Soul-searching is very scary...

A night of (near) sleeplessness has produced the following conclusions:

Men have always been intimidated by my looks, intelligence, & brashness.
I push lovers to the limit.
I don't think of consequences before hitting the 'send' button.
I love too quick, too hard, too much.
I'm too much about instant gratification.
I somehow manage to fuck up things otherwise written in stone because...
        I'm afraid of love?
I'm way too 'up front.'
I'm scheming & manipulative.
I drink too much. Always have.
I've been alternately anorexic/bullemic since high school.
I've scooted through life on my looks & am terrified of aging.
At this point, my looks are all 'smoke & mirrors.'
I am, obviously, hating myself pretty much right now—
But I am a good person & the best friend anyone could ever hope to have.

Mark, Tina & me?!?...

As I've said in other posts, Tina was one of my best friends—someone from whom deepest secrets were never hidden. In the scheme of things, Mark & Tina had an amazing relationship—they were as attracted to each other in her last year of life as they were when they met 38 years ago. They had sex every night. Who else do you know who does?!?  Boy I envied them that!

Now, not quite four weeks after Tina's death, I am talking to Mark on the phone—he is telling me about their (sexual) relationship, how much he misses her. I'm trying to console him & tell him everything will be okay, that it's perfectly normal to feel what he's feeling & that, someday, he might be ready to love someone else.

Out of left field it comes—"I'll never marry anyone else, but will you be my girlfriend?" he asks. I am completely, totally, utterly freaked out...

Every time I talk to this man...

I fall more & more in love with him. I now realize that—despite my own (somewhat) desperate yearnings—I have to let him regain the level of trust and comfort we had, way back when, in his own good time. I am the first to admit I have little to no patience—have always been about instant gratification—but in this case patience is an absolute must.  If I were him—the recipient of my (maybe one too many) late night, insecurity-fueled voicemail messages—I'd have been outta there in a New York minute. But he's hanging in there with me—understanding, forgiving, patient and, seemingly, loving. I should never doubt him again...but I do. Doubt. My friend Jeff said if he were Tommy, & really feels the way he's said he does, he would have been on a plane immediately. But Tommy hasn't...& even though I want to believe him—more than anything in the world—I have yet to see proof. Actions do speak louder than words... Is he breaking my heart all over again?