Fear.

I'm afraid.
Of rejection.
Of feeling things.
Of vulnerability.
Of liking someone more than they might like me. Or thinking they do at least.
So I hide.
My feelings.
Guarded. I am so fucking guarded.
Im constantly watching for signs that confirm that I'm being rejected. Constantly. Because it's happened so fucking much. So I just assume that it's going to happen. So I keep my distance, or I retreat into myself.
Then I battle. With my thoughts. Knowing that I'm feeding my confirmation bias. Knowing that I'm feeding into that lie that I'm too much or not enough.

I had an awesome date with someone last night...and into today. Yeah, that's right. I stayed over on the first fucking (lol) date. Yo, it was awesome. He is awesome. Real. No bullshit. It's refreshing. He's like... available.

As y'all may know, unavailable men have been my thing because they're safe. But it's also heartbreaking. I'm used to that kind of heartbreak though. I'm used to that particular kind of rejection.
But that from someone who is actually available? I don't know. That feels different somehow.
So here I am. Sitting at the aquarium typing out this gahtdamb blog post. Confronting my shitty thinking, trying not to panic and replay everything that happened in the last 18 hours, searching for signs that confirm that I'm being rejected. Or that there isn't something to explore with this person.

What's especially scary? Being seen. Shit. Being seen is a huge deal for me, but it's also, like, unnerving. Being an Enneagram 4, being understood and seen is both the most thrilling and most terrifying thing ever.

So I had a date last night. It went really, really well. I like this guy. I hope I see him again.
I have to get over this fucking fear.
Of being too much.
Of rejection.
Of all the lies that I've believed in the past.
Getting past this thing. Trying to sift through things, looking for any and all signs or indications that I'm going to be rejected, and the trying to get out ahead of it. This, self-sabotaging. I can be good at that sometimes. Self-sabotage. Oof. I'm like an expert.
But I'm confronting it all head on.

*Note: All puns are intended. I own that shit.