@Earthgirl There is so much in what you write that helps me understand this issue more completely. I have been through a lot in the last few years—not scary physical things like @cak, but scary mental things. I was so desperate, at times, that I would develop these apparently instant intimate relationships, and then I would grow terribly needy and then I could handle it and I would blow it up. I still love those women, although in a very different way. I am very grateful for what they’ve give me.
But I’m also sad because I’m still seeking for that sense of self that will allow me to believe someone truly could care for me forever. When my wife stayed with me through my illness and all the shit I did to her, I came to believe, for the first time in a decade, that she really did love me.
But that’s different from intimacy. There were things…. are things from that period that I did not tell her. It wasn’t necessary, my therapist said. It would only hurt her, and would serve any purpose in our relationship. It would be selfish, just to assuage my guilt.
I’m not sure she was right. I think perhaps I need to be able to talk about it all—to feel safe to talk about it all—so I can work through it with someone who loves me. Without that feeling that I can talk about the worst shit without destroying everything that is important to me, I feel there is a barrier between me and my wife.
Building rapport is a joyful process. But it seems to me there always comes a time when the worst stuff—the stuff a person is most afraid of—has to come out, if intimacy is to be created. That’s a place where the relationship turns serious, or peters out.
I knew I wanted to marry my wife within a week of meeting her. I told her this, and she said she didn’t know. For a year, maybe, she didn’t know, and then one day, out of nowhere—I had just made her favorite meal—she said, “I think I’ll marry you.” To tell you the truth, I’m not really sure why she decided to, but I’m glad she did.