Sleep

I was fixing my hair and putting on my make up when I noticed the dark circles under my eyes. It was ironic that I’d have eye bags the size of a Louis Vuitton trunk when I have been doing nothing but sleep of late.

I sleep like a cat, for three hours after a late breakfast and another four after lunch. And at night up to fourteen hours. That’s why I rarely go out nowadays. My answering machine and cell phone voice mail are full of queries about my whereabouts from well meaning bosom friends. I never answer them. I just want to sleep.

I ought to be gaining weight, what with my uber sedentary lifestyle, but I hardly eat anything now. So I am breaking even, I sleep a lot, eat a little and tip the scales at 120 lbs.

I did not mention that I am scared. My psychiatrist thinks I am sleeping my hurt away. Maybe I am, but I am more scared than hurt.

Last month, I broke up with my boyfriend of two years. I broke up with him because he brought up the possibility of marriage and it was something I felt I wasn’t prepared for. He first asked me what my thoughts were on taking our commitment a step further six months ago and I freaked. I started an argument; an irrational outburst that I hoped would drive him away.

It didn’t, he stayed. And his decision to stick with me freaked me out even more. Because it meant he wants to be with me for the long haul and I was afraid if I let him stay, he would find out there wasn’t much to love about me, and leave. To me that would hurt more—to let him in and find he didn’t love me enough to stay than to nip what we have in the bud, while we’re still not too attached to each other.

It would have been great if he broke up with me as I broke up with him. But he didn’t. He insisted he’d give me time off, but we’d still be status quo, still boyfriend and girlfriend and potential betrotheds.

He didn’t give me a deadline, he just said he’ll wait for as long as he could and if he feels that the waiting is taking too long, he’ll tell me so and move on. It’s a phone call, or conversation I’ve been waiting for for a month now. It hasn’t come.

If I were someone else, my situation would be easy. My boyfriend is someone you would consider a catch. He’s old enough to be mature and able to support me and a future family financially. He’s not conventionally handsome, but I find him attractive enough to make me want to take my clothes off and jump his bones when he’s around. Which I haven’t done. He’s the right amount of jealous to make me feel wanted and special. We finish each other’s sentences. He knows how much I love flowers, pets and children and always gives me the opportunity to indulge these interests.

We’re perfect for each other, his friends say.

I make him laugh. I turned him to home cooking and amateur chef’s nights in hole in the wall restaurants. I convinced him to love nature; our favorite activity now is trekking along mountain paths in the countryside on weekends.

That scares me even more. I’d have been able to accept it if he was the type to beat up girls or cheat on his taxes or lie to his mother or make me cry.

But he doesn’t and the thought that I would be the keeper of a heart so noble and pure scares me. What if I break it? What if somewhere along the way, twenty years into our marriage he realizes I am lacking and he wants to leave me? I know I wouldn’t be able to take it.

Part of me says that my fears are irrational, but my experience as an abused child tells me otherwise.

Friends have left me, just when I was beginning to love them and discover I want to be with them for good. Nannies have been sent away when we were starting to bond because my mother couldn’t stand to see me happy. My father was good at making promises but not keeping them.

And I was the sexual slave of at least five male relatives. I was molested so many times when I was a kid I couldn’t remember anymore who did what to me.

The experience left me with the belief of myself that I am not good for anything other than being the plaything of men and the punching bag of women who want to feel better about themselves.

My childhood scarred me so much, I isolated myself from people. I never let anyone get too close, except for a few female buddies who made me feel good about myself and feel accepted.

Then he came along. I was at a bookstore, browsing through the coffee table books in the art section. He made like he wanted to start a conversation, but my eyes widened with panic I had to turn away.

He was patient. He went to the bookstore every weekend I was there and would just smile and wave at me. One Saturday, after four months of the routine, he bought the book I’ve been looking at but never could bring myself to buy. He gave it to me with a note stuck to the paper bag: Care for lunch? It had with it a smiley face. I had to say yes.

Things were good when I was with him. He opened my world to people, to new places, to different experiences. It was like I was just starting to live. And I couldn’t remember what life was like before he came along anymore. I do not exaggerate when I say that just by choosing to be with me, he changed my life. And he scared me, more than all the monsters of the past, he scared me. Because with him I realized I could be happy and that he had so much control over that happiness.

I could not bring myself to talk about these fears with anyone. Not my therapist, not with him. Because I felt talking about my fears made me inadequate, that I could not be anything less than the strength I projected to people. It was a lot of bull I knew but my fears held me hostage.

Until my favorite uncle died. He was survived by his wife of 40 years and three children and five grandchildren. I have always been close to my uncle, he helped me through the rough patches of my life and whatever people said of him, I always believed he was a good man. If only because he saw me through tough times and kept me believing enough in myself to reach out to life when I wanted to give up.

It was all so sudden, my aunt, his wife said. We had such a good thing going, he was always caring to me and the children, and she sobbed. Now he’s gone, but I don’t regret anything. I’m glad I took a chance with him.

I asked, took a chance?

My parents didn’t like him; they thought he wasn’t good enough for me. But I loved him, and I knew I loved him enough to want to face the uncertainty of a financially insecure future with him, she replied.

It was like a bulb lit up in my brain. The answers were so easy; maybe I was just looking too hard for them.

I slept for 24 hours straight after the funeral. After that, I went to see my therapist and poured my heart out to her. I told her, I don’t want to sleep the hurt away anymore. And maybe she’s right; I am more hurt than scared.

I went back to work and started seeing my friends again. But somehow I could not bring myself to call him. Because I felt I made such a fool of myself by blowing his proposal all out of proportion.

One Wednesday, I came upon him waiting for me at the front gate of the house. Dread crept upon my heart like a cold hand. I made him wait too long, I thought.

“I’ve been thinking…” he started.

“You scare me,” I whispered at the same time.

There were tears in his eyes. “I realize that. But I hope you see I won’t do anything to hurt you, not if I can help it.”

I smiled a thin, pained smile. “I know about that. But there’s a lot I haven’t told you. Come in, please.”

I told him everything, without missing a single sordid detail. Explained why I’ve been behaving the way I have, because of the fears being with him rouses in me.

He cried in some parts, laughed at the others, but on the whole looked relieved.

“I thought you were in love with someone else. Couldn’t figure out if it was a boy or a girl, because you shut me out whenever I try to get intimate with you. I’m glad it’s because you’re scared because at least, it means I can move you enough to feel something for me,” he was smiling now.

“I know it’s not easy, and I can’t give you guarantees. But I hope you love me enough to take that chance with me. To let what you feel for me be stronger than your fears. The only guarantee I can give is that I will love you today, as much as I can and hope that the love will be greater with each passing day,” he said.

I nodded silently.

“So, I am going to ask you again, will you, my love, marry me and spend the rest of your days with me, for as long as you live?”

“Yes, I will,” I replied.

But I had a question. “Does this mean though, we can finally get cats?”