This isn’t fucking Chernobyl.
We aren’t a couple of wacked-out, detached engineers running unsafe experiments on unstable materials after hours… How much pressure? How much heat? How long can we allow this to continue in this way before we really are just a couple of reckless sociopaths?
Well, not really…
The explosion and subsequent damages resulting from the impact of two hard wills housed in soft bodies… Just amazing. I’d have thought there’d be more jiggling…
Like a mushroom cloud. You can’t look away, even if you’re knee deep in casualties and the shit is just rising.
Even after you do manage to step back a bit, to lick the proverbial wounds, you still aren’t safe. There’s radiation. There’s shit that is seeping into your pores and changing the way that you feel about, see, hear, or even speak to your co-detonator.
Pair that with the facts that you can’t sleep or else the rage may dissipate (Last one standing with a hand in the rage wins ALL the rage!), and that you can’t really eat because that takes up valuable booze and nicotine space/time, and you’re pretty much on the verge of what most mental health professionals may consider to be some form of insanity.
Then the hurt sweeps in… aftershock, maybe?
Despite how rash you were acting just mere moments before, the irrationality of the other’s actions becomes all too apparent. At this point, one can either stoke the flames for more blowy-uppy fun/madness, or continue to step away, in search of a different view or a clearer perspective.
At some point, when you get far enough away that the rage/pain smoke has started to wane a bit, you can remember that there is love here.
Sometimes you just keep walking. Other times, it’s more conducive to stay where that love is.
And then you take a goddamn nap, you crazy fucking bitch. Fuck.
When you wake up, you’re in a big puddle of hindsight. As you wade through it, you realize exactly where you went wrong, how you are to blame for it all. That shit sucks, that whole “being wrong about some stuff” gig. Your expectations were too high and you held onto them for too long before voicing concern about your growing disappointment. Only an idiot could have not seen this coming, right?
Woman. Man. Control. Emotions. Love.
These are all volatile materials. Prone to mishap, regardless of intentions.
You want to trust that the person you’re looking to for support, guidance, companionship, and love will be free of error, cautious. You want to believe that there is a safe, controlled environment in which these interactions can take place without being jeopardized by the hazards of a messy world. Things appear so much simpler through rose-colored protective eye gear.
And you could view it as unfortunate that the human experience goes so much deeper than a tried and true sequential method. This shit is crazy sometimes.
But for all the crazy, it can also be quite stunning.
So you accept it. It happened this way because we made it happen this way. It became a funny little dance of steps and missteps, showing concern only for whom is supposed to lead, and for whom is stepping on whose toes, rather than listening to the music and the movement of your partner.
Fuck. Wrong metaphor. Dammit!
You move on. You forgive yourself for being a dumbass. You forgive your partner for being a dumbass.
You find the calm. The calm is wherein the solution lies, still in sight of the destruction, but far enough removed to keep it in perspective that not EVERYTHING is in ruins. If you see that there is enough to rebuild and it seems like a feasible option, then you do it. If you see that an updated structure is needed to better support the changing needs of the relationship, then you do that instead. If you think it best to cut your losses and scrap the whole experiment, then go for it. You just have to make a decision and then follow through.
Communicate this plan clearly. Try to avoid placing blame for the previously failed trial.
It’s really great when you can both be wrong, because that’s solidarity. Work through it together.
Will there still be sadness, regret, loss, anger, fear? Of course.
Will you still occasionally get the urge to punch a certain handsome man in the face… or throat?
Okay, maybe a little, but only in theory.