The $1000 Chip

I'm seemingly going through a dark place. In the day I can't remember what our intimacy was like or if it even existed. Sometimes I get a little flashback in my dreams, and wake up elated, but as I rub the sleep out of my eyes it's overcome by this ache in my stomach. Kind of a fear and misery with no real base, just a persistent and defiant continuity. 

Now, even if he tells me he loves me and wants to keep me, the words can't penetrate me. I wan't them to, terribly; I want to feel that and be confident of it, but the fear and discomfort has built up such an immense and resilient endoskeleton of distrust that my pining, delicate entrailles can't be reached or soothed by words.

On top of this, the IUD is upon me any day now, and the internet has terrified me with stories of uncomfortable sex, spotting, and worst of all, the discovery that my dad's first wife had one, got an infection, and was left sterile in the aftermath.

This anxiety for the new presence in my most delicate and intimate areas plus the fear for my relationship has left me awake and weeping several consecutive nights now.

I know love is a gamble. A leap, a courageous and sometimes risky investment. You've got to take that part of you that you've worked on all your life, the most sensitive, delicate, and passionate chunk of you and place it on the table. The $1000 chip we've spent our lives creating in the hopes that we'll win big. History tells us that the stakes are against us and, in all likelihood, that precious chunk of yourself you've given to someone else is gonna get swept away. 

When so much is on the table, how do we conquer the fear, and enjoy the game?