Here's the thing with people.
I've come to find that everyone experiences a huge life-changing event. Some are incredible and positive. Some are horrendous and negative. An individual can have more than one huge event, also, and some have more positive than negative, and in my case, vice versa.
The thing with these events is that they're very personal. Rarely has someone shared their huge event with me. As for myself, I have shared only one of mine, once, to one person. That particular person is a man named Xavier, my only admitted friend. I would never tell this to anybody, but he is the only person I trust fully. But even so, I could only bring myself to share one life event with him. I feel too afraid still, to go further.
For the record, I have had about five life-changing events so far, only one of them being positive. The first was when I was near the end of my teen years, and my mother had finally left my father. It seemed like a positive at first, but later it put so much more pressure on my family than intended. The second was when I met and married a beautiful woman, and that was my one positive. The third, was my wife's untimely death, days after the birth of my daughter. Fourth was when my daughter was taken from me. And last (As of late) was meeting Xavier and joining his Travel club. Personally I don't care for travel, but it was someplace to live, as I had to leave my apartment.
These situations are quite obviously on the more horrendous side of the life event spectrum. Though I must admit I've gotten very talented at hiding my pain from the public, I can only lock it down so far. Anyone living with me for a number of weeks would, unfortunately, begin to see the effects these events have had on my life. And that brings me to what I'd like to discuss here. For whatever reason I was forced by Xavier to stay with his friend, Cynthia for several months in New York city. I panicked for several reasons:
The above I had just explained, about how I can only go so long hiding myself.
The fact that this woman was loud, annoying, and I was being forced to stay with her.
I hadn't been back to New York since the passing of my wife.
I knew this was some secret plan Xavier has for me, but what? Trying to get me dating? Choose someone purposely unlike me in every way in hopes that I'd "pick up" some of her qualities? I had no clue. But none of that matters now, because I had finally discovered, after almost two months of stress, why he had done it. To say I was sickened is an understatement, and I had actually called Xavier to scream at him. He had none of what I said, and denied every accusation I threw at him. But I knew. And eventually, instead of fighting it, I decided it was probably time I shared all my life-changing events with someone who voluntarily decided to put with me for a long period of time.
This included listening to my insults, my sarcasm, my indifference to her excitement, anything to get her away from me. Even though I had to share a bed with her in one hotel room, I kept myself as far away from her as possible. I tried hard to make it blatantly obvious to Cynthia that I wanted nothing to do with her, and she was of course, unfazed. And I am disgusted to admit that I became attracted to her, discovering that she and I had more in common than I actually had with my own wife.
See, Cynthia had shared her big life-changing event with me, and it wasn't very pretty. I hadn't known her long enough for her to do that, so it was indeed a very big deal to me. Most women gab away about their lives as if it were nothing, but that was the only time she actually talked about something personal about her life. When she finished telling me, she left the topic alone from then on.
What I still can't understand is how she became so positive after such a negative event. I wish I could do the same. And with that, I feel I owe it to her to tell her all five of my life events. I might as well, as she has already seen me cry, discovered the unpleasant effect of a particular nightmare I have every so often, and has seen the scars on my legs.
I figure after all this, she deserves to know my life events, and in a way, I want to tell her. Maybe it will make her hate me, maybe it will make her love me. Either would baffle me.