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Through the looking glass...
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25 March 2002
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You've been looking at your life through a mirror
It's time you started seeing things a little bit clearer
Through the looking glass...
(The Monkees - "Through the Looking Glass")
I had time today because I have no school this week. Yes, it’s Spring break, which means that my time is my own. How glorious! However, it’s also a time when I have little to think about but myself and where I am going, and with whom.
A few of my work chums went out of town this week, and I agreed to be a critter sitter for two of them. They both have kitties, and I spent some time at both houses keeping them company and cleaning out their litter boxes. While I was at one of the houses, I watched a movie (yes, the lady told me to watch any movie that I wanted – she has the largest video collection I’ve ever seen), so I chose “The Wedding Planner”. I’ve only seen the movie once, but I remember liking it, so I popped it in and sat back to watch.
Funny how I never realized, or perhaps I didn’t remember, that the main character, Mary, chose to marry someone because she wanted to be married. She realized that love was only a fairy tale, not something that was real or tangible. I felt tears welling up in my eyes as I watched this portion of the movie, knowing that it would have a happy ending, but feeling for her at this particular time.
Why * is * love so very elusive? Why is it hiding from me? What did I ever do to it? Hmmm?
Ever since I can remember, I have wanted to be married and have children. In fact, the first time that I really remember this train of thought rumbling through my mind is when my baby sister was brought home from the hospital. I was three. I knew then that I wanted a baby of my own. I used to practice on Rosie, changing her diapers and feeding her. I was a good little “mommy” from the beginning. My favorite doll ever was one that I received as a Christmas present when I was, oh, about seven or eight years old. The doll was an almost-realistic baby; it slept (eyes closed), and went tinkle and poo after I fed it. I remember changing her diapers, too. I made little cloth ones for her. I don’t remember the doll’s name, but I remember the doll vividly. And I held onto it very tightly for many years.
My sisters never wanted children. I have an older sister and a younger sister, and they were so much alike, it was incredible. They, of course, abhorred being compared to one another. That only made it all the more fun to compare! The most prominent similarities were that they didn’t have any desire to get married or have children. In fact, my older sister repeatedly made us aware of how much she did NOT ever plan on having even one baby. Little sister wasn’t much different, just not so emphatic on the subject. I made up for the two of them. We kidded around by saying that I’d have all the babies and share them with my sisters. Hey, we were young! ;-)
I used to daydream and name my someday-children, writing their names out on sheets upon sheets of paper. One of the names that I decided on while in high school was Danielle Joleign. Yep, that’s exactly how I spelled it. I was in love, at the time, with a boy named Danny Joe. Hmmm… Wonder where I came up with the lovely name of Danielle Joleign! I was so transparent!
Twenty-five years old. That’s how old I figured I’d be when I was through having children. By that age, I’d have had my three or four children and I could stop, being happy to take care of the small brood. With each passing year, that age creeped higher and higher. When I finally did turn twenty-five, I was heartbroken. I never really told anyone how much it hurt to be that age and not even be dating anyone in particular; I was nowhere close to being a wife, much less a mother.
Another year slapped me in the face. Then another. A few more. Finally, I find myself at the ripe ol’ age of thirty-two. I’ve been engaged twice, and both times I called it off because I knew I was in love with the idea of being in love, and not really in love with the man. As I was watching Mary at City Hall, ready to wed someone whom she didn’t know or love, I couldn’t help but to think of myself. Am I the only one that does this, I wonder, compare myself to the characters on the screen? The only difference between Mary and me is that she found her love. It was there all along, and it finally found her. I’m still looking.
I thought I found it. I’ve been with a man for over two years. I fell in love with him. I didn’t admit to it at first because I knew that he had commitment issues. Surely if I just waited patiently, he would fall in love with me, too. Finally, I couldn’t hold it in anymore, and I admitted to him that I was in love with him. He didn’t love me. That’s okay, I thought, time will prove our love. He’ll realize sooner or later that he’s in love with me, too. Do you know how hard it is to say “I love you” to someone who does not and can not return that love? I never thought that saying those three little words would feel so… so… bad. Each time that I’d say ‘it’ and he’d just smile or hug me or give me a flower or give me a kiss, it was like a small knife cutting into my heart, little by little, a trail of blood staining my soul.
But I didn’t give up. Even knowing that he was talking to other women, introducing himself to them, I forged onward, knowing that love always wins in the end. Right? I wanted to be his. I wanted him to be mine. I wanted to make babies with this man. I thought, Oh my gosh! It’s finally happened to me. I was wrong. I watch my sisters now with their families, a smile covering up the utter pain that I feel – the jealousy that paints my heart different shades of green. They didn’t want babies! I did!
Finally, I have admitted to myself that Doug is not going to love me. I knew that he was hurting, too. He is a sensitive man, and he could see the hurt and frustration within me, and it hurt him to know that he was ‘doing this to me’. We decided that it could no longer be an intimate relationship, and we could no longer be a couple. Our relationship had run its course. He wasn’t able to give me enough. He cares deeply for me, more than he has about anyone. It’s not enough, though. I want the fairy tale.
I just have to find my Prince Charming.
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