Page 39 of Love and Other Mental Health Concerns
“Um… you really want to know?” Do I?
“Yes, I really want to know.”
“I just ask them.”
“You just ask them? And they say yes?”
“I mean, look at me.” He replies with a devilish grin while I give him a serious eye roll. “But seriously, I would take women to dinner or drinks or some type of date, but I am a straightforward person. I knew I just wanted something fleeting, and could only offer that. I was honest, I don’t have interest in games or hurting someone else. I made sure that I was clear about my intentions. Kept it transparent, as you should realize I prefer.” He looks at me like he’s waiting for the judgment, for disappointment, but those feelings don’t come.
“You like that word, transparent. That seems healthy.” I say instead, and I mean it. “I think if relationships, no matter how short, are honest, then who is to judge how they play out?” He seems to lose some tension in his shoulders at my response. I guess it was his turn to feel a little nervous.
“I hope knowing that about me gives you confidence that I won’t be hiding my feelings for you either.”
“It does, I think.”
“Can I ask you a question now?” I get tense. I’m sure he senses it, but I can make an educated guess on where the direction of the conversation is going, and I am desperately out of practice when it comes to sharing my relationship history with another man.
“Yes. Only fair.”
“How often do you go on dates?” He asks between bites. Yeah, that’s where I thought it was going.
“I…don’t.” He slowly puts down his fork and looks at me. My heart racing with the vulnerability I will inevitability now face with this admission.
“You don’t? Explain please.”
“I don’t. It’s difficult in a small town when you know everyone already, either through work or some circumstance growing up, so I just don’t.” His blue eyes are trained on mine, like he can read my inner monologue.
“People in small towns find love Marcy, or at least a date. Want to tell me the real reason?” He waits for me to respond again. He’s always patient, never rushing me to find my voice or settle my nerves.
“The real reason.” I try and buy time, but he has been honest with me, and I know it’s only fair that I do the same. I take a deep breath. “The real reason is that I am terrified, which probably doesn’t make a lot of sense to someone who has dated a lot. I have had one boyfriend, in graduate school, who I thought was the love of my life. I wanted a future with him, I wanted him to be my person. I gave him my whole heart. My mom had just died, and I was still dealing with the grief, as well as the complications from that relationship to begin with.” He doesn’t interrupt, he watches me start to twirl my rings and takes my hand in his. “We talked about getting married, talked about family, all the things that I never had and wanted so desperately.”
I keep looking out at the river while I explain, but Nick keeps his eyes on me and hand with mine. His other hand is turning white from the grip on the table, however.
“What did he do, Marcy?” His tone low and sweet.
“Well after a year and a half of dating, I walked in on him fucking my roommate on our kitchen table. They had been having an affair for months, and I had no clue. Even looking back now, I can’t identify any signs.” He looks at me like he can feel my heartbreak, as I’m sure it’s still written all over my face. All these years later, and the humiliation of explaining this situation is almost too much to bear. The pity is irritating. “That’s the last and only chance I took at finding love. He is the only person I ever had sex with, the only proper dates I ever went on, my only experience with what I thought was love, and I was obliterated after. Completely.”
“What happened?” I hear him ask quietly.
“They dated for two years, got engaged, and got married.” He looks at me like I just made that part up. “And I moved back home to fall to pieces. Stan, Gary, and Annie picked me back up and put me together. I didn’t eat, didn’t sleep, barely finished school.” I let silence dangle between us, knowing that this could be the point he decides I am too much. He doesn’t flinch though, doesn’t let go, he just is. Present with me in my discomfort, without judgment.
“It was bad, and I couldn’t bring myself to risk that level of hurt again.” I pause to take some deep breaths, afraid to lay out the rest of my truth that I worry will change the way he sees me, the way he interacts with me, the trust he has in my capabilities. If I don’t share more though, then I will have never given us a real chance.
As always, Nick just watches me think, not pushing, just allowing me time, drawing small circles in my palm with his fingers and playing with my rings. “I’m sorry for the silence, I want to share more with you, but it is something I have never really had to explain…well except to my therapist.”
“Marcy, if you want to share something with me, I want to hear it. I want to know everything about you, but I don’t need to know everything tonight.”
“I know, but I will never be more ready to tell you than I am now.” The ambience of the crisp air, the sweet music, the twinkling lights, and the tranquil lapping of the river flowing a few feet from us, are all contributing to my ability to still and express myself.
“Okay, take your time.” His energy so calm and open.
“When I say that I was falling apart, I need you to know that it isn’t an exaggeration. I had anxiety from the years of uncertainty living with my mother. The neglect and the emotional toll of never knowing if she would survive a nap really did a number on me. So, when that break-up happenedin that manner, I wasn’t at all prepared, and I broke. We are talking panic attacks, insomnia, zero appetite, constant racing thoughts, you name the manifestation of anxiety, and I had it. Not to mention, the depression that then followed because of how much I was struggling to participate in society.” Nick stays focused on my face, his features soft. “I wasn’t sure I wanted to live after that break-up, let alone try to plan for a future with someone else. The fear of ever returning to the depths of that darkness is more than I want to put on your shoulders, but it is the reality of my baggage. You should know that’s how dark things have been for me before.”
He says nothing, he just looks at me and contemplates. He doesn’t run, so that seems like a positive. He doesn’t even drop my hand. “I’m sorry if this changes things, if this scares you away from getting to know me, but I would understand it. I can safely say you are the only person I have been this vulnerable with, outside of Annie, Gary and Stan.”
“So, these rings?” The ones he is still spinning. “They help you relax or focus or something?”
“Yes.”
