Wednesday, January 27, 2016

Part One

 I was happy. I had been through several long periods of doubt about my relationship – three months or more of long sleepless nights and unsettling vague premonitions. And now those months were over. I was home finally after spending those months out of state. I was at peace. I got to take a trip up to Z, closing the many miles between me and the one I love. It was magic. It was a beautiful garden dressed in its Christmas best, glimmering in light and sparkling with water, and I was walking through all this magic with my hand in the warm hand of my sweetheart. Could anyone be happier?

This was a few weeks after a Thanksgiving weekend visit, and during that visit I would not have been surprised by a proposal. I was on edge that whole weekend, but the proposal didn’t happen. Before this weekend, he had told me that he’d have a surprise for me. Was it just the visit to these gardens or was it something more? Also, he said he had something to tell me that was unpleasant. I have a very active imagination, and I went through a mass of unpleasant possibilities, from some that could hardly even be called unpleasant (like a proposal followed by a really long time frame for an engagement), to others that were somewhat melodramatically awful. But as we moved to a cozy bench surrounded by the Christmas lights of encircling trees, the only thing I could think about was the possibility of a proposal.

He looked uncomfortable. He shifted his backpack and squirmed, and I suppressed an encouraging smile.

“You know I told you I had something unpleasant to tell you?”

Oh, not a proposal then. That would have been first. Drat. I nodded. 

He looked away. And back at me.

“I... I struggle with pornography.”

Is there a second before shock hits? I don’t remember what I felt. Nothing. Numbness. The image of that second’s space of time was burning into my mind. White Christmas lights making shadows on the stone wall, blue eyes that I love. Another second and I could feel the shock. It was closely followed by a disconcerting feeling that’s hard to describe. If you’ve ever walked up the stairs in the dark, and reached the top one step sooner than you expected, that’s comparable to this feeling. It didn’t cut through the numbness; it just infused it with a sense of bewildering loss.

There were quite a few silences. I couldn’t trust myself to say anything – I had to be able to think first. I was praying for the right words. I was taking in bits and pieces of what he was saying. About how much he hated it, and how he was working through it with some mentors. How it’s hard to understand how hard that temptation is for guys, about how he was doing his best to get rid of it. I remember blindly reaching out, putting my hand on his arm, saying something like “It’s okay” as if he were a little kid welling up with distress. And he said,

“No, it’s not okay.”

And I said, “I know, it’s not...” and I kept struggling to find words.

At this point we’d gotten up, and were walking back to the entrance. He was saying something else about me deciding what do about this relationship, and mostly looking and sounding completely forlorn and miserable. It didn’t matter what he was saying; I couldn't process it.

I was on the verge of an important discovery. It wasn’t just because I was sorry for him, and it wasn’t because I’d already given so much to him; I loved him. I prayed a second about it, just a quick and desperate “please!”
And I put my hand in his and said, “Whatever happens, I love you.”

We had already said I love you to one another, but this was completely different. Only as I said it did I realize how true it actually was. I had no idea what I was going to do – never see him again, call off the relationship… But whichever ways we ended up going, I was still going to love him. The words I’d been given to say actually surprised me by not being just another vague comforting phrase. 

More Intro

 Okay, I guess I should start off by telling my story – my “D-day”. I started writing it all out last weekend, but I’m not quite finished, so I’m going to put it up piece by piece. Because you know, it would be nice to consistent about posting. I have a load of stuff to post, so it won’t be too hard. Tomorrow I’m going up to visit SM for the weekend, so I’m not posting then. I know my situation is so much better than some of the other ‘sisters’ whose stories I’ve come across in my struggles. I’m trying to keep that in mind, because otherwise I’ll slip down into the slough of despond, and that’s not faith, is it? One thing I should post is a great modern hymn called “In Troubled Times”, or something. It’s lovely. Anyway, now for my little tale.

Monday, January 25, 2016

Intro to me

  I am a twenty-something girl with a wonderful family and I have the most wonderful sweetheart ever. We’ve known each other for three years or so, and wrote to one another on and off (I’ll tell about that later maybe), and started actually dating/courting (I’ll have to ramble on about that too!) about a year ago. We’ve got some issues to work through – pretty scary ones too – and I’ve been so thankful for his bravery and diligence in facing them. There’s no-one I admire more.

I might end up being a little paranoid about people I know reading this. Because they're going to recognize me right away.

I wish to insert a gem of a quote here.

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they aren't after you." - Joseph Heller

Very sage advice, I think.

So I’m Iris. My sweetheart (I just hate the term boyfriend – I think it’s my upbringing) is S.M. I live in Y., in the state of X, but I was born in Z, in the state of V, which is where SM is from (three hundred long miles away) . Very informative, no? Informativeness is the best. As is making up words.
What else? Everything will be explained as I go on. I do talk about some of my fictional families a lot, but it really doesn’t matter, because even if I took a paragraph to explain, how useful would that be to know?

Okay, that’s all. Please forgive my excessive use and misuse of commas, semicolons; and dashes - it's something I can't escape.


I’ve always wanted to start a blog. This is just going to be temporary though, I'm only going to write here as long as I need to vent. I need a place to think things through. I’ve journaled for the past decade, and it always helps so much to be able to get my thoughts out on paper and scrutinize them. Somehow I can’t do that properly when they are all squirming around in my head.
I’ve never started a blog before because I’ve never written really volubly on any one subject, and I just recently found myself with a mess of stuff that needed to be written. It’s going to be mostly relationship issues I’m working through. Sometimes I might post about books I’m reading, about childcare, or something to do with my devotions. And I guarantee that it’s all going to be really messy and out of order. I’m not going to even bother writing everything out in a logical way. This is really just an extension of my journal, and my journal is a web of confusion to anyone but me.

So if anyone actually stumbles across this blog (I’m not going to bother making it private) and wants to read, then good luck.