Admitting defeat

I give up.  I admit it.

This is a relationship.  Perhaps not a traditional one, and certainly not one I would wish on anyone else, but I have stopped trying to fight the definition.  I do care about him more than I will readily admit.  I trust him with parts of me that I may never share with another living soul.  And, given the choice, he’s the one I want to spend time with, for any activity.

My friends don’t understand it.  I’ve been told that I need to head for the hills, run away fast, because he’s going to utterly destroy me in the end.  And yes, I know.  He is.  It will happen.  We’re careening towards the apocalypse, but by God I’m going to enjoy every last second in the process.

At least, at least I don’t love him.  Each day I can see him more clearly.  I see his quirks, his follies, his stunted emotional growth.  I see how incredibly empty his life is, when he’s not distracting himself with a new toy.  It makes me sad.  I wish he would want to change, to fulfill his (incredible and somewhat frightening) potential, but he won’t.  I used to wonder why he was still single, had never been married; now I know.  A friend told me recently (while warning me to stay away from him; he’s trouble) that he is going to die a lonely, bitter old man.  And I agree.

And that’s why he’s treating me this way.  Everything has a precarious, give-and-take tightrope quality.  With each step I get closer, so he pushes me back.  If he opens up to me casually in one area, he’ll be a jerk in public to make up for it.  If he lets me see his vulnerable side, he’ll refuse to stay the night.

I wonder why I stay.  I long for a relationship where I can say “I love you,” or kiss him in public.  I want to be able to freely admit that yes, I am seeing someone, instead of making vague excuses for why I’m mysteriously unavailable or suddenly called away.  I want someone who challenges me to be a better person instead of belittling the character traits I have.  I want to laugh freely without wondering when he’ll next make me cry.  I want to know how important I am to someone’s life instead of always questioning.

But I’m so hooked that I cannot contemplate leaving without feeling a hole in my soul gape open and scream.  This cycle has gone around three times now, and we’re on our way to the peak of the fourth.  It gives entirely new meanings to the term “dysfunctional codependency.”  He needs me to challenge him, to initiate leaving so that he can give chase and ‘win’ me back.  And with each victory of his, I become more entangled.  And I don’t know how to get out.  I don’t know if I even want to.

For now, honesty is my safest bet.  I am dangerously close to loving him, but still safe on this side of the ironclad fence.  The heights and depths are dizzyingly, terrifyingly intense.  Perhaps that’s why I stay; the emotional highs are my drug of choice.  It’s too bad that the withdrawals are so paralyzing.

(This has been brutally honest ramblings from yours truly, dear internets.  Please don’t use this to bite me in the ass.)