Rules of engagement

This post is going to be more emotive than my other posts.  However, I shall try to add in some coffee shop sociology and possibly some cheap jibes for good measure.  I will have to see how it goes.  I am literally typing my little heart out and am not quite sure how this is going to turn out.  Those who know me will probably agree that I am usually quite reserved when it comes to emotions.  I find public displays of emotion quite uncomfortable and am especially scornful of individuals who seem to enjoy posting about their on public forums, such as FaceBook. 

So I recently got engaged, which is yet another revelation since I never envisioned getting engaged or married.  In fact, I would go as far as to say that I was actively against the idea.  Even when I was younger and my peers were happily discussing their dream weddings I would do all I could to stay out of the conversations.  I just found the whole idea completely ridiculous since nobody NEEDED to get married in this day and age.  Furthermore, these discussions were happening before we could even legally marry!  I’m pretty sure that the majority of people haven’t even met the person whom they want to inflict this white meringue infested nightmare upon by this point.  Thus, it was just an utterly pointless conversation to be having.

 Then there was the idea that in getting married would mean forfeiting my identity and independence.  Both things that, as a self respecting woman, I value quite highly and have done from an early age!  Naturally, my attitude prompted many people to suggest that I would change my mind when I met “The One.”  Of course, I scoffed at this idea too. 

So what happened to make me change my mind?  It was a combination of meeting the person to whom I would propose (yes, women CAN and DO propose) and losing somebody close to me.  I expected to feel an immense sense of grief and loss when the inevitable happened but I did not expect the deluge of emotion.  Naturally, everyone was really kind and supportive but there comes a point at which everything has to move on and get back to normal.  It just has to.  I totally understand that you cannot spend all day everyday bewailing your loss when there is still stuff to do.  So I got back to work, plastered my best smile on and carried on as normal.

Except, things are far from normal.  There is a person missing from my life and this hurts much more than I am able to express.  This is why I have been prone to nasty outbursts over nothing.  Why I have been prone to disturbed sleep due to nasty nightmares that have woken me in the night.  Why I will be happily chatting one minute and staring into space, utterly bewildered and confused the next.  All of this started literally weeks after we had moved in together, which just added stress and confusion to a situation that should have been a happy and exciting one.  Yet, it didn’t seem to strain things.  I would spend ages crying and getting angry, whilst he just sat there saying nothing.  He would also make me meals to make sure I ate and gently wake me when I was having nightmares.  All the while he never complained or asked me to snap out of it.  There must be days when he goes to work absolutely shattered and drained because I have kept him awake with my nightmares.  Still, he says nothing. 

My friend Dan often says that big life events give you a certain level of perspective and I think he is right.  I have often deplored the idea of being financially and emotionally dependent on somebody else.  Whilst I would not say that I am dependent, I would certainly say that there have been times when I have questioned what would have happened had he not been there.  In short, the events of last year have taught me that there are people who, through no expectation or obligation, decide to stick around when things are less than ideal. I did not propose because I want to be some Kate Middleton-esque style nightmare in an over-priced frock.  Nor did I do it in the hope that society would finally see me as normal or to become part of some suburban, smug marrieds club.  Frankly, dinner parties and B&Q Sundays aren’t really my thing!  I didn’t even do it as a thank you.  It was more of a promise.  A promise that, even when things get a bit too much, I will be there.  Just like he has been for me.