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Opposites Attract...But Can they Survive?

I found him just after I found myself. At 25 years old, I was beaming with happiness, strength and positivity. I had discovered the young woman I wanted to be. I had survived a relationship war that would surely have left a weaker woman curled up on the floor wallowing in despair. I was enjoying life too much to fall victim to self-pity. I reflected, briefly, on lessons learned; forgiveness is not always possible, changing someone is never an option and love is not enough. I wasted no time letting that which did not kill me make me stronger!

I knew by now, that what I had to give to the man I love was invaluable. I love with everything I have and I work hard to keep that love alive. I had vowed to the universe that the next man to deserve my time, energy, friendship and promising whole-hearted love would have to sweep me off my feet. And I was perfectly happy with no prospects in sight.

I laid eyes on him first in a picture of him I noticed on a table at a mutual friend's house. He was fresh out of the shower wearing only a towel, a smile and that enchanting little dimple that still melts me. We would meet, and he would be everything that I was not prepared for. He was charming, sweet, thoughtful, and intelligent. He stole my heart with a 50 year old bottle of wine that he had once told me he was saving for something special. He would crack it open one night before seeing me off on a trip I was taking.

I would soon learn that he is a narcissist, the polar opposite if who I am and everything I believe in. This, I was certain, was why he needed me. I was not in this to change him, I constantly assured myself and my female support system. That would be a rookie mistake. I wanted to help him for him, not for me. I know everything happens for a reason and this was a plan that was written in the stars.

He is very good to me and the two children we have since had together. But he is his own worst enemy and takes everything out on himself. And the harder he tries to hide his misery, the more obvious it becomes. He works too hard but my father tells me I can't fault him for that. I don't, but his happiness is defined by his work, and for this I fault him.

I spent the first few years biting my tongue and hoping to lead by example. I had no more petty argument energy left after my last love war. "Just watch me" I would only telepathically suggest- "It really is harder to be miserable than it is to be happy."

Just observing his inner

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