in the midst of metamorphosis

That night is shrouded in a dense, alcohol fueled fog. I remember most of it, but it is the feelings that stand out as markers throughout the experience. I cannot tell you what he looked like, but I can tell you how he made me feel. Comforted, accepted, whole, safe, wanted. I didn't know him at all. He showed up at a party. I was feeling sad, alone, insecure. He said all the right words, did all the right things. I had no reason to fear him. yet. I cannot tell you what his car looked like, but I can tell you that my intuition screamed at me the moment I was inside of it.   Get. Out! I ignored her, as I unfortunately do at times. Besides, the charm was still there - why would I worry? We talked and drove and I remember thinking, 'well maybe this night isn't a total bust'. I cannot tell you where we were, but I can tell you that fear was making her presence known. And when I asked to go back and he refused, she settled into the pit of my stomach. and some days, I...

Somewhere, somehow, we've picked up this belief that relat ionships are a 50/50 endeavor. You give and I give. You take and I take. We have these preconc ei ved allocations of how mu ch, and it has to be a perfect balance , an equivalent counterweight. It's a misguided notion that ends with unmet expectations, both from others and of ourselves. If, at any point, the other takes more, gives less, we run to our drawing board, we add and subtract, we calculate the answers based on our   intentions . And they come up lacking.  Or, we constantly measure ourselves against the others actions. Are we giving enough? Are we taking too much? Do our own insecurities cause us to tip the scales unfairly? We are desp e rate to maintain some semblance of uniformity. And we come up lacking. We each separately draw this arbitrary line, calling it "the middle", the meeting ground of our equal give and take. We do our part and we wait, impatiently at our line in the sand, watc...