When I first got together with R, there was, like any other relationship, a set of rules that we laid out together. For me, the single most important, and really only unbreakable rule was, and still is this:
No matter how we are acting toward each other, no matter how mad either of us is, no one leaves the house without saying I love you. You are welcome to storm off, if you’re pissed and want to tell me to fuck off, fine, do that, but please do not leave without saying I love you.
I know it doesn’t really sound that odd, but, why is it so incredibly important?
Well, I’m more than a little anxiety ridden and paranoid, as I’ve posted about many times before. That seeps into everything I do in my life, and it’s the reason for the importance of that one rule.
It’s not that I want to force anyone to say that they love me, and I would never, ever expect someone to say it if they didn’t, even if I said it to them. I don’t want false reciprocation. But if it’s true, and you do, I really hope you say it before you leave the house or get off the phone or anything else because…
Any time I separate from those that I love, no matter the length of time, I am absolutely certain that they are going to die, and I’m even more certain that I’m going to die every time I go out, and possibly before the next time I talk to someone.
I would be absolutely mortified if the last thing someone heard from me was negative. If the last thing they heard was not a confirmation of my love for them. It would be aweful to live with never being able to hear those words from someone again, and for that not to be the last thing I heard from them. It feels like such a heartbreakingly unfinished ending that can never be written.
So, I ask everyone that I love and that loves me the same thing. Please, no matter how mad we are at each other, even if we don’t want to talk to each other, that’s fine, we don’t have to, but please, just please, let me know you love me before you leave. I will always do the same for you.
There’s only been one time in our time together that R didn’t do it, and he was gone for so long, we had been fighting, and it was really bad. I knew he was beyond pissed when he left. The whole time he was gone, I thought I was going to die of a broken heart. I just knew that I would never hear those words from him again before he died. I knew that he would die knowing the last things he had said to me were mean ones. I bawled for the hours he was gone. I couldn’t handle it, and he wouldn’t text me or call me or answer my calls, this of course, only solidified the fact that he had died for me.
I spent that time waiting for a call from the police or the hospital or something, wanting me to ID his body. It never did happen, and he finally did come home. I was so upset by that time that I couldn’t stop shaking violently, and couldn’t stop sobbing long enough to say anything to him.
It’s such a big deal to me. All I could do was snuggle up to him, and body tremoring, breath shaking, sobs coming uncontrollably, just stay in his arms. I couldn’t move, didn’t want to move. I was mad at him, but I was so sad and scared, and so grateful and relieved that he was alive, I just wanted to be in his arms forever. I couldn’t believe that he had lived that time.
I can contend with my fear that those I love will die when they leave. It’s a paranoid thought that I’ve had to live with for so long, I’ve been able to figure that one out, but I can’t do it without hearing those words.
Thank you for reading sunshines, and have a beautiful day.