Underneath It All

Update 10.21.12:

Totally realized that contrary to what I had written in this post – I don’t want to be taken care of (I know how to feed myself, shop, get myself bathed, etc…), I want to be cared for (loved, adored, respected, given cuddles and kisses, thought of and shown care in a positive way I can recognize).

There is a heap of difference in that. I cried this morning when I realized that I am in need of the latter and not the former because I am not a damsel in distress, I am a complete woman who has feelings and emotions that need to be met.

What a light bulb moment and a sigh of relief!

Thank you Universe for that!

-S

So…

Thinking, right.

I used to feel so ashamed to admit that I want a woman/partner who wants to take care of me. To type it makes me almost want to not write anymore about it but I need to.

I used to get so upset with my older brother (who was also disabled/in a wheelchair) because he would ride out on others sympathy and not off of his merits. Like if there was something that he could do, he would act like he couldn’t so that someone would do it for him. I on the other hand, in retaliation/protest (?) would do everything on my own and would only ask when it could no longer be avoided. I would gloat in his face about how much more I was able to do then him. To be fair, I do understand now, how our conditions can progress so quickly to the point where one day you can’t do what you could do just yesterday. I remember my sister treated me the same way about being able to bathroom myself when I no longer was able to. I felt like a failure and ashamed. But then again me and her don’t have the best track record so I can’t call upon that example so much. But you get the idea.

Anyway, I always assumed I would still be able to do much for myself and though I can, I want a partner who wants to take care of me. I want her to cuddle as long as I want, I want her to tell me she loves me, often, I want her to not mind going out of her way for me, I want her to kiss me often, I want her to be affectionate, I want her to be protective of me, I want her to be more dominant than me, I want her to talk things out, I want her to not mind my missing her or wanting her or loving that she is in my life, I want her to care, deeply.

In her presence I want to assert my submissiveness, my womaness, my laughter, my joy and for that not to be taken advantage of or ridiculed. I want her to have her path in life and to respect mine, I want her to be self-sufficient and not have any qualms about her paying for things on her own if I should become too ill to help in that regard. I want her to be mature enough to not be afraid of the responsibility of caring for me (disability wise). I want her to do it out of love. I want her not to be afraid of my unknown and to be happy and proud to call me her Wife.

A lot of women bemoan housekeeping and taking care of their home but you know, when I was a kid, that was all I looked forward to in being a grown up. If I tell you I have an orgasmic experience every time I enter Macy’s dinning ware department with the dishes, china, silverware, etc… I would not be understating it. I love shopping and maintaining those things, I love making sure I have dinner cooked and waiting, I like doing laundry and making sure the house is clean. I like it. In an effort to not make me a “typical” disabled kid/person (what ever that is?), my Mom gave me my experience stripes in house work. She made me take can’t out of my vocabulary during those moments when I thought I would die from standing on my feet (yes, I used to be able to) from washing a sink full of dishes, or ironing a basket full of clothes.

I tell you, those are all the things I would want to do for my Wife. But that doesn’t change that I want her to take care of me. I may project this no nonsense, take no bullshit, breaking knuckles woman but I crumble a little bit more inside when I realize that who I am on the inside is not what is projected on the outside. And people think of me as “hero” and “brave”, I want to bitch slap them. I am a woman, who wants to be cuddled, who wants flowers because it’s Thursday, who wants to be able to curl up in my Wife’s arm at the end of the day and not have to worry if the back door is locked or if the garbage is put to the curb for pick up.

I want to be able to dress up more and do my make up more and be looked at and appreciated for looking beautiful. I want to be fawned over and to be adored. I want to fit in her arms and know that I’ve always belonged there. I want sweet conversations and easy words and blessings spoken over my forehead at night while we drift off to sleep. I want words of encouragement and for her to be there through everything: a cold, a scary doctors appointment and unexpected outcome with my conditions. I want her to look me in the eyes and tell me that “We’ll get through this together baby.” and mean it. I want her love to be a balm to my soul and a breath of fresh air to my life. I want her to be able to talk about anything and to laugh about nothing and to find the bright side to everything. I want her to live “me and you against the world babe.” and mean it!

I want her to look me in the eyes with that look that I am the one she’s been looking for and she is so happy we finally found each other.

I am a great person, I’ve done great things, I have greatness yet in me, I want a great Wife to match that.

sigh…

I want her to take care of me.

I want her to look in my eyes and know, all of it, all the bad stuff, the scars, the hurt, the unknown and not be afraid and say, “I choose you.”

I want her strong, in spirit and body, I want her gentle in words, I want her taller than me, so I can “fit” her, I want her willing, able and open.

I want her to take care of me…

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