Fear of Commitment

I have a deep, maddening fear of commitment. I tried to deny it, shove it out of my mind, talk myself down from it, but it’s become inescapable. Standing here, in the middle of the night, looking down at her, I’m aware of just how strong this fear can be. I just can't stand the idea of permanence.
I love my girlfriend, Ashley, very much. She is, without exaggeration, the sweetest and most beautiful girl I've ever met and absolutely the most important person in my entire life. So, when she gave an ultimatum on a summer night, I snapped to attention and listened.
We had been dating for three years. Our relationship was strong, but every time the subject of moving in came up, I found some clever way to dodge it. Ashley wasn't stupid, of course. I knew she knew what I was doing. She was usually good enough to let it go, but tonight that just wouldn't be possible.
"Do you remember the job I told you about in Boston?" she asked.
"Yes," I said, already knowing where this was headed.
"Well," she took a deep breath, "they want me. Really badly, from the sound of it. And I want them, too, Jake."
"That's amazing," I said.
"You know this is my dream job," she said. "I want it so badly, but I want you, too." She began to tear up. In all the years we'd been together, I had very rarely seem her cry. It shook me.
"What's wrong, baby?" I asked.
"Jake," she began, "I'm taking this job. That's not up for discussion. I want you to come to Boston with me, but for years now...." She stopped, holding back a sob. "We can't even talk about moving in together. It would kill me to lose you, but if we can't even...."
I grabbed her and held her tight. "Shh," I said. "It will be alright." Before I even knew what I was saying, the words were coming out of my mouth. "Ashley, if this is really what you want, I'm ready."
She looked up at me, her blue eyes brimming with hope. Now came the test. "For what?" she asked.
I swallowed hard. There was no backing out now. "I'm ready... to join you. I want to come with you to Boston."
Her tears started all over again. "Oh my God, Jake!" she exclaimed. She hugged me tighter than ever before. A sweet kiss on the lips sealed the deal. We smiled and laughed all throughout the rest of that night, but my anxiety was instantaneous and has been on the rise ever since.
By early September, we were off to Boston, Massachusetts. I hadn't had Ashley's luck as far as finding a job, and being stuck at home all day was only making my anxiety worse. I found myself spending hours just sitting in one location, in one position, wondering if this would be my life forever. Hell, I thought, I might as well find myself a casket, crawl inside, and have Ashley lock it. That's the same thing, right? This is what forever is, right? I love Ashley so much. Don’t get me wrong. But the idea of “forever….” 
Ashley suggested that, while I was between jobs, I should fill my days by taking in some of the sights and features our new historic homeland had to offer. What the hell? I thought. Maybe it would take my mind off the crushing existential dread I'd been feeling. I scoured the internet for ideas and soon landed on a guided tour of the Freedom Trail. "Sold!" I said out loud. The name alone was enough. I wanted to cling to whatever sense of freedom I could find.
Cut to Saturday morning at about nine o’clock, and I stood gathered outside an information booth on Boston Common, sharing an awkward silence with a dozen or so tourists. Our guide was a pleasant middle-aged woman in colonial garb who claimed her name was Martha. She seemed very happy to tell us of the city's history and instrumental role in the Revolutionary War. Honestly, it was a lovely experience, and I managed to forget my discomfort for a while.
That is, until we reached one of the city's oldest cemeteries.
"This," Martha announced, "is the King’s Chapel Burying Ground, the oldest cemetery in Boston proper. Some very important figures of the Revolution have their final resting place here."
The words made me uncomfortable, but the information was undeniably interesting.
"But," Martha continued, "there is one grave in particular that I think you'd like to see." She took us on a winding path directly into the center of the graveyard, right up to a tiny, eroded, borderline crumb of a tombstone. Had I been here on my own, I would have passed it by without a second thought, but what Martha said next has been burning in my brain ever since. "This is the grave of Arabella Johnson. Hers is, as far as we can find, the oldest grave in the entire cemetery. She died in 1630, just ten years after the pilgrims landed on Plymouth Rock, and has been resting here for nearly four hundred years."
My heart raced. My brain was filled with terrors I had never previously imagined. This grave. This dead woman. For four hundred years they had been undisturbed, unmoved. She was meant to lie there forever. The earth above her untouched. Her coffin unopened. Her human form never to be seen again by anyone's eyes. That idea of eternity was so startling and unsettling, it made my fear of moving to Boston with my girlfriend seem like child's play. I was overcome with panic. My extremities flashed hot and cold. I had to escape. Not caring if I made a fool of myself, I turned tail and ran from the cemetery and didn't stop until I reached the train station.
Later that night, when Ashley had gone to bed, I waited until I knew she was asleep. I then got up, rummaged through our things for a shovel, and headed out.
I can't quite explain why I did what I did. I'm not proud of it. It wasn't any kind of sick desire to see a dead body or anything. It was a need. A need to disrupt the horrifying eternity of the situation. Wandering through that land of death, seeing all of the tombstones, practically laughing at me, taunting me with visions of permanence, of forever---it only strengthened my resolve. 
Now, standing over the bones of this poor woman, remains which were never intended to be out in the open air again, a mix of emotions rushes through me: shame, disgust, horror, excitement, freedom, peace. It's unconventional, certainly, but I think I've finally found something that puts my fears of commitment at ease. Something that calms me, and helps me put everything into the proper perspective.
And the truly lucky thing is, if the anxiety ever flares back up, there are plenty of centuries-old graves in this great old city.
Category:Jdeschene
Category:Mental Illness
Category:Weird
Category:Places
Category:History