It’s been a while since we have chosen to post here… maybe it is long overdue. We began this to truly document our relationship in the moment. Well once the moment has passed… we’re generally over it and have moved on too quickly to backtrack for a retelling. So our separate blogs on 360 still have a life of their own, but here on Stealing Kitty…. Some definite slacking had been actively engaged. It is unfortunate that it took this to bring us back. For anyone who is not caught up… Rachel and I have finally experienced our first real fight. We made the decision together to come back to these pages and blog it. The written word has been integral in our relationship and is one of many ‘creative tools’ in developing as a couple. It’s out there already… Rachel posted in advance of me. Following in suit with Stealing Kitty’s beginnings… here’s my response to Safe Hope. (Perhaps a bit of globbing, but hey, this is the first time that things have gotten a little sensitive.)
In the end… this was the prevailing decision cast in stone. The stone of my heart is of softer stuff, perhaps. Maybe the necessity to fire up the hearth is at hand. Distant memories are vaguely recalled of self-reliance and rigid independence… boundaries fabricated to create the steel of indifference… fables of strength with the dull pain of solitary confinement I, in truth, bound myself in. The master of I… protector of self…tower of infallibility… What a lonely place that was. “At the end of the day” when ‘we’ becomes ‘I,’ risking vulnerability is removed from the equation. Claims of personal ownership of ‘self’ responsibility mask the inner cores of truth with a classic, well-aged dusting of the surface. Every disappearing act needs a foggy smoke screen. This one is foolproof with razor sharp edges proven to buck resistance with simplicity and guarantees a challenge to any who may pursue. There is no room for denial of truth. The reoccurring fact has always remained that the decisions made in any given situation reflect on safety of self.
I am readily willing to claim and maintain accountability for legions of individualized decisions. Alas, life’s course had never landed me a novice playing field as an opted difficulty level. In regards to relationships, it cannot be denied that I am indeed guilty of placing my safety in the line of fire with warning signs blaring from all directions. Abuse of colorful shades never knew timidity in my presence. One need not bother with attempts to convince me of any validity …the words alone hold a blanket of undeniable truth. What remains, however, is not an agreement to kow down. Survival of the fittest prevails whether conscious or not.
Truth in its entirety is a raw phenomenon with multiple layers up for review. When “At the end of the day we are both individually responsible for our own safety’ becomes a shield of self-preservation, it begins to tarnish under the unexpected ware. The safety of ‘self’ was never in question… it is the security of ‘we’ that falls under scrutiny. The appropriate surmise would be that “At the end of the day we are jointly responsible for the safety of our relationship.” Running is not an option when the fragility in question is that of a precious bond. My past proves me to be a risk taker. Some situations call for calculated thought. This time… a little of both need thrown in the pot.
We both fell prey to spins of insecurity and the blood rushing in quickening crescendo became deafening. This wasn’t a shared moment in conflict… the conflicts were divided and maintained in moments of self. ‘We’ became the ‘I’ of individuality. The lamb hadn’t the chance to be sacrificed…it was offered up for brutal slaughter when self ran riot and safety, rather than our imagined fears, was slapped onto the butchering block. My gratitude in every spin slowing to a halt makes my cup run over.
Our relationship is still in infancy. Its many levels are still in various stages of cultivation. We are two strong-willed survivors of life making an attempt to join hands and peruse into the future side by side. When the stage tilts off balance and we decide to buck… the reverb is felt around the world, I’m sure. ‘Intense’ falls short of offering an adequate description.
Is it worth it? If I wasn’t convinced before… it is now engrained. The pain evoked by thoughts of losing her far outweighs any propelling forces supporting the run for cover. The only true risk at hand is loss of opportunity … security amounts to little more than dust if it only serves feed the loneliness. The safety I’m seeking is outside of the box. ‘I’ has become ‘we.’ There is no turning back, and I wouldn’t want to. This is a march meant to move forward. It would be foolish to discard the goods based on a blemish in the gift-wrap.
So what… we had our first fight. She turned into a brick wall and I became one with my inner ‘Mr. Hyde.’ All is calm again and we are now armed with what not to do with a security breech at hand. Rachel and I are creative bitches…survivors of life… remember? It isn’t a kink, but merely a twist. After all, the anchor in the sand cannot be wrenched loose. She’s the ‘one.’