampire.

Great. I needed to go in the direction of kicking myself while down.

I had to take a xanax. Nope. Wanted to. I like this feeling much and it accomplishes two things in me. It slows me down, hopefully enough to work through this angst without starting a fight or vomiting. And it also takes away the immediacy of the … fear. God damnit, it is fear.

You know what this is? Need. It’s fucking need. Not a need to be validated or told that I am loved. Not a need to be the one and only. Just… raw need. That’s all. Need generally breaks me. And this is what I am tonight. And I cannot get what need requires tonight. And it will be the hardest part of being involved with 40. She affects me so very deeply, see. And she is 3546 miles away. I will not be able to lay down my cape and rest my head on her lap when need comes for me. Will not be able to kiss her lips when she requires it of no one but me.

Need. And now I’ve added a glass of wine.

You know, it just got too damn big for little ol me to contain.

Here’s the thing. I am out there with this girl. She could really hurt me. Deeply. And that caused a nasty reaction. And knowing this may not stop the temporary downward spiral.