Running and Chasing.

You were my first love when I was 13 and you 18. You repeatedly broke up with me until my mom couldn’t stand the withering soul I was becoming and implored me to break up with you. I did. After all, you were a young man with needs and I was still a kid and not at all ready for that.

I still remember your tears and my shock that you reacted that way. I had been feeling so dismissed and rejected by you after your repeated break-ups, I didn’t know you cared.

31 years later, again … 31 years, at the end of my long marriage to another, you found me online. We thought we had unfinished business and quickly fell in love for the second time.

Heartbreak again. I moved 1,000 miles to be with you. You felt your space was invaded after living alone for years and kept me at arm’s length. In your defense, I was a mess, heartsick and homesick. I accepted my 25 year marriage was over, but I was fragile and needed to heal from that relationship first. You quit talking to me for well over a year after I moved back and it was an intensely painful time for me.

Here we are again, six years later and I’ll fly across a couple states in a month to help you celebrate your 56th birthday.

A couple days ago, I sent you what I thought was an amusing message about twin flames and running and chasing each other over the years … 1980, 2012, 2014, 2018.

Your reaction set me off which is not unusual, twin flame theory and all, “Are we really running and chasing though? I have always thought we just kind of drift together then apart … mostly.”

We don’t “drift apart” from each other. That oversimplifies a complicated dynamic. Since I accepted your invite, you are pushing me to arm’s length again. Ghosting and benching are new terms to me and I kind of loathe them, but they probably sum it up well.

A conversation in my head with you at ages 13, 45, 47, 51… You look for fault in me so you don’t become attached and can maintain autonomy.

Why do I recognize your attachment avoidance? Because I do it too. I’m almost relieved when I find a reason to keep one foot out the door. I keep my running shoes on so I can protect myself.

What am I protecting myself from? Rejection. I know it’s misguided.

Being vulnerable may actually lead me to a true companion, a trusted lover, a partner in this crazy world… sigh …

I also value my autonomy but it can be a lonely road.

Sometimes I think my first love … hmm, who would that have been … taught me well. Taught me too well. Love scares me and I’m not good at receiving it. I don’t trust it because it always breaks up with me.

I do love though. That’s half the battle and I’m grateful for it.

I use to think you were the problem, the emotionally unavailable one. I’ve learned I can’t be so righteous. We “drift apart” because we’re too much alike.

It sounds like I’m talking out of both sides of my mouth. That’s my normal lol because I’m both attachment anxious and attachment avoidant. I’ve read a great book on attachment theory and recognize us both in it’s pages. “Attached” by Amir Levine and Rachel Heller.

Part of me thinks I made a mistake agreeing to come visit you. Another part of me thinks I’m supposed to play this out to learn something.

This is me being vulnerable … Please let go and accept my love while I’m there. Let me love you. Please don’t tell me my touch is annoying. I hate feeling I’m a pain in the ass to anyone. It makes me lace up my running shoes. Love me just enough to embrace me and my love for 6 days. We both need the healing after 38 years.

I’m resilient and wise. Out of love for you and for myself, I will leave you and me to our autonomous selves as soon as you drop me off at the airport.

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