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I want to be addicted

January 21, 2010

Principe and I met when we were in Ireland studying abroad. We knew of each other as the international group was quite large in a small university in Northern Ireland. Everyone knew or knew of everyone. I was known as the American with blue hair and he was known as the Spaniard who knew how to party.

My first experience with him face to face was at a party in the small town that I was living in, Portstewart. Principe was housed in Portrush, and although they were about 5 kilometers away from each other, each had their own exchange student party atmosphere. For some reason that night Principe and a friend of his (who I thought was named Eric until months later when Principe corrected me, but we’ll call him Eric here too) ended up in Portstewart at the party that my crush was throwing. My crush was an Italian who was quite the ladies man as I later found out and would go hot and cold on me from day to day. Thank goodness we never slept together as I was heartbroken enough as it was when I finally realized (duh! twenty year old dreamers mind!) that he wasn’t going to sweep me off my feet and save me from myself but was instead going to go back to Italy as always planned to his girlfriend. But that was for the better in the end….!

Anyway, that night my crush was being cold to me so I thought I would use the Hollywood move of making him jealous. In walked Eric. We spoke in the hallway about my tongue piercing. A stupid, drunken, flirting topic, but I liked the attention. Not that Eric was attractive, because he wasn’t. He asked if he could try out my tongue piercing, to which I said no, and we went back and forth. Soon a very drunken Principe walked over and joined the conversation. He later told me that when he saw his friend talking to the American with blue hair (it wasn’t blue at that point, but more of a dyed over brownish-red) that he couldn’t resist stepping in. The conversation was stupid and revolved around my tongue piercing, but again, I liked the conversation. Soon enough the trick worked and my crush came over. Something happened that I don’t remember too clearly and I ended up leaving the party upset with my crush and still trying to make a point. Just as I was heading out of the house Principe caught up with me and asked me to come with him to another party. I said no so he kissed me. He tasted like beer. I would love to say that I was enamored right there and then, as it would have saved me from many tears cried for the undeserving crush, but it wasn’t a very good kiss (rather slobbery).

We saw each other off and on but we each had our own lives and interests at that point. It wasn’t until after Christmas when I found myself back in Ireland and all of my friends I had made in first semester gone that I spoke again to Principe. I encountered his roommate, who I crushed on too, but in a different way, more like wanting so badly to be his friend and for him to be my big brother. I was a very vulnerable twenty year old due to many things that I was going through and it was easy for me to have crushes on nice men. Again, really, I just wanted to be saved, although I didn’t know it at that point. Principe’s roommate and I spent some time together and then, for some reason, he invited me to his house. I forget why (this is why you don’t drink and smoke: your memory goes!). But I ended up at his house and he wasn’t there, but Principe was. He invited me in and we sat in the kitchen and talked while waiting for his roommate. His roommate later told me that when he walked in that day he knew Principe and I would end up together. Which is odd because we didn’t end up together for another month. But that day was the beginning. The beginning to what we thought was just a friendship at first but turned into more, oddly enough, on Valentine’s Day.

I write all of this a prelude. A little background to my story with my Principe. We had a very passionate beginning helped by the fact that during the first two years together we were living on separate continents half the time. Not seeing one another always helps the passion if the love is real, I’m telling you. We were young, but the love was real. There was no separating us. By the time we went to San Diego together, during our third year together, we knew that we were going to get married some day, we just didn’t know when.

Yes, we slept together before getting married, but he ended up being my first and only. Thank goodness because through odd circumstances and such I never did sleep with the other guys during my early college years that I actually wanted to. Looking back the reason for not doing so are fairly odd, but there it is. I think God was keeping me from hurting myself even more. He knew how much I would eventually have to go through to get healed. Working through dumb one night stands would have just been one more thing….

At any rate, almost 8 years later I am finding myself in the typical area of a woman who is now a mother and wife: a situation of comfort and not exactly passion. I want to be passionate, but I am not naturally a passionate person, so I have to work at it. I am not naturally an affectionate person either. I am uncomfortable with my MIL hugging me multiple times a day and rubbing my belly. I have always wanted to be a hugger, but I’m just not. And unfortunately that naturalness in me, that German blood in me, has now passed over to my marriage. I am still in love with my husband, don’t get me wrong, but I don’t show it enough and I don’t show it properly.

I am conscience of this and want to change. There are many days that I spend the afternoon telling myself that I am going to shower Principe with kisses and smother him with oozing love when he gets home, but once those hours pass and he finally makes it through the door I end up giving him the one kiss and many times these days my attitude soon goes south with my energy and I get crabby. Hormones are a great excuse, except that deep down I don’t believe there is any excuse. I am old enough not to allow my emotions or hormones get in the way of being nice to the man that I love and would never be able to live without. There really is no excuse.

And there is no excuse for my inability to show passion. So I have started praying, praying to become addicted again to my husband. We have a lot of years ahead of us and if the passion dies now we might as well start being roommates. If the passion dies now, I also will know that it is my fault, because my husband is a very loving, hugging, passionate man, although he does sometimes treat me like one of the guys which is really annoying. And I tell him so! But as many faithful, young, hot-blooded men out there, he is addicted to me because of his love and his hormones. As he has much testosterone running through him and I am the only one around he wants to (and is allowed to) sleep with, he is still very much addicted to me. Even with this very large belly.

So the ball is in my court. I know that. So I keep praying because I know that God wants me to have an incredibly passionate marriage, but I think I might be dropping the ball on my end a bit by not trying harder to be more physical. To hug him more, to kiss him more, to tell him that he is handsome, to squeeze his ass (or just not get crabby when he squeezes mine!) or to initiate sex a bit more often than I do.

So perhaps that can be my (late) New Year’s Resolution: to become addicted again. To go back to the days when I couldn’t have enough of him because I knew I only had 7 days to be with him. And to show my addiction to him and the rest of the world. I would like that. To be that couple that everyone is jealous of and that makes everyone uncomfortable with the amount of kisses that we give to each other or the googly eyes that we make at each other. I would like that. It’s only me that is holding us back from that, too.

3 Comments leave one →
  1. January 23, 2010 10:57 pm

    I hear you! I am happy with my life. I love my husband (who is unbelievably perfect) and my children. But we are out of a lot of passion. I miss my college days when I was a wild little thing and I lived fiercely. Still, I think love is misunderstood. Love isn’t constantly wild steamy sex or passionate makeout sessions. those are fun. But love is when everything boils down, and you’re comfortable in your skin. I don’t really think there’s anything WRONG with being content and comfortable.

    BTW, I am incredibly jealous of you. DH and I had planned to move to Ireland one day. But it seems like that isn’t in the cards. I have never been to Europe. And I want to go desperately. You seem like a very interesting, intelligent, kindred spirit!

    Now following from MBC. Come and see me sometime too!

  2. Julie permalink
    January 28, 2010 12:42 am

    I can really relate to this too. It is funny to think when you are dating or first get married that you will ever end up NOT feeling that passion. It happens.

    I love my life too, but it is different. Like your first commenter, I think love is much more than just passion – it is self-sacrifice, respect, honour, giving… but passion is part of it. I find it easier to re-kindle that passion by doing the action first (e.g. saying “yes” to my husbands requests for intimacy), then the feeling and enjoyment begins to follow.

    Thanks for your blog. It is hard to find others on wordpress. “Met” you on MBC too.

    • wideopenworld permalink*
      January 28, 2010 9:34 am

      I hear you! I agree that some of it is taking the step to say, “I might not feel like it right now, but how about I try to get in the mood just by saying yes? I just wish I were more like a man sometimes and not like a women! It seems like they are always ready to go!
      Thanks for stopping by. I’ll be sure to check you out, too!

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