I am a horrible, horrible girlfriend.

Ok, now that I've set the mood for the weblog that no one reads but me, let's get up-to-date, ok? After my slight depressive spell, I actually went and had the best x-mas season ever in the history of my college career--albeit this is only the 3rd such x-mas. Let's just say that I was really fucking depressed last x-mas, and I was expecting the worse. Tried to re-connect with some old nerdy friends only to find out they're wilder and hipper than I am. What else? Got really sick with some nasty intestinal flu. YES!
Enjoyed many a revalation with Dave. . . we always communicate better over e-mail than in person, which is a decent segway into the meat of this entry:

I am a horrible, horrible girlfriend.

Life is fabulous and wonderful when I get back to college. Dave and I are very *happy*. And then he says he feels a bout of depression creeping in, but insists that he should be happy, and that it's not my fault in the slightest. I still feel bad. That's another given: if Dave feels bad, I feel bad. Because, like it or not, I care in very deep ways. So he stops being interested in alot of things, he's losing the zest he just seemed to have a week ago. Ok, so I'm getting over that. Otherwise, things are still good. I'm taking Jiu Jitsu and a Martial Arts class, which is adding up to excersize 5 days a week. I'm looking better, feeling happier, and even though I seem to have even less free time, things seems grand, minus the ache for Dave to feel better. And then, in the dark late one night, he tells me: He's thinking about going to some Marine training deal after college. He's joining the marines and this is great he says, "Because then I won't have to follow you around like a sick/sad puppy. You can go to grad school, and when you're done I'll marry you and you can work on germs wherever we go."

INSERT UNCOMFORTABLE SILENCE HERE

I should be happy. I really should. Dave is a tough guy--He'd likely flourish with all that hard training. He'd learn all sorts of cool things and be even deadlier than usual. He's also a man' s man, in that guys like him, trust him. He'd probably move up the ranks quickly and be very happy and successful. I should be happy. He could get stationed all sorts of cool places, even different countries, and we could have all sorts of adventures. He really wants this; I should be happy. Can you guess where this is going?
Ok, here's the background: Dave had once told me that he'd follow me wherever I go. I was under the impression that he was happy and ok with that. I've read up on grad school experiences, and there seems to be a consensus that having someone to come home too makes it all easier. I would dream about how nice it would be. How, no matter how fucking hard grad school was, I could come home at the end of the day and snuggle with him. It's funny that I call him Mua'dib--a character from the classic sci-fi novel "Dune" by Frank Herbert. The character who is sometimes called Mua'dib is also given another name which means "base of the pillar." He is someone that we must trust, for on him rests everything. And when he said this all I could see was an empty bed. An empty apartment. Me living a long life seperated from him. Months. Maybe even years. He would be off doing exciting things and while he would be missing me, it wouldn't be as bad as me: I would be working myself raw and spending the nights doing what I'm doing now: crying. But it's more than just not having him around all the time. It's the idea of strectching my heart over long distances. In my head there is the gnawing worry that I wouldn't be able to handle it. And more than that, that I shouldn't have to. I'm starting to get really angry, actually. I had just e-mailed my mom a day or two before to finally tell her I wanted to spend my life with Dave. Her reply, while supportive, held the advice "we cannot see the future." Damn her. All of the sudden I'm not so sure what the hell's going on, and the carefully planned future I had, so happy and sunny, is disrupted.

Yes, I know life is not meant to be fair. I know all that "best laid plans of mice and men" shit. I also know that Dave is like me: he changes. Believe me, I know all the things I should. I know how I should feel. I know that I am being selfish--wanting him to just follow me around, secretly wishing he wouldn't be happier than I am. Is this love? I keep saying I love him, and dammit if I don't love him I don't know who I love. But I still keep crying. He tells me maybe I should go see the counselor at the Health Center. And I get angrier inside. I'm not crazy. I'm just sad. Really sad. Sad when I shouldn't be. Today he shaved off all of his hair. Those lovely, dark curls I wanted so badly to touch my freshman year. I reached out for them. I had them. Now where did they go? I won't see them again, for a long time I think. I'm crying and I can't sleep. The thoughts are too loud in my head, and I am ashamed of myself. Making Dave feel so bad when I should be supportive. Pushing his hand away when he tries to comfort me. But I feel cheated. But I shouldn't. I am a horrible, horrible girlfriend.