TOO MUCH

Too Much...

When I was sixteen, I fell in love for the first time. His name was Danny and he was born on Valentine's day.
Danny was tall and thin; he had jet black hair and verdant green eyes. His type would have me hooked for the rest of my life. I also came to be with Danny in my usual way, as I still do. My girlfriend, Ana and I were at the mall to meet up with him. She had a crush on him and had dated him once or twice, you know, teenage-summer love. It was love at first site, for both of us. 
"How's he look, Dee?" Ana asked me. "Umm, yeah, Ana, he's real cute". Our eyes met, mine and Danny's, and he just walked past her and introduced himself to me. The energy was magnetic. I had never felt this way before. I can't really tell you what happened next; being the kind of person I usually choose to be, I'm sure I made an honorable attempt to back the hell off, however, inevitably, he and I exchanged phone numbers and that was the beginning of a three year odyssey that took me from group-home girl, shy and afraid of everything, to passionate woman, fully, finally, understanding of the meaning of, or shall I say definition of love.
What brings me to these memories so many years removed is this one little thing Danny used to say to me...
"You're too much."
I have thought about those words at least three times a week for the past thirty-three years. I knew exactly what he meant, and I also know that it doesn't happen very often, that thing between two people that is so undefinable, so compelling, so life or death. I remember so clearly, as if it were a film clip on a loop, continually playing over and over again, the way I felt and what Danny looked like when he said it. In that moment I loved him so much that I gave away all of my pain, to some higher power, or to him, and he knew it. He knew that I loved him so much for making me feel okay, if even for a moment. He was my first real lover and he was gentle and kind and omniscient of my sexuality. He introduced me to what it felt like to make love to someone. He was terribly passionate. He kissed me hard. He towered over me by about eight inches and he would just look down at me with those goddamned hypnotizing green eyes of his, right into my soul. Now, of course, we were just kids, and there is very much so another component of "too much" to life.
As we evolve in life, we begin to fill our baggage with alot more shit. The people we come to know as we move along are forced to appreciate that baggage as they come to know us, and we, in turn tend to do the same. Also, as we are moving merrily about our way, we begin to deconstruct our past, so as to sort of sort through it all. We tend to cut through the clutter and slay some of our demons, but there are always a couple of them buried so deep inside, that no matter what we drink, pop, or smoke, whether we need to jump out of airplanes or steal a tuna sandwich to fill the void left in our soul from whatever, that ache only goes away, temporarily, and is almost exclusive to the aforementioned necessary behavior. All that we can do when we come to this place and meet one of those people who appreciates the darkness within, and whisks us up, into their arms, staring right through us, kissing us so deep and so hard that everything else in the Universe just disappears, is fall, because nothing else you've ever tried has made you feel this normal.
Once you've fallen, and the only direction you can go from here, is up, you have to figure out how to be able to stay inside this rabbit hole and remain sane at the same time. The only way to do this is to pay exquisitely close attention to every step you take. First of all, the rush of "too much" is so pleasurable, you want to observe, eyes and feelings wide open every single second. Please, whatever you do, don't close your eyes when you're in the first car on a rollercoaster and you're making that primary descent. Put your hands in the air and enjoy the fucking ride. Second, you're not in this alone. You've done all that work to heal your inner child, but your "too much" may have not. Paying close attention to their behavior will tell you everything you need to know. Listening carefully to the words they say is for your enjoyment, only. Words are everything to me. I love to write them, I love to read them, and when my "too much" speaks them, I nearly die, but they're still just words. Pay attention to them in a logical way, as well, but only for the suiting of the word to the action. And realize that too much of anything is dangerous. Too much love is addictive. Managing addiction, in other words, being strong enough to stand on the precipice of ecstasy without diving in completely while learning what you can about your "too much" can be quite time consuming and will require a significant amount of your mental energy. It's hard, but it's worth it. 
Today, I was talking with my "too much". I have known for some time that he is too much, in fact, I believe I have always known that, and the magical power inside of me, well, both of us, really, has always kept us both at a kind of arm's length. It's always been too much. We have both said that to one another at different times throughout our tour thru Wonderland. Anyway, today...We were talking about all the amazing things our city has to offer, and as I am primarily focused on my writing, taking some time away from the daily grind, I should get out more and see it; something he knows is very important to me and that I would never get my ass out of my chair and on the other side of my front door unless he told me to (as he knows he is pretty much the only person who can tell me what to do with the anticipation of cooperation), so I did. And he did with his daughter, as well. We shared what we did (can I just briefly interject another of our "coincidences"? I picked up a dozen donuts at the very famous Voodoo Donuts-a Portland experience for locals and visitors, alike; he and his daughter picked up a dozen at another famous Portland haunt, same day, different neighborhood...) and I responded that I had done these really cool things with my daughter, listing a few and feeling so, I'm gonna try to define it, completely encompassed in life and love and what it's really all about and I had to just end the conversation, because my words were failing me. This feeling is exactly what was going inside of the person who came up with the term, 'superfluous'. Me. Speechless. 
I sat and thought for a minute, about how I felt in the midst of that conversation. Danny's words, again, came to mind. This feeling, this man, this thing, it's too much.
I guess my problem with the "too much" thing, is that what exactly is this too much of, for. Is there ever really too much love? Is a person making you feel like you can finally breathe too much? Is the fear of what lies ahead when you open the door to "too much", too much?
And why in the hell is too much never enough???

-Deannalynn Arzola