So, Tiff and I dated for a while. We started spending more and more time with each other, and we were getting pretty comfortable being together all the time. So, we eventually decided that both of us paying for two separate apartments was dumb and that it would be cool to find a house to rent and move in together! I was nervous because I had never lived with anyone that I was in a romantic relationship with before, but I was also pretty excited too. We looked around for a while, and finally found a nice house in a nice neighborhood not too far from the apartment complex.
It was a bit strange for me at first because I’m a pretty extreme introvert and I get overwhelmed easily, especially around other people. I typically recharge my energy by isolating, so having Tiff living in the same house was definitely something I needed to get used to. But, one of the things that I’m most grateful for in our relationship is our ability to communicate. I wholeheartedly believe that good communication is the key to a healthy and happy relationship. I was able to express my concerns, we talked about it, and we figured it out. It was growing more and more obvious that we just got each other. We connected like I’ve never connected with anyone before, and it felt wonderful.
When I was in high school, I made a promise to myself. I told myself that I would never get married and I would never have kids. Simply because I was incapable of making someone else as happy as they deserved to be. This stemmed from some pretty serious issues I had yet to work through which caused things like Major Depressive Disorder, Severe Anxiety, and a dreadfully negative self-concept/self-esteem. I told myself that I would be like this forever and to just not bother trying to change, because it was impossible.
I’ll spare you most of the details, but fast forward a bit to the year 2002. That was, for lack of a better term, a hard year for me. I lost my mother to Mesothelioma the beginning of January after only finding out mid December that she was sick. Struggled to keep my head above water for most of the year only to lose my father in October by a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.
I was 22 years old.
I wouldn’t wish that pain on even my worst enemies.
