Driving home in the darkened night we had a conversation. I mentioned that I’ve been coping better with not being pregnant, and Wonderboy answered really? I explained that I do get sad, am sad, but I’m not only sad or seeing everything from that perspective. And that I’m coping with the sadness better now that I’m in therapy. He lead the conversation somewhere else, and I fell silent. Then he asked, because he’s very perceptive that way, or did you want to talk about baby making further?
I tried to answer, but suddenly I found my eyes clouded by tears. I was driving, and I saw the lights of cars going past bumping so sharply in the darkness. Red, orange and cold blue. I thought that I shouldn’t be crying when I’m driving. But I had no control over it, and it took my by complete surprise.
It’s that time of the month when I can still hope. Ovulation is just behind us, and I’m feeling so fertile, so full of energy and sex that it makes me sad. It hurts to be able to hope and not know. Only a week from now I’ll know again. I’m not coping with it as well as I thought. I always compare my feelings to the ones I had when I was pregnant, and I think no way, this is not the same. And still, just a little doubt, a thought, and I’m too hopeful again.
Wonderboy continued saying it was much easier to live with me now that I’m in therapy. That kind of reminded me of my past relationship, one in which my spouse would (drunk) tell me he sometimes regretted he’d left his ex, and would want the relationship back, because it was so much easier. I thought then, and I thought now, that it seems somehow wrong that all the harships would be dealt to my account. Okay, I know I’m quite difficult, so traumatized and mistrustful that it’s hard to get me to open up about anything. And that of course makes everything, every little rift, worse. But is it all me if the relationship is difficult? I find it hard to believe.
I’m happy about it, don’t get me wrong. It’s the best thing in the world I have someone to handle my traumas with. It’s even better that I can now (mostly) handle the non-vanilla hues of our sex life and the uncertainty and mixed emotions it brings forth. But why the fuck is it all my responsibility? Is it just so easy for everyone else? Or am I, in fact, in love with a person, who isn’t quite facing his own inabilities?
Even in times when everything seems so dark that the bouncing lights of cars on the lightless road we drive home seem too bright I believe in something. It’s called change. That’s what I believe in. But he’s so afraid of it.