Welcome Home?

It was a nice visit to Minnesota... definitely overdue. I've been trying to get back twice a year which seems to satisfy my craving for the humidity, familiarity and lush green earth. Two times a year is not, however, enough time to spend with family and friends, but it'll have to do until I'm rich and famous and can afford to fly more than that. Sadly, before last week it had been over a year, and I was exceptionally homesick. My homesickness came out in many ways... sometimes I think it was too much for S to bear... my longing for something so far away, something she couldn't really give to me. I was hoping, or rather, I knew those few days back "home" would heal my spirit enough to get to the next step towards peace in my life. (That next step maybe being changing salons... maybe making new friends... who knows.)

I missed S while I was gone. The time apart and distance was good for us, I could feel it, though I did wish she was there to visit with all the family. I took lots of pictures, videos... even had my super adorable niece call S on the phone, so S could feel like she was there with us. (They chatted for 20 mins -- my niece is four!) I sent S thoughtful text messages and called her (but not too much) all to let her know how much I was thinking about her, how close she was to my heart, how anxious I was to get off the plane and be back in Denver in her loving arms.

She came to the airport to pick me up and actually parked the car and came in--which in my world is rare. I usually get the "I'll slow down enough for you to throw your bags in and leap into the car" bit by my family. I was waiting at baggage claim for my luggage and for her. Not knowing which direction she was coming from, my eyes were darting around searching for her smiling face. I was feeling tired but anxious for her embrace--running on fumes. Only she wasn't smiling... it was more of a half-smirk, half-obligation-smile. I could feel the wind die down under my sails. We embraced, but I could feel distance. It was just there... not sure who put it there, but there it was. Her skin was so soft, her breath so sweet, her body warm and strong. And not much of a smile. I couldn't keep my hands off her smooth neck and silky hair. "So where's your bag?" She kissed me again. Distance. Maybe not? I thought I could feel it, then again maybe not. What is going on? I started to blame it on the hour... it was almost midnight after all. I had been travelling, and she likely had a long day as well... plus, she gets stressed out easily. Maybe being in the airport, maneuvering her way around was stressful for her.

I kept dealing out the hugs and kisses and smiles. In her defense, she did return the affection. Now let me just be clear that these kisses were not tonsil-hockey, slobbery, consume her face kisses. I thought they were sweet and airport appropriate. (*Side note: What is the deal with gays and PDAs? And I'm not talking about blackberrys. I never know how much is too much or too little, for that matter. Am I offending my partner by not hugging long enough, touching sexy enough, kissing passionately enough... or maybe too much? Am I offending the woman or man at the next table? Can't we just behave the way we would if we were straight? That's what I always try to do... just behave according to who I am and the values I possess.)



We drive home, and I give S the highlights of my travels. I tell her I'm happy to be back but probably don't emphasize it as much as I would if I weren't so exhausted. We get home, and she reveals a glorious clean home! I love coming home to a clean place, and she knows it. She even bathed the dog... top to bottom! I thanked S, praised her work... more hugs and kisses. I couldn't even wait to show her the pictures I had taken. Finally, it was bedtime.

I slept so hard I didn't even realize S moved out to the couch in the middle of the night until the following morning. I called for her to come back and snuggle with me while we were both waking up. She did. It felt like heaven, our bed, her body, a great night's sleep. It felt so good that I decided to skip school. So we slept in a little. S was late for work but planned to make it up later this week by staying an hour late one night.

It was a nice day back home. I was feeling good, content, peaceful. Then I scheduled an interview at the new salon! It was an even better day now. Only thing bumming me out was that I had a haircutting class at my current salon at 5pm, but I planned to rush through it and hurry home to spend time catching up with S.

When I got home, she seemed a little off... tired probably from not getting much sleep... hence her sneaking out of bed in the middle of the night. I was in an easy mood, so I tried to keep things on the lighter side. S took the dog out, while I put a salad together and warmed up the oven for a pizza. Mind you, I don't normally put dinner together. That's kind of her thing. I'm not as talented in the kitchen as S. If I were left up to my own devices, I'd probably eat cereal for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I've always said that I need a woman who can cook. But she was tired, and I was grateful that the house was clean.

I was/am concerned about her not sleeping well. Before we moved in together, I never had sleeping troubles. There was the rare occasion I'd have anxiety or excitement and couldn't fall asleep as quickly as usual... the night before I traveled, the night before prom, the night before a date, the night before starting a new job or new school, etc. I've always believed sleep to be a very important factor in one's health... be it physical, emotional or mental. Haven't the effects of lack of sleep been showcased lots of places? This is common knowledge, right?! So when I say that I feel a lack of solid sleep night after night, week after week, month after month has really worn on S, I don't say it lightly. I'm deeply concerned about her happiness and health.

"Can I talk to you about something?" I ask her sweetly. "sure."

Then I tell her I'm concerned about her sleeping. I worry about her health and happiness and that her not sleeping through the night could be a key factor in her depression. Or is the depression the reason she's not sleeping well? Chicken or the egg? Either way, I suggest exercise... maybe meditation... maybe reading... maybe not drinking every night (careful E, tread lightly with this topic)... aerobic exercise is what I settle on. All you need is 30-45 mins of walking, running, biking, something to get your heart pumping. Maybe that will make you rest easier at night. But no... nope, the problem is she has too much anxiety. The reason she can't sleep is she's too paranoid about moving a muscle all night because it's going to wake me up. She's afraid she's going to piss me off. What I'm hearing her say is that it's my fault.

Let the battle begin...
As usual to her character, she blows the situation WAY out of proportion. I try to console her, remind her that I'm only trying to help her with what seems to be a severe case of insomnia at this point--probably stress induced. What is it about some people who have such a difficult time hearing anything, and I mean anything, from their partner?! At times, I feel like I'm dealing with a stubborn adolescent.

Back to the subject... S gets so upset she feels it necessary to close herself off on the balcony. Great coping mechanisms. I decide my efforts have been completely defeated, therefore, I turn the oven off, put away the salad I was making and walk myself into the bedroom where I cry into a pillow once again. S comes to the bedroom door to tell me she's leaving for a while. I cry harder, and she walks away.

I text her a little later asking her to please come home... have dinner with me... talk it out maybe. I'm totally confused about what just happened and why it was brought to this level. She refuses to come home, says she needs more time, she's sad... feeling lost. My guess is she's drinking somewhere.

A couple hours later, S walks in the door. She goes to set her helmet on the shelves where we store our shoes, and it collapses. Pissed off, she throws something across the room and curses something. The dog scurries to the other room in fear. Then S locks herself in the bathroom. I go to the door, ask her what's going on, try to coerce her into coming out to talk to me. She's drunk? I can't tell, but I assume. Great, this is going to go nowhere fast. She's sobbing "I can't do this anymore... I just can't do this anymore... I don't want to talk about anything!" I break down again, begging, pleading. Not a moment of pride for me... I'm seriously weak... I feel like I have nothing more to give. She finally comes out of the bathroom to sulk on the living room floor. I try to talk to her... I know I should leave her alone, but I want to fix it. I want things to be okay. For some reason, I can't help but think talking/sorting it out will work... just one of these days. She's so far away... there's so much distance, it's unbearable. I don't see any love in her eyes... haven't really for many months. (That thought makes me ill even now, because I know it's true.) So I ask the question, even though I'm not sure I want to hear the answer.
"Are you still in love with me?"
She shrugs. "I don't know."

What does it sound like when a heart breaks?

We exchange a few more words which are pretty much a blur to me now. Somewhere in there, she gets up and grabs blankets and makes a bed for herself on the floor in the office. I'm reaching out to her, telling her I love her, asking what went wrong. At this point, I have little self-worth. I'm totally beat down. Her back to me, "Fucking leave me alone!", and she says she doesn't want this relationship anymore. Okay.

Tell me again what a breaking heart sounds like...

I put myself to bed, crying into my pillow.
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The next morning, I wake with a horrible headache and upset stomach. The office door is closed, it's quiet on the other side. I shower for work and leave without seeing her. It's probably time to figure out my options. By the skin of my teeth, I keep it together while I'm at work. When I get home, I take the dog out. S rides up from work on her motorcycle. She parks it and walks outside... gives me an awkward hug. Tears are welling up behind my sunglasses. The dog finishes her business, and we all go inside together. S asks if I want to talk, I nod.

We talked for three hours. Somehow, I'm still here... she's still here. At this exact moment--which is now two days later--I'm not sure why or how. I'm still numb.