Here is a letter to my H that I wrote about a week and a half ago. It's just a tiny bit spicey for those of you who want to skip it. Jeannine
I wanted to let you know that your kind, loving and open behavior with me a while back, was a healing balm for my battered heart and body. I really felt for the first time, in a very long time, that there was a ray of sunshine piercing it’s way through the dark storm clouds that I have been withering under for so long.
At last I could turn my face away from the loneliness, the humiliation, the engulfing sadness that I have shared my days and nights with. I was ready to begin the journey of healing and reconciliation back to tenderness and trust once more.
That is why I now find myself pressing deeper into the quagmire of depression as I unwrap one lie after another, while my memory mocks my naiveté in believing the promise you made, not to lie to me anymore.
Once again, I am at arm’s length; speaking to walls; outside looking in; feeling in the way; doubting and uncertain.
As before, I find myself unable to give of myself completely. The wall erects itself again, separating us from true intimacy and the bond of trust is underfoot, damaged and crumbling along with my most tender of feelings.
Once again, I find myself thinking what I don’t want to think about; the possibility that I have been offering fragile gifts to someone with numb hands and that maybe I should seek another to share myself in deep abandonment.
Deep abandonment, a place where I want to find you - you my husband, my friend, my lover. A place where the cry of sexual release comes not just from the body, but from cerebral communion. A cry of not only pleasure, but of sweet surrender.
I know that you carry within you a world of pain too and I see you struggle against the sticky grip of your own web, and I hurt for you. I hurt for me. I hurt for what could be but has not yet been.
