Look on down from the bridge in Random Thoughts

He had been grumpy this evening, and I was keenly aware how how he felt (also knowing it was not my fault- reining in Miss Interpretation). I read Bleak House while belly laying on one couch, while he messed around on his phone, astride the other couch. My eyes felt heavy with Dickens and my heart and uber-sensitive empathy: I wanted to sit next to him on the floor and rub that area between his eyes, to calm and ease his passage to sleep.

Unfortunately i did not know the right time. I feared he did not want to be touched or bothered, feared interrupting.

So, as an excuse and a transistion into sleep, I slipped off the couch and mentioned that I needed a drink of water before I passed into sleep. In the dark I knelt next to the water bottle and couch, the phone’s light illuminating his face as I searched his eyes for a good moment to find the right time to offer some comfort, or an offer of good night, in the least.

Eyes tracking, I notice he does not notice me kneeling silently next to him, still and patient.

He jumps and says something, I can’t recall what. Maybe an expletive was repeated, you can imagine something along the lines of “what the bleep are you doing there!” Of course not meant to hurt.

Hurt I was. Stung. I jumped back into the couch and pulled the sheets over my head, crying. That overly emotional response that is a regular part of my life.

He asks why I am crying and bumbles about in an apology for his reaction. He had been reading and did not know I was kneeling next to him. I had startled him.

Yes, my feelings were hurt, but I did not blame him or find any fault in what happened. The tears were automatic. The pain was real and momentarily intense. My resulting frustration at such an overly emotional response made it difficult to coherently voice what was going on.

Picking up my book to read some more, since I was now awake, I delve further into the last 80 or so pages
Of Dickens’ longest novel. He stops and asks if Having him join me on the couch (our beds here in Turkey) would help me feel better. I tell him that I am
Ok, my overly emotional response was unreasonable.

Eventually I pick up my phone and earbuds to help mellow out with something soothing. But, still I hurt and feel my response was unreasonable. Why should I be so hurt? Why do I just want to lay there and cry? Of course Mazzy Star is lulling me to more tears and all these half formed thoughts flit in and out for my head as I stare at the abstract shadows on the ceiling. Jennifer, death, loss, hurt, people I will never see. My inability to try and share with Dios what had been going through my head and why I was hurt. My frustration that I was hurting so much. How all I had wanted to do was soothe whatever was going on with him.

Then, I look over and he is sitting up. Pulling my earbuds out, I hear him say in an exasperated tone, “I have been saying your name over and over, I did not know you were plugged in.” He had heard me sighing and wanted to know if I was ok.

Was I ok? No, not really, but how did I explain that? I am crying for some unknown reason, I was just letting it out. I was indulging a little too much, perhaps. But also, I was thinking that it was cleansing.

I tell him I am ok. I mean, I was ok about what happened. I was not mad at him, or really hurt specifically as a result of how he reacted. In that sense, I was ok. Did he believe me? Who knows? Maybe he (asleep now, it’s almost 2 am in Izmir, Turkey) did not believe me and just thought I was being untruthful, or keeping it back.

Which I was, in a sense. I did not want I talk about my crying because I was vulnerable and embarrassed that it was my first reaction, then unable to share how it is I got to this point- maybe because it was so immediate that I couldn’t parse out the what and why (as I am right now).

I fear of the damage these ill communications (hahaha) bestow on whatever we have going on. I truly am
Working on my communication skills. I want to recognize what is going on within me when I get so easily hurt and be able to talk with him about it.

We have a bus ride to Çesme, Turkey tomorrow and I am going to share what was going on within during this interaction.

Time to sign out. Or sigh out.

Peace

Out

Last updated June 30, 2015