Today is my 2 year wedding anniversary. I know that I have several friends who have been married for much longer, and I feel kind of silly for being proud of these last 2 years, but really, I just am.

The other night, curled in bed with John in a comma shape around my back and surrounded by our pets, I told him that even through all of the hard stuff I am glad that I chose him, I am happy to be in this marriage. I told him that if we had waited like we talked about, I do not know if we would still be here. He said that was a dubious comfort.

I've thought about that conversation a great deal the last few days, and I think my opinion is a bit revised. For all the strife and the heartache, John is something worth fighting for. I would gladly do it again to get the nights cooking together, the way he makes my heart pound when we communicate from across the room with a look, the sound of his loud and unapologetic laughter, that smile he gets when he wakes up to see my face on his pillow, his ridiculous and horrible taste in music (which is our favorite fight, second only to "who is taller?") and his constant updates from Gizmodo, our arguments about current events, nights in bed with the laptop and Text Twist, days of video gaming while drinking rum and cokes, walks around Lake Padden, long drives in the sun singing at the top of our lungs, quiet nights reading our books and hugging the dogs, and all of the other wonderful things about my life with this man that I can't even catalog and recount.

I did not know that I would be able to love him this much. When we were dating (and then broke up, dated, broke up, dated, broke up, etc.,) I railed against the possibility. I told him once, when I had the feeling he had fallen in love with me, that if he ever told me he loved me he would never see me again. I hid from it, hid from this man because of his big big heart and soft eyes that change color with his emotions. I became his friend, actually his friend, and he gave up hope that I would ever want to rekindle the brief romance we had when we started. He slowly became essential to my days, my waking up wasn't complete if I didn't talk to him within the first hour I got up, my nights weren't able to close correctly without a phone call to talk about my day. My weekends were empty and my house too quiet when he didn't bring his special brand of noise and chaos to my little apartment in the park, talking too loudly and singing off key while he set grilled cheese sandwiches on fire in my kitchen and broke various pieces of furniture or electronics. One day, after a long and tiring trip to IKEA to get me an entertainment center, a bedframe, and a series of shelves, I asked him to pass me a screwdriver and when he handed it to me, for some reason, it hit me that I was in love with this man, this terribly age inappropriate and completely difficult and absolutely 100% infuriatingly wonderful man. I told him so, and he told me he knew, and he asked me for the screwdriver back. And that was that. That was "it" for me, right then, in that second.

John is not perfect. Neither am I. We are in this together, though. We are learning from our mistakes and making a new situation. We are both working and expending tremendous effort to move forward with respect and still retain a semblance of independence. We are both committed to giving the other our best, and we're both hopeful of the outcome.

He struggles so hard with his disease. It is heartbreaking at times to watch how difficult it is for him to do things that I don't give a second thought. I can't imagine the kind of pain he lives in, constantly. His head is a very very busy place, full of talking and movement and loud noise and music and such deep rooted conflict that has no name. I think he is incredibly strong to still be making this effort, and to still be making forward progress. He has made some stupid choices, but who doesn't? I can't say I'd be doing the same if every day for me was like the end of running a marathon, exhausted reaching for a finish line when the end of the day comes round. I think it says a lot that even when he is in pain or in the midst of a mania, he loves me, and he still looks at me with his John eyes and I know that he is in there, somewhere, fighting.

Two years ago, the weather was a little cloudy but the sun broke through. My friends all came to see us, and it was beautiful. I was happy and shining and beautiful, John had a face splitting grin all day. We danced, John cried a little, (so did my MIL and my Dad,) and we all got real drunk. Richard DJ'd, Max bent Ryan over and did a dance that was beyond suggestive, and I have pictures of me



with champagne in one hand and a cigar in the other



and John with his cigar, looking quite suave,



and of us, right after we signed the certificate.

It was a wonderful day, and these last 2 years have been exciting, scary, and as a whole more wonderful than just that one day could ever be.

John, I completely, totally, wholeheartedly and unabashedly love you with all that I have.

Happy 2 years, beautiful boy.