Neurosis: A partly optimistic letter to C

I don't want to become a wedding blogger, I really don't. Yet it seems like that's all I've got to talk about lately.

Can I just say it?

I'm excited. I'm really excited about marrying my best friend, and I'm all wrapped up in the planning because I love to plan things.

Need I be ashamed for either of those things? No. No, I don't.

So why do I feel like I have to apologize whenever I bring up the wedding?

Probably because I'm so afraid of imposing myself upon others... afraid of asking too much. Afraid of wanting or needing too much. Afraid of being too intense and driving people away. Afraid of wearing people out, wearing them down, until they are little more than lifeless, withered husks...

Yeah, I know. Optimistic, isn't it?

I suppose it's just that lifelong exposure to let-down, abandonment, and false hopes. It's no wonder, really, that I'm neurotic about such a big step and all that accompanies it. I feel badly for C, because I'm constantly second-guessing his desire to be here, to be a part of this, to be with me, to want to spend time with me, etc. etc. etc. (That's where the Squeaky Hammer of Refinement comes in. It would be the Squeaky Hammer of Justice/Righteousness, but he'd have to be avenging something, or righting a social injustice or something else that doesn't really apply to the situation. Unfortunately. Because Squeaky Hammer of Justice just sounds so cool!)

It's like, okay, yes, I know that you love me and that you want me to be happy and that you're not going anywhere and that if wedding planning makes me happy then you're totally willing to put up with it and wear that cute little bemused smile and pat me on the head, but what if you change your mind??? What if you decide it's too much, I'm too much, and you don't want to sign up for this after all?!?!?!?!

What if you decide to leave?

And so I'm afraid. So afraid. Deep-to-my-core terrified. Because I don't want to live without you anymore. I don't want to see if someone else's hand will fit mine the same way. I don't want a new story, I want our story, tumultuous and melodramatic as it is.

I'm afraid to be fully myself, because what if you don't like that much "me"? What if I drive you away? I've been known to be intense. Too intense. I think. (I mean, didn't I have that problem with D? And G? And J? And H? And... yeah. Really? Do I need to keep going?)

I don't really trust guys to stick around, you see. And maybe that's part of the reason why I've taken off on you so many times in the past... because if I leave first, then it won't hurt. Because, really, I don't want to live apart from you. I never have.

I'm excited to marry you. Ridiculously excited. And that comes out in "crazy planning everything and talking about it all the time" mode. That's why I stayed up until two a.m. last night crunching honeymoon numbers, planning it out... all the while daydreaming of being on adventures with you. With you. My husband. And then coming back from the adventure and being mundane with you... as your wife. (Good grief, I can hardly bear to say it! It's so wonderful!)

I also have this irrational sense of impending doom. Like, I'm waiting for the axe to fall on our happiness and wonderful plans any moment now.

But then, you knew I was neurotic already, huh? :) You, who have sat up nights with me, holding me while I raged and cringed and sobbed and cowered in the dark... You, who have held me close when I just needed a hug and a good snuggle... You, who have mercilessly teased me, knowing that I both need and love to laugh...

I don't want to be apologetic about us anymore, about the wedding, about my plans... and I don't want to be afraid anymore. I really don't. I'm sorry for my fear, and I wish it weren't so.

Honestly, though, I'm glad it's coming out and bubbling up. This means that we can talk about it, you can bop me with the Hammer, and we can deal with it. We'll be stronger than if I just simply labored alone under the blistering waves of oppression.

I am excited. And I refuse to be apologetic about that.

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