Losing a significant other is a little different than losing most any other other. In addition to losing a friend, a lover, an ally, I also lost the one person in the world I could talk about anything to. And I mean anything. She endured a lot of creepy shit, bad puns, poorly-thought-out ideas, inane babbling, embarrassing stories, closet skeletons, crushing cynicism and dirty words.
Now, I have to keep all that stuff locked up in my head, and let me tell you, it is not well-organized. It's like an old-fashioned rolodex with all the little cards. Then it exploded. Now, I have nobody to talk about the serial killer book I'm reading with, or vent to about how I said something to a coworker that could be misconstrued as racist, or to help me pick up all these rolodex cards. Or That Thing. She would totally not mind listening to me talk about That Thing. She knows what I'm talking about.
It's how I know that I had true love: she knew everything. She could've blackmailed me for the rest of my life and on into ghosthood. But she didn't. Instead, she replied by telling me everything. I can't tell you how great it is to have your worst aspects be perfectly tolerated. But now, I have to hide it all away so I don't get thrown in the loony bin or driven out of town by a torch-mob. I do not need that again.
I understand exactly what you mean.
ReplyDeleteYour friend, B.
I never knew how much I wanted to share about myself until I met my wife. Turns out I wanted all of the sharing.
Delete