how I came to be where I am around the current election,
and the fourth post about the candidates themselves.
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| Image credit: Photo by Jessica DeWinter on Flickr Licensed under Creative Commons |
A friend of Mark's and mine fell in love recently. You know that intoxicating feeling of new love: the one where you feel giddy and anxious and excited all at once. Everything in your life is bathed in the soft glow of hope. This relationship is going to be special. This person is different, not like the other people in your life who have broken your heart before.
This friend is so happy, while Mark and I, rather than being happy for him, admitted to each other that we are both wary and uncomfortable. This girlfriend of his may seem to be different from the last one, but the fact that our friend is not any different than he was in his previous relationships leads us to believe the same crazy dance is just going to be played out to different music this time. For both of Mark and me, that initial feeling of attraction has come to signal, not the happy match of two well-suited personalities, but the irresistible pull of complementary dysfunction: the north pole of the codependent magnet reaching out for the south pole of the addict magnet.
I love my husband. I am happy in my marriage. But it has taken an unimaginable amount of pain and a lot of work to get to this point. I fear (and believe) that if (through death or divorce) I lost Mark and found myself falling in love again, it would mean going through that same valley of shock and pain and deep, life-altering grief just to get back to this new normal in which I find myself now.
And as I am finally starting to find my bearings in my life and marriage, Barack Obama enters, with flowers, wooing America. Charismatic, charming, handsome, smart, with warm latte skin, he reminds me of someone... Someone charismatic and charming, handsome and smart, with warm chocolate skin. Who could it be? Oh, wait. My husband.
Everything about me wants to love Barack Obama. And everything in me screams that he is like all the other charming men I've loved. He's going to break my heart if I give it to him. He's going to lie to me. He's not going to do what he promises to do; he won't be able to. He's going to hurt me. He has hurt me (through my political alter-ego, Hillary Clinton.) My attraction to him must come from my own crazy messed uppedness. I can't trust him. I can't trust myself.
So, I've been clinging to suspicion, fear and distrust because to let myself go and follow the frenzy of Obama worship is to fall in love again, and I want no part of that giddy intoxication of newborn infatuation. I'm not ready for it yet; I'm still too raw to touch. I'm working on letting go of those emotions, but for now, I need to keep my distance from Obama and keep working on the hope and the change that come from inside myself before I'm ready to embrace new love (political or otherwise) without fear.

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