Highs and Lows...

You know the “trust exercise” where you fall backwards and your partner has to catch you? What I find interesting is that the apparent point of the exercise is to trust someone else; to rely on someone you may or may not know, to catch you. (The consequence, should they fail you, being painfully real.) Trusting others is the aspect drawn into focus on when this activity is performed. But when we shift our gaze a little further, and examine the exercise a little closer, it becomes clear that the fear doesn’t really stem from whether or not the person will actually do the catching. It’s surprisingly easy to trust someone else to do so, even a perfect stranger. No, it’s the fact that you have to let yourself fall that’s truly petrifying.

A long while back now, I was struggling to let myself fall, to surrender control and to trust myself. This is an excerpt of an unpublished blog from May 27th:

“I thought for a while that I was trying to learn how to trust David, to learn to trust love. But now I realise that the truth is, I’m struggling to trust myself. I already trust David implicitly. He has never given me a reason to do otherwise, and the more time I give him, the more I realise that is right thing to do… the more patient I am, the less I push, the less I force, the more readily it becomes apparent that he won’t let me down. But I’m scared. The temptation to cut and run is still there, always at the back of my mind. But I’ve made the decision, and I’m determined to resist – I am not going anywhere. Given time, I know that the temptation will fade. I know that I will surrender control, and breath easy. I know that David will be there for me, the way I need him to be there for me. Given time.”

We’ve come a long way since then, and I can now honestly say that reciprocated love makes you feel like nothing else. Trust cannot be forced, it must be earned and surrendered to, but once achieved, it is wondrous. Not once has David ever made me doubt his love or doubt myself, not even accidentally. Not once has he abused my trust or manipulated my emotions, not even jokingly, for any reason. Every day he reminds me that he loves me and that I am worth being loved. Our relationship is so open that every question can be asked without hesitation. We have no reason to argue. We have every reason to smile.

I know that David doesn’t realise, but he is the only thing that hasn’t fallen apart in my life in the last few months, and he is the only thing keeping me going.

At the moment I have a lot of suppressed anger manifesting itself as disappointment, leaving me entirely unmotivated. I am not passing at Uni, even though to get a pass requires hardly any effort. I am back to where I was in year 12 – caring, but not caring enough to pull myself out of the rut in which I find myself. I’m hiding from reality, pretending everything is ok. I’m hiding from having to deal with the choices I have made. And the longer I hide, the longer I put off sorting out my mistakes, the more difficult it becomes to face up to them and the more despondent I get. The more despondent I get, the less motivation I have for dealing with anything.

It’s a vicious cycle, further accelerated by the fact that once more, money is tight, which tends to restrain exuberance and freedom somewhat. I might reduce my study load to part time for one semester, and find some work so that I can feel a change of pace and live differently for a while. Dancing is still wonderful, but I am struggling to make it a financially viable exercise. Ideally it would be my main source of income, but unfortunately I doubt that ideal will be met. I know that what I do with my life is ultimately my decision, but to have the support of loved ones would be more helpful than criticisms – even those intended to be constructive. But we will see. I have to pull myself together to make the rest of the semester work. I just have to pass.

I am also painfully aware that I am not fulfilling the role of a friend anywhere near adequately, particularly for some whom I owe more time and respect. However any attempt to explain this seemingly irrational behaviour, leaves me no wiser than before, because the reasons are all intertwined between specific events and circumstances, and in the space of a few minutes everything can change. The kindest and simplest way would be to tell the truth promptly and without apology. But that would mean that I have to stop pretending. It would mean confessing mistakes. I know I’ve made mistakes, but I hate the way that confessions and apologies seem to be determinedly connected. I don’t want to apologise for my mistakes. I’m learning from them. And sometimes things cannot be explained for the simple fact that the reason, even though it could make a complex situation perfectly understandable, is too special and personal to share.

This may seem like a rather, well, depressed Blog. But it is not meant to be. Interestingly enough, despite the shambles which I have brought upon myself, I am still very happy. I will glue the pieces back together and I will make my apologies – if and when I am ready. I will not apologise for doing what felt best for me. I will not apologise for being happy. I am safe in the knowledge that my world cannot entirely fall apart as long as I have David.

Have you ever had a child jump from somewhere, let’s say, vaguely precarious, into your arms when you weren’t expecting it? That’s pure, unadulterated trust. The idea that you might not catch them, is a completely abstract concept, and doesn’t enter their heads until some nerve-racked adult puts it there. I trust that things will work out. I trust David. I trust myself.

I am back to being that trusting child, that will jump and know that someone will catch them. I am a child, with adult privileges :)