About this time last year I was about to start into a serious relationship with a fantastic guy. He looked after me, he was interested in the same things I was, he approved of my coffee addiction and, quite amazingly, he was willing to put up with my overbearing flatmate. One of the sweetest things he did was to go pick up my prescriptions and bring them over to me, along with a DVD, ice cream and a shoulder to literally cry on. Even more wonderful about that is that he walked from the other side of town, in the rain, to do it. He didn't care that I was starting into a flare, that I spent a lot of my free time sleeping, the fact that he had to come and see me all the time and that I seemed to melt in the sun. Quite a guy, eh?
But it didn't happen. I couldn't let it, or rather, wouldn't let it. I hated what lupus was doing to me and the last thing I could let happen was to allow someone to have to watch me go through it. I was entering one of those 3-4 month long flares and I had to give up a lot to recover from it. Sadly, this guy was one of them.
I know I know, he could have helped me through it, we could have been stronger and closer because of it and we could have survived. But I wouldn't let him in. I was scared I would scare him. So I let him go. We're still pretty good friends, but that's it and that's all we'll ever be.
I've learnt a lot from this experience. Firstly about height difference and leaning in for kisses... I'm 5'3, he's 6'9 and I ended up head-butting him on the chin and left him with a massive bruise. Second, that there's no point in being ashamed by my lupus. I have it, it's part of me, get over it. Thirdly, that if I ever meet someone as wonderful as this guy was, I need to let him know what's happening and what it's doing to me. And lastly, but perhaps most importantly, not to let someone like that go.
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