April 3, 2018:

Obviously, it's not healthy.

I want to protect her. To shelter her from all harm. To surround her with love and safety, fill her life with calm and quiet and sweet hot lust. That she's been hurt in the past, that she has physical and emotional injuries: these make me want all the more to be her shelter.

I want to be the one she trusts. The man she confides in, the friend she can be weak with, the lover she can abandon herself to. I have her back: I want her to feel it. I want to be her shelter and her shield, and her sweet Daddy.

That's all laudable. It's generous, kind, empathetic, compassionate.

Yet it's also completely sick.

It's obsessive, in its way it's controlling, it would rob her of experiences she needs for growth and damage her independence.

Hers and mine.

But that's the thing. I don't want independence. I want communion. The ego death sought by mystics, only, instead of merging with God, I want to lose myself in her.

Which... is not a good idea.

That level of communion doesn't exist between humans. When it exists between humans and God the humans go insane. When humans try to conjure it between themselves they become — its time for a technical term — codependent.

It doesn't work, because it can't work, because things don't work that way.

So you have to take a step back. Agree on clear boundaries. Reach an unambiguous agreement based on terms you speak aloud. This is how we are, this is how we'll help each other, this is where we'll give each other space.

All of this... lots of words... all to say... arrangement.