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Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that – I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much – so very much to learn.

~Sylvia Plath

I am 42 years old today.  Forty-two.  Two and forty. WOW!  Grace gets olddddddd!!  Right or wrong though, I refuse to acknowledge 40…much less 42!    No.  It’s the one thing in life I feel entitled to blatantly and boldly lie about.  Perhaps that’s not so very graceful?  Probably not. Okay.

I’m a hormonal wreck.  Even if I’m an expert at pretending otherwise, my face always gives the truth away.  Two days before this 42nd anniversary of my birth, I develop a zit on my cheek bone so aggressive and angry, it looks as though someone punched me; all swollen and puffy all the way up to my eye.  It’s almost ironic that I develop this adolescent horror just in time for my birthday.  It’s utterly ridiculous to be fighting wrinkles and sagging AND a nasty zit! Hormones have never been kind to me… Damned things!

With exuberance, I made movie plans with a dear friend whom I’ve recently mended a past friction with which lasted six years.  B meant the world to me at one point in my life.  In fact, when put in a position to choose between my loyalty and love to B and the literal love of my life, I didn’t hesitate to choose B.  Her friendship meant that much.  Unfortunately, B used that very choice against me which created a snowball effect into the biggest nightmare era of my life.  Thus, I let go of my friendship with B, but not my love.  I don’t seem able to stop loving someone once I’ve opened my heart to them.

It might be one of my greatest vulnerabilities and downfalls, as well as have slightly masochistic edges.  I loved this about my heart, from the level of absolute purity from which it comes and it does have the purely  innocent dedication of a child, but I detest that this quality of mine seems incapable of healthy boundaries or self-protection from vultures who know the power this truth provides them.

I was beyond excited all week long to be talking with B again and to open up the possibilities of maybe having a friendship with her again.  I was positively giddy with hopeful joy!  We made plans to go to the movies together for my birthday.  B seems to have changed a bit, as she’s found her happiness and has been through some horrible ordeals which may have humbled her somewhat.  Not that I’d wish any of her terrible ordeals on anyone, but she seems to have developed as a person from some of it…into an even more beautiful spirit than before.  I was so unbelievably excited and delighted!!

Last night I started freaking out though: the nasty planet-sized zit which is disfiguring  my face, plus the gnawing fear that having  B in my life again will knock me back on my ass, if I really open to her again.  And I wonder where my strength and tenacity, my ultimate unshakeable faith in the trueness of the souls of those I love and adore has gone?  And is it gone for good?

I’ve always felt that was a great strength of my soul and my character: unlimited faith in those whom I love;  my amazing ability to forgive and determinedly see only what I love, rather than any pain or damage which may have been inflicted.  In my excitement, when my time in B’s presence was days away, I just felt that all over again; that gratitude for another chance to love her and have a friendship with her.  Last night, I broke though.  The unmerciful vice grips of fear seized my heart and my head.

I’m scared shitless of her!  I randomly started bawling and texted her that I hoped we could reschedule for next weekend because I’m just feeling crappy and non-social.  I worried that she’d be mad at me for this, but she actually said she wasn’t mad, but worried – not wanting me to be alone or lonely on my birthday!  This, of course made me cry harder…thinking maybe she is for real this time, but I might be far too damaged to embrace that; too paralyzed to breathe any  life into it.

I detest the thought that after 42 years of throwing myself out there to love who I loved, I might finally be literally and fundamentally too damaged to even give a genuine effort anymore!!  My GOD,  that thought alone infuriates me!  And I’ve never been one who can do anything without a spirit of authenticity. The nine lives of my heart is down to its final strand of life and simply can’t afford to waste a single more plunge.

I love her still.  Yes, love her so very much.  But can I love her?  I don’t know. Yet, how can I not?  I mean, I do.  It’s always, ALWAYS been that simple for me.  If I do, then I do. Now, it’s just not that simple any more.

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