Teach Me About Surrender

I pretend not to be, but I am a control freak. Not in a very practical way, but definitely in a very pervasive one. My brain grabs hold of everything: the good stuff in an attempt to hold on to it, the bad stuff in an attempt to strangle it to death. Everything in between to remember.

My body is my tool. I decide what to do with it. I can never be sick. I can never stop working.

But now, here you are. You’re not smug about it. You seem as confused by it as I am.

The fit of agitation that brought me to my knees seems to spill out of me now that your hand is on my neck, on my head, brushing my curls back with your fingers. Usually I’d protest, because you’re messing them up. But I don’t. I just sit there, on the floor, my head resting in your lap.

I suddenly feel how tired I am. What if I resign myself to the exhaustion and it never goes away? What if stopping for breath means stopping forever? Is that why I hate naps so much? Instead of refreshing me, they leave me exhausted, nauseous and miserable. I’d rather work myself to the breaking point and collapse than pause and lose momentum.

The thoughts fall through my head without meeting any resistance along the way, as if your hand is moving them through my brain and then brushing them off. My oversized sweater feels like a blanket. It occurs to me that this is what pets must experience — a big dog that has put its head on its owner’s leg in search for comfort.

I imagine what it looks like, your fingers buried into the dark ringlets on one side, then gliding through the short hairs on the other.

Something hard and rounded drags across my scalp. A pen, maybe. I consider asking. I consider laughing. I don’t. You draw lines with it from my side parting towards my ear, my cheekbone, the back of my head. I can feel my skin contract, from my ears down to my wrists, whenever you begin a new line. My breathing goes heavy.

I pretend not to be, but I am a control freak. I think I always have been.

I don’t know why I let myself fall asleep like this.

. . .

About the author
Singer/writer bringing you your dose of desperately personal stories and some occasional pedantic advice.

—

This post was previously published on Hello, Love.

***

You Might Also Like These From The Good Men Project

Compliments Men Want to Hear More Often

Relationships Aren’t Easy, But They’re Worth It

The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex

..A Man’s Kiss Tells You Everything