Throughout our relationship, I was diligent about never asking J for things he wouldn’t do, or couldn’t do. I never asked him to put me above his work, his dreams, or his plans — not even in small ways. I never called on him in such a way that he was forced to choose between what he should do, what he needed to do, and what I wanted him to do. It’s not that I never needed him — I did — I just never asked.
In part, it’s because I never wanted to put him in that position, and in part, it’s because I hate hearing ‘no.’ To me, ‘no’ sounds like rejection, and in my head, it negates things that had nothing to do with whatever-it-is that was asked for.
But I should have.
I should have asked for more.
That realization came to me four months ago just past 2am on a unkempt two lane highway that cuts across the state, halfway between his place and mine.
I spent the prior months in as much blissful denial and sugar-coated idealism as I could maintain. (For the record, my idealism was for the future, not the present.) There was some anger here and there, but it was managed well-enough… because we still had more time. I still had little, happy things to look forward to and small comforts to wrap myself in.
But then I realized I was running out of both.
There was no more time and nothing to look forward to, and then there were no small comforts left.
I had no idea what I intended to say to J that night, but I knew I should have asked for more.
More love? More attention? More reassurance? More time…?
It didn’t matter — he had none left to give. I don’t feel bad for having wanted it, but I would have felt awful if I had asked… because I hate asking, but mostly, because I hate hearing “no.”