so I finally did it

After months of I don't know what we are but it doesn't matter because I need to focus on my injury, because I don't know what I'm feeling right now, because it's so volatile and up and down every day and I can't understand what I feel when I'm hurting physically, I finally reached the point where I wanted to know.

It'd been a couple weeks of wanting to know, or at least a couple weeks where the wanting to know was more than an afterthought in the back of my head. Where it'd bubble up unbidden to the front of my mind, like sludge, like an irritating cuckoo clock I couldn't turn off. That'd pop up and scream at the wrong time of the hour, at me.

Ask it. Ask it. Ask it.

What are we?

3 words, and it should've been easy enough, but I keep it churning inside me for those weeks, probably almost a month. Letting time pass, letting things go as they went. I don't know why I let it go on for that long. I think I was a coward. But I'm not sure of what I was afraid of. Change?

Maybe it says something already that it took me so long to find courage to ask him. That I needed courage.

But last night I did it, after I sat down on his bed, the lights in the room all turned off. I knew it was out of the blue, which I felt bad about, but I felt like it had to be then. Or I'd keep putting it off, keep waiting. And it was easier then, knowing he wouldn't be able to see me clearly, and maybe cloaked in darkness I could hide that I was nervous, or afraid, or hurt.

I didn't think I would be hurt, whatever he said. But I couldn't be sure. And I couldn't swallow my pride—I didn't want him to see me like that, hurt by something he said, as if he had power over me. But I think he did have some power over me, even in that I waited this long to ask. In that I had to turn the words over in my head, to parse out the paths of the possible myriad answers, and think of how I could react to each one. I made myself think, don't react with emotion, just think of outcomes and what I might want or not want from each one. What information I need to have.

But whether that's true, whether he did have power, whether he does have power, I don't want him to know. And in truth, maybe that's why I asked too. If he has power over me I don't want him to have, I need to set my boundaries right, create my distance. For myself.

Because these days, I'm trying to love myself. I'm proud of that change in my life. Well, pride might not be the right word. Happy with? Hopeful about?

I am proud that I asked, even if the words came out stilted. And even if I think I am hurt. Somehow. Though I can't explain to myself the exact reasons why.

I sat down, looked at him, still scrolling on his phone in the darkness, took a breath and forced the words out. "So, uh, this might be weird to ask, but what are we?" Pointing a finger between me and him.

"That's a good question," he said, putting his phone down and looking at me. I couldn't parse out the emotion on his face, or if there was much there to see. It's probably a bad thing that I can't read him, I thought.

I didn't know what to say, but the air felt thin all of a sudden. Not enough of it for me to speak. I think I said something like, "I think it'd be good to be clear about it."

"I'd like things to stay the same as now, like, friends with benefits," he said. "If that's okay with you."

"That's okay with me," I said. Because it was, and because I hadn't wanted anything to change, so that part was great, but at the same time I felt like his words were too big for me to catch. And I couldn't understand or explain why I felt that way. So instead I forced myself to sound overly unbothered, to give myself time to try to process. I tried to remember what else I'd wanted to ask.

"But I guess, if we..."

I was quiet. I knew what I wanted to say but I was fumbling, unable to put it to words. Then I thought I was quiet for too long and said quickly, "It's nice to be clear about this."

Which it was. It was a relief, and I didn't realize before asking how much a relief it was going to be, to finally, finally know where we stood. I have no regrets about asking. I rather wish I'd asked sooner, but I know that sooner I wouldn't have been in the mental state to know what I was feeling or to react based on my feelings about this relationship rather than my feelings about myself and my other ups and downs.

I still don't know what I'm feeling, but I think that's okay. At least now I can face it. Without crumbling, without falling.

I still wish I could run this off though, so there's that.

A little later, he asked, "Is there anything else you want to ask? Or if you're not okay with this and want to end things, that's okay."

And I was able to collect myself enough to say, "I don't want to end things, but I think if things change and I decide I want a serious relationship with someone in the future, I would want to end this. And I'd want the same from you."

He agreed. I was able to ask, are we allowed to see other people? Yes. I told him to tell me if he slept with someone else, for safety reasons, and he agreed without hesitation.

I'm happy I have these answers now. If for no other reason than to force me to face myself.

I think the reason it hurts is because, as much as I hate to admit it, there was probably a small part of me that wanted more. That hadn't drawn the boundaries right because we'd never signed and stamped them, we'd let it all hang nebulous in the air. Even though I wasn't in love, and I'm still not really sure what love is, maybe there'd been a stupid little voice in me hoping we could feel something for each other beyond friendship. That I hadn't thought existed, that has been dragged up to the surface now like a fish hooked from the sea to gasp and dry out on land.

I think it's loneliness too, the desire to want to be special to someone, anyone. That probably subconsciously inflated the hours we spent together, the laughter and conversations, the hand-holding and little moments of seeming affection, into a bit more more in my heart than they were in reality. Not in my head, where I understood that nothing defined is nothing at all. Where I could list all the reasons we weren't right for each other as anything more than friends, and where wanting something more than friends was unfamiliar, dangerous territory: our values, interests, and views of the world felt like small overlapping circles on a much larger venn diagram. And there's the smaller things too, like that both of us can barely cook, that he doesn't care to budget, that he hates going to doctors, that he sometimes has too much cis male energy, that he's made small assumptions about what I like or who I am based on the fact that I'm a woman.

I don't think it's that I wanted a relationship, or that I had expectations of one, but I did want to be special. And maybe, I wanted to be special to him. Understanding now that I'm not, that's probably what hurts.

That "ending this" was so easy for him to say, that it was spoken offhand as if it didn't matter to him too much one way or the other, even though it was a kindness, a consideration of my feelings, a 'if this is too much for you, we can end things', showed me how much I was worth to him. And I think I know now that I am less than a friend, because at least for a friend you would want to preserve the friendship. At least I would. I would try everything I could to preserve a friendship that mattered to me.

And understanding too that I tricked myself into this pain, by my hesitation, by not asking the important questions earlier on. That hurts me too. Because I feel betrayed by my own cowardice. I had told myself I would expect nothing until we had a talk like this, so why am I at all disappointed or hurt or shaken? It wasn't an answer I didn't expect. If I'd been hurt by someone else, I could cradle this hurt in my hands, tell myself I am in some way right to feel this way. But no one else has done anything to hurt me. I feel like I've been hurt by myself, and that makes me feel like a fool.

I am still so glad I forced myself to ask this question, to have this conversation, as awkward and stilted as I felt during the whole thing. It is a relief to have clarity, to feel like I finally see with both my eyes. I am glad he had an answer, that he was honest, and that it didn't seem to bother him. I kind of wish it had bothered him, in the selfish way of wishing I mattered, but I am glad it didn't, that it didn't feel like there were any pretenses. That too is an answer for me.

The harder question is what I want to do about it. For now, I think, as much of a cop-out as it is, nothing. Hey, the sex is good. And I still enjoy our time together. I am a little sad thinking that this is temporary, that sooner or later it will come to an end. And it's scary to not be sure what this ending would look like. I think there could be a friendship here to preserve, but I am not sure. I'm honestly not sure he'd care enough to want that, which is fair. And there's part of me saying, if there's nothing to preserve after, maybe it's better to end everything now.

But I'm lonely, I suppose.

So I don't know. I think this is early enough that I can take a step back, and draw the boundaries I need for myself. I'm happy to hangout, laugh at memes, and have sex and cuddle, and I do think that helps me, feel more real, feel less out of control, feel happier that there's someone who likes to do these things with me. Especially right now, when I feel like half a person, like I barely have hobbies and interests and that I can't do those I do have. It's a small thing, to say, he sometimes makes me happy. But it feels huge when most of the time happiness feels out of reach.

But I'm going to keep away from oversharing details about my life and friends, from saying yes to hanging out with him unless I 100% want to, from asking time from him too often, from reciprocating gestures of affection, from thinking what we have now could be anything that lasts. I will not let him become a close friend. I will keep a finger on my own pulse. I value what we have outside of the 'benefits', so I do hope we can continue to be friends, no matter what happens, but if he doesn't feel the same way, I think I will be okay. Or I will get to a place where I can be...and if I can't, if this becomes too much, if I start to catch feelings, I will let it go.

Maybe this is my mid-life crisis, that I've started thinking maybe someday I do want to be loved in some way or other, and to love. I suppose it's not so important that it's 'love'. Maybe all I want is to be special to someone the same way they are to me. And I view this change with a little trepidation. I don't know if it's possible, and I'm scared of change.

But there is hope too. That maybe someone out there can care about me.

I think this fwb relationship will be over once this feeling gets stronger or once he finds someone else. For now, I'm not there yet. I don't know if I'll get there, but until then I think this is okay. It makes me less lonely and it makes me happier, and I don't know why, but that's still true even though there's no future for us. For now, that's enough.

I've drifted apart from enough friends to know that there's never any guarantees of something lasting, and though it hurt me every time, and though I felt like the only one hurting most of those times, I still valued the moments we shared. This time, at least, I know where I stand. And I know that I have the agency to choose my own fate.

Writing this out, and talking with some friends, has made me feel better.

What I really need are some hobbies...