Something I don’t find particularly charming about myself is my need to over-analyze my love-life. Maybe I watched too much Sex and The City as a teenager, or maybe it was the attachment to sappy teen romance novels as a preteen, but somehow I’ve turned into one of those people who always has something to fixate over in regards to their heart. And it annoys the crap out of me.
So lately I’ve tried to dial-back the romance talk on my posts, particularly because who really gives a fuck and two of my exes(?) read this. In hindsight, letting my then present-partners see my blog was not my smartest move. Sure, it was great because they got to get to know me, the real me, without the presence of hormones mucking up my thoughts like they do in real life. But it was naïve because later when they both had their moments of assholery, I couldn’t rant about them in an honest way, like I do to my female friends (and Mom). Even now, post break-up, I still watch what I say about both of them, because the written word can always be held against you.
Yep, Fred and Jessie read my blog. Two of the most important significant others that I’ve had (thank God I never revealed this blog to Charles!) stay updated on my recent ramblings, and included in that package is the ramblings about my love life. Therefore, I sometimes like to avoid the subject, but have trouble since one of my major hobbies is pondering, analyzing, and picking-apart my romantic follies. It’s a predicament entirely of my own making, and probably makes all of you readers with better sense laugh and shake your heads, thinking: “Ah, I’m so glad I’m not that crazy mother-fucker…”
But anyway, on with discussing my love life: So, like usual my current situation is a complicated mess that is the result of me trying to do the right thing, but also being young and stupid. Jessie and I broke it off a few weeks ago, right before shit hit the fan and I decided to quit school. It started with “things aren’t working” and ended with him wanting to date someone else. So naturally, I was pissed, because he was being a complete hypocrite. Ever since I told him we should see other people and quit pretending to be nuns/monks (because hello! we live in two separate countries!), he’d been holding it over my head, saying petty shit like, “Well if you really loved me you wouldn’t want to see other people…” But then there he was, wanting to have a legit, full-blown relationship with some other chick. So I didn’t speak to him for an entire week, had my little mental breakdown, and did some soul-searching. Where are we now? We’re better, but still broken up. Since I’ve got a non-refundable ticket to Central America and still care about him a lot, we’re determined to do the whole friends thing while I visit him for a week later this month. But he still flirts with me and considers us something, so I’m wary. Am I still attracted to him? Yes. Do I think sleeping with him during the week we’ll spend together solve any of our problems? No. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life, and neither do I, and we broke up for some very valid reasons which haven’t changed despite the fact that he “broke up” with his little side-chick. (See?! You don’t “break up” unless you were legit together! Hypocrite!)
Speaking of, you might say, what about your fuck boy that you’ve mentioned? Well, here’s the thing: I started seeing this fella with zero expectations. He doesn’t know what he’s doing with his life either, and he isn’t into the whole monogamy thing, so we want separate things. Therefore, I was just seeing him casually, going on some dates now-and-then, but not committing to shit. I figured, we like spending time together, so as long as I don’t put him on some sort of boyfriend-potential pedestal it doesn’t matter that we’re seeing each other. But then my grandpa died, and fuck boy was really really nice about it, and then when school was falling apart he was really really nice about that, and the tone of our hanging out changed. I started to trust him, and I think he started to become comfortable with being honest. So now we’re in this place of being best friends, not together, not committed, just enjoying each other in our lives while it lasts…
Yep, the fuck boy is Fred. The same guy I dated for two years who broke my heart into a billion pieces by cheating on me and living two hours away. So you’re probably asking why on earth I’d ever hang out with him again, to which I respond: Look, after a long time of not speaking, Fred and I realized there was still some unresolved things left between us. So rather than go through this huge internal struggle, we just decided to try hanging out a few times and get to know each other all over again. Maybe we’d get along, maybe we wouldn’t, but either way we’d try. And we did. And slowly we became best friends again, confiding in each other about our hopes and dreams and major faults. And despite everything, we’ve accepted each other. So we hang out, and this time we aren’t ruining it by planning a future together or playing the “boyfriend/girlfriend” roles. We just spend time together, simple as that, no monogamy involved. Do I think we’ll run off into the sunset together? Probably not. Like I said, we don’t want the same things, or have any part of our futures figured out. So there it is. All out in the open.
And there’s more, because if you haven’t learned by now, I’m nothing if not complicated. I’ve been on three dates with this girl from Tinder, and I have no clue what is going on. First date was alright, she seemed to like me and was a nice person. I wasn’t sure if I was attracted to her, honestly. Second date was great, we were clicking and I felt something between us. Third date was strange. I was awkward and she was nervous and neither one of us were courageous enough to make a move. I thought I had blown it, really, but now we’ve got a fourth date planned. What she wants from me is a complete mystery, and I have yet to break it to her that I’m soon going to be moving away from college town and therefore can offer her nothing. So like usual, I’m just going with the flow and being a complete jackass.
How do I feel about all of this? Okay I guess…I’m sort of at the point now where all I know is that I’m too fucked up to offer anyone a relationship, so I feel good knowing that Jessie and I are just friends, Fred and I are just friends, and that the Tinder chick and I haven’t hinted at either of our intentions in the slightest. I do feel skeezy about not being straight forward with the Tinder girl, not to mention feeling bad about the inevitable anger of Jessie once he finds out that Mr. Fuck boy is Fred, but Tinder girl is probably better off without me fucking up her life and Jessie will just have to realize that he hasn’t been Mr. Monk-Saint-of-Celibacy either. At the end of the day, I’m still single—belonging to no one but myself and my depression, both of which are making any attempt at a relationship impossible.
So that’s tonight’s post of Something to Make You Feel Better About Your Love Life. Thanks for letting me indulge my self-absorption and divulge my many faults of the heart. See you next week folks, with the a post most likely called Why You Should Never Reveal Anything, Ever.
Here’s a new possible title for my autobiography: DATING: The Reason My Youth and Sexuality Were Squandered and I’m Writing A Book Instead of Getting Laid. Too long?
Readers, dating is not the most important thing in the world. I know, you know it, and even characters that hardly existed apart from their love lives like Carrie Bradshaw knew it. But sometimes, when all you’re asking from the world is to get laid by a beautiful queer woman, it can feel like the entire universe is uniting for the single purpose of making sure every queer woman on the planet stays as far away from you as possible….so, pretty important stuff.
In spite of knowing the ridiculousness of that overly dramatic statement, it might actually be true. So far I’m striking out left and right (yep, even when they swipe right) on Tinder and I’m starting to make lists of every shitty thing I’ve ever done so I can discover what I did to piss Karma off so badly. Last semester dating seemed so easy: a guy would message me, and I’d message back if I felt he might be fuck-worthy. And then if he played his cards right, it’d actually happen. But this semester I’m more interested in dating women rather than men, and I seem to suck at it.
It’s like being thirteen all over again. How do you flirt with them? How do you know if you’re being too forward or too shy? How do you get them to know you don’t want to date them for a 100 years, you just want to hang out a few times?
My experiences dating women have been very brief. There was my relationship with Jessie when he identified as a woman, there was a date to the Rocky Horror Picture Show with one girl from Tinder who I never texted back, a concert with Miranda where we had a hot make out session, and another date from Tinder a few weeks ago where the girl talked forever and we had zero chemistry. I’ve never really fallen into a dating mode with women—all of my experience was brief, or a legit relationship. So basically, I’m screwed.
Look, I love Jessie. But Jessie gets to fuck women and that other guy I’m seeing gets to fuck other women and dammit I’m just sitting here twiddling my thumbs like, “Let me tell you the story of when I was actually found attractive and dateable…” I know I’m attractive. I know I’m a catch. I know I can be fantastic at sex. But sometimes you just want to be validated for christ’s sake! Where are the people who will actually fuck me?!? When did I suddenly grow a horn in the middle of my forehead?!?
I don’t mind waiting around for the day Jessie will actually decide to come back and be with me. I don’t mind putting in the work to talk to him and maintain some sort of relationship while he goes off and fucks other people. I don’t mind driving to see that one guy I hang out with and letting him fuck me while he’s goes off and does whatever he wants when I’m not around. I don’t mind being by myself all the time and knowing that I won’t have a legitimate relationship with someone for several more months. But what I mind is the idea of just sitting around reminiscing about the days before Fred cheated on me and Jessie moved to a whole separate country. I don’t want to be mopey and sad and constantly pity myself. I want to be young and enjoy the freedom to do whatever the hell I want with whoever the hell I want! SO WHAT IS THE PROBLEM, WORLD?!?!
Why does everyone I love seem to want different things, and leave me in a place where I even have to ask these stupid questions?
(Final Note: This is a rant session. This is ridiculous and hormone-fueled and the result of a very stressful week. Just remember not to take it too seriously, ok? Please don’t judge me too harshly… *Sigh*)
My (romantic) partner leaves for Costa Rica next Friday. The universe is telling me, “Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! I’m taking away your source of happiness and love!” Nothing like starting 2016 with utter heartbreak, huh? But life goes on.
As you could probably tell by my last post, I’ve been contemplating my depression and its relationship with my romantic partners. Naturally, when breakups happen I’m not exactly a ray of sunshine, but I think it’s more than that. For instance, this past semester I dated quite a bit (at least compared to the past 3 years of my life). The more I felt like shit, the more reckless I became, racking up messages off of Tinder and
likes off of Okcupid. I did the little dating dance, where you like their profile, send some flirty messages, go on a date, and then never talk to them again. This didn’t exactly make me feel better, but it took my mind off of things. “I’m getting out,” I told myself. “I’m meeting new people and trying new things. Depressed people don’t do that.” The dating dance was sort of a denial dance as well.
It’s like when I was seeing this one guy Jeremy (I’m not even going to bother changing his name…that’s how little this guy really meant big picture-wise). Isaac had just kicked me to the curb, my then ex-girlfriend was dating someone else while also seeing me, and I was harboring a mess of sadness and angry about Fred. Jeremy was simple: we went out for a beer the first night together and by the end of it were making out hardcore on the hood of his car. I knew he wanted to fuck me, and as long as I was just interesting enough (but also boring enough not to encourage true feelings) he would help me waste my time. So we kept seeing each other, and it was fine. Then when my ex-girlfriend and I got back together I just quit texting him. And you know what? He never texted me back, either. It was over just like that…simple. And I felt completely fine about it.
Now, while this kind of behavior didn’t bother me in the moment, I realized how superficial it all was once I remembered the people who had actually mattered. Thoughts of Fred, Isaac, and my now current partner made me remember how much I was still missing. The lack of romance in my dating left me empty, and while empty was less risky it was also doing nothing to help my depression. Empty distractions did nothing to sooth the heartbreak I still felt, and even though I had physically moved on, my brain was still stuck.
I worry that I will fall back into this old pattern once my partner leaves for Costa Rica. It’s not like I want to date anyone else…I need to use this time to focus on building myself back up and getting my balls back, haha. But I’m terrible at dealing with loneliness, and when I get lonely the depression usually kicks in. So what then?
Well, I’ve started seeing a new therapist for one thing. After weeks of back and forth scheduling, I finally had my first appointment and it went alright. But seeing a shrink won’t fix everything. So, to fill my time otherwise, I’ve started painting and crafting. Right now it’s just Christmas gifts, but since it makes me feel super calm I’m going to do my best to keep at it. And then I’ve got a few goals for myself to reach, since I’m sort of anal like that. I want to make more friends to play board games with, and I want to work with my therapist on believing the friends I currently have don’t hate my guts. It’ll be a process.
I know I sound like a real bitch, with my “dating” habits and the fact that I’ve spent this blog post talking about myself rather than the amazing person I’ll be losing. But what else am I supposed to do, just tell you all I’ll cry myself to sleep and resort back to cutting myself? I’m not doing that shit again—I’ve got to keep my eyes on what I can make better in my life, despite my shitty habits. Because even though the universe is shitting on me this holiday season, I refuse to believe that’s all my life will become.
There’s gotta be more than just loss around the corner.
I’m better now. I know it was probably scary for you that night when I showed up at your doorstep covered in cuts. I was scared too.
It was so scary that night, when I kept cutting and cutting and cutting. I don’t know where it came from, or why it happened. I just woke up earlier that week and felt the depression lurking behind me. I’d distract myself with work, school, music, and Netflix, but it was still there waiting for me when I had a moment to myself. Every night I’d close my eyes to go to sleep and see it swallow me up in the darkness. I had no answers about my future, my present, or past. All I could think of is every shitty thing I’ve ever done, every person who I felt secretly hated me, and how no matter how hard I’d try, I couldn’t stay happy. The depression always found me eventually.
I was scared. So scared to open up and talk about this weight I felt on my shoulders. You were the only person around who really seemed to care. Despite months of trying to keep you at arm’s length, I ended up letting you in my heart. And I really didn’t want it broken.
I only mentioned this to you once, in a very short and dismissive manner, but I was in a couple of serious relationships before you. One of them lasted two years, and I found out he cheated on me during those two years while I was seeing you. I didn’t want it to affect us getting to know each other, but it did. I was still very upset about my ex cheating on me and was struggling to trust others, as well as myself. And in a lot of ways, I felt so worthless. I wasn’t ready to believe in kindness again. I wasn’t ready for you.
When I told you about my depression that night, and said: “You don’t have to say anything…I know this is a lot to lay on a person and I don’t expect you to fix it or anything…and I totally understand if you don’t wanna see me anymore…but I just need someone to listen and accept me despite it.” I meant it. I don’t blame you for telling me days later that you just couldn’t do it. Sometimes I feel like I can’t do it either, honestly, but I have to. And I’ll be stronger for it. I know how stressful and heartbreaking it can be to watch someone you care about hurt so badly. It’s a terrible helpless feeling, and I understand not wanting to sign up for that. But I hope one day you will love someone enough to be willing to do that for them, because it is one of the most rewarding and life-changing things you can do—to bring someone hope.
My depression is my burden to bare, and I’m sorry if I made you feel overwhelmed and stressed because of it. But I’m not sorry I told you about it. I put my heart on the line, I took a chance, and it was a really hard thing to do. And I did it because I believed in you, I trusted you, which wasn’t a mistake. I still think you are a great person, and I’m glad I at least got a shot with you. The thing is, while I will always be grateful that you held me that night, as I willed myself not to cry in your arms, I will admit that it wasn’t a hard thing for you to do. The hard part comes after, in the morning when you realize that last night will not be the only night filled with tough conversations and tight hugs. And that’s the part that so many people seem to struggle with…every guy I’ve met seems to want to be my knight in shinning armor until they realize that this battle isn’t a one time deal. So I’m glad you were honest and told me you couldn’t do it. I’m glad you left instead of whispering in my ear that you wouldn’t hurt me.
There are people out there who love me in spite of the depression. They pick me up each time and let me know I’m loved even when I don’t love myself. They keep me going, because I know they will always be there on the other side, when the depression is gone and my smile is back and things are easier. Their love has no mental health conditions, and their opinion of my never wavers based off of my depression. They are my friends and family and partner, and they are the ones I should have gone to that night when I knocked on your door.
It’s easy to want that significant person in your life to be the one that you lean on, and it’s hard to tell the people you’ve known the longest that you’re struggling again. Thank you for teaching me that I don’t need a knight in shining armor, and that the ones who will fight for me the hardest are the ones who have always been by my side.
Wishing You the Best,
Well, it was a good three weeks or so of consistency and happiness. Guess my time of acting like an adult was sort-lived. Too bad my life is too complicated to handle it like a kid, though.
Here’s what’s happening. The night after my round of cutting I had another, which upped my total number of cuts to twelve. I was lying there on the floor and I couldn’t stop. Okay, I’d tell myself. This is the last one. After this you will call or text Isaac and ask for help. But four cuts later it still wasn’t happening. For those of you unfamiliar with cutting, let me share something about it that surprises me every time: I am always calm. I usually don’t shed a single tear while it’s happening. I don’t look longingly at my phone, or even consider going to anyone for help until after I’ve begun. Once the razor/scissors/etc. is in my hand, it’s a done deal. The world fades away and all that is left is the dull pain my body feels. But I’ll digress from further details. Finally I started to cry. I started thinking about what other people would say if they saw the cuts, I started thinking how they would be upset. (My only concern in terms of myself was being angry that I express depression in such a stereotypical way; the cuts don’t bother me, and the isolation is preferable because it caters to the cutting. It’s sick, I know, but it’s my vice. If the evidence wasn’t so obvious I would probably be a habitual cutter.) So, I finally texted Isaac.
[I’m] sorry to put this on you, but I just need to not be alone right now…do you mind if I study at your place?
He told me that he had stayed home all day sick, but that if it didn’t bother me then I could come over for a while. I wiped my tears and tried to tell myself over and over that I was doing the right thing. I had done what felt like the impossible and reached out, allowed myself to be dependent on Isaac…so why did I feel so guilty?
I got to his place and the tears started flowing. How could I get out of this car? Why does my life have to be like this? For the umpteenth time I wished my life could be normal. And right behind that wish I chastised myself and thought of all the people who have it worse off, like I always do. And then I cried more because I knew I should be happy and didn’t know how to fix this. Finally I got out of the car once my face was half-way decent. I leaned against the bumper and took lots of deep breaths; Just breathe, just breathe…you don’t have to go up to the door yet…You’re making the right decision…Stop berating yourself for bothering Isaac. Suddenly I looked up and saw him walking towards me. “Are you okay?” he asked. Before I could even think I heard the words, “Yeah, I’m fine,” pop out of my mouth. “Are you sure?” “Yeah.” “Are you really sure?” “No.” And then I was in his arms.
We talked until past midnight. First it was just cuddling and distraction talk like who were our favorite characters on Parks and Rec and which songs I liked off of his mix CD, but then later we got on topic. I told him that I had issues with depression and that I didn’t always handle it the right way. I told him my prescription of antidepressants needed to be increased. But I don’t think it really kicked in until we were making out later, and I tried to explain why I wanted to keep my clothes on. “Here,” I said, and took his hand so he could feel the cuts on my abdomen. “Is that…a cut?” “There’s more on my legs…well, leg. I didn’t want to freak you out.” But needless to say, he was freaked out.
“I don’t mean to sound callous, but…I think I need some time to think.” I nodded, trying not to think about it too hard. Earlier I had told him that if he wanted to bail, I’d understand. No one wants to sign up for a girlfriend like this, and I’d rather he be honest than make promises he can’t keep (like Jack and Landon). When I was about to leave he hugged me again, and we stayed like that for a while. I finally turned away, and he slowly let go of me…he looked sad. I told myself to be strong and I walked out the door without looking back. I tried to tell myself I didn’t just lose something really important.
But the funny thing is, as I walked away I realized how it was slowly becoming insignificant that Fred was out of my life. Isaac is the only person I want by my side right now (a part from my mom and roommates), and even if he chooses not to be there, than at least he’s more honest than most of the guys in my life have been. I won’t hold it against him if he decides that he no longer wants to see me, but I really hope that it doesn’t end that way. I really like Isaac and I don’t want to lose him. But either way, life goes on, and I’ll be okay. I have to be.
In other news, I’m going to a concert tonight with the person Fred cheated on me with, Miranda. They are a gender fluid/androgynous/transguy, and ever since we accidentally met on Okcupid we’ve been chatting. At first it was just about Fred, and keeping tabs on all the lies he’s been telling us, but now it’s about the other people we’re dating and just random life things. It’ll be the first time I’m meeting them in person, so I’m a little nervous, but mostly excited. We’re already sort of friends, so I figure there’s really no reason to be apprehensive. And besides, the concert should be a good time no matter if things get awkward. So even though it’s a strange situation, I’m looking forward to it. Miranda seems cool, and since I got these tickets for Fred for his birthday, it only makes sense for me to still go and take the person he was two-timing me with while he sits at home.
Life is strange right now, readers. I’m just trying my best to be okay, and taking baby steps. I handed over my razors to Caitlin and told her to please get rid of them. I’ve decided to go home this weekend and spend time with my mom. I’m going to call my doctor and ask for another prescription of Prozac. It might not seem like a lot, but it has to count for something.
I’m determined to get out of this mess.
It’s a weird time in my life, readers. So get this: last week I went on a date with this guy from Tinder. I had my speculations, mostly because I found him on Tinder, of all places…but I decided to go ahead and go on a date with him. After all, he had a motorcycle.
So he comes to my house, and I lock my front door, heart pounding and muttering “What the fuck was I thinking?” to myself. I get in the car, he introduces himself. We shake hands. And then he starts talking….and talking…and I blissfully realize that it won’t matter that I’m shy, because this guy is super nice and an open book. And we go to his place, and get on his bike….and I fell in love. In love with the incredible rush of being on a bike. And hey, the guy wasn’t bad either. He was cracking jokes and I was already feeling really comfortable. Fifteen to twenty minutes into the date, I already wanted to kiss him. Blah, blah, blah…we go on a romantic motorcycle ride through the countryside during sunset. I’m not even kidding—that’s seriously what happened. And then we go back to his place and order pizza. He shows me all the stuff in his office because he’s a computer wiz with a few 3D printers. Smart, adventurous, funny, with killer abs and great eyes? I was impressed. This guy already had a 6-figure salary and was only in his twenties. He loved animals and was outgoing, but considerate enough to ask me about myself. I felt the worries about my fucked up love life disappear….and then we started smoking. Now, I’m an occasional smoker. Like once every six months is where I stand. So I figured, why not? Bad decision. The more I smoked, the less I spoke and the more thoughts became jumbled in my head. I listened to this guy and became paranoid that everything he said was rehearsed. It was all a lie. He was just trying to fuck me. So the rest of the night I was stuck between suspicion and admiration. Every time he asked me a question I messed up my answer, and everything he said became more twisted as I contemplated it. But, on the upside, the pizza tasted delicious.
Where did the date end? Around 1:30 in the morning, after we both scrambled to find our clothes after maybe ten minutes of Netflix. He took me back to my house, and I wondered if we’d see each other again. He said he wanted a second date, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything except wanting to go to sleep. So that was it. I kissed him goodbye, shut the front door, and fell asleep as soon as I hit the pillow.
He’s texted me some. I told myself he wouldn’t put in the effort of texting me three times if he was just looking for a fuck buddy. However, I was still unsure if I trusted him. Was the paranoia justified? Or was it the leftover hurt from Fred that made me want to keep him at an arm’s length? I couldn’t decide.
So a few days later I had a date with Isaac. (I’m playing the field, okay?) There we are, having a great time, and this feeling starts bubbling up. It was there the last couple of times I hung out with him, but now it was stronger. It was the feeling of attachment, of wanting to share my feelings and let him in. But I was so freaking scared. “You…you make it so hard for me to keep you at a distance.” I finally admitted in a small, scared voice. We were just laying around in his room, cuddling. “Is that a bad thing?” he asked. I sighed, “Yes and no…I…I haven’t really shared my feelings with you because it’s hard…I’m scared.” I hate these kinds of conversations, but Isaac made me feel safe enough to choke the words out. We lied there for a moment. I tried not to think about how badly it hurt when I found out Fred cheated, or how badly it hurt now to know that his cheating was hindering my relationship with others. “I don’t know what to say,” Isaac admitted. “That’s okay, you don’t have to say anything.” He sighed and paused for a moment. “I…I’ve been thinking about something for a while now…No, never mind.” I turned toward him, interested, “No, what is it?” “I….was wondering if maybe you wouldn’t mind not seeing other people.”
And just like that, we were back to the what-are-we? conversation. Time to go balls-out truth mode. I told him I really liked him, that I wouldn’t mind being with him, but that I was afraid that the expectations that came with “boyfriend” and “girlfriend” would change things between us, and that I didn’t want anything to change. Pause (me resenting my honesty). He finally agreed, and said he wasn’t ready for those labels either. “So, we’re not dating, but we’re not seeing other people?” I asked. “I guess so.” I let that sink in, “That’s kind of screwed up sounding.” He thought about it and laughed, “Yeah…” “We’ll figure it out,” I told him with a smile, and wrapped my arms around him. Believe it or not, I had thrown out the possibilities of dating the motorcycle guy, some girl I was talking to on Tinder, and getting back together with my ex-girlfriend in less than a minute. And surprisingly, it was an easy decision.
I don’t know what the future holds for Isaac and I, but I’m excited to find out. I like that we are both taking our time to figure out what we want from the other person, and not rushing into anything. I’ve had enough time playing the field for now, because deep down I really do like to focus on just one person at a time. And right now that person is Isaac. I’ve forgotten what it’s like not to have a complicated arrangement with the person I’m crushing on, whether it was an open-relationship, an ex-relationship, or an unattainable relationship. Finally, I’m able to enjoy goofy romantic feelings and not have them weigh my heart down in confusion. I know who I want, and now we both can have time to figure out what we want from each other, together.
And that’s better than anyone I could find off of Tinder. 😉
So I found out that Fred cheated on me during those two years we were together. Needless to say, I told him to never speak to me again. And you know what? Life is actually going alright. Not much has changed, really. I still go to my classes, I go to work, I hang out at home with my roommates, I sit outside and listen to music in between classes. I’m thinking about creative projects I could start and homework I should probably be catching up on instead. I’m planning my tattoo. Life goes on.
That’s not to say that I didn’t call him Monday night after a week of silence and scream and cry at him over the phone. After all, he deserved to hear how much he hurt me. But it’s all really for the best—it’s useless to fight for a person who lied to you and betrayed your trust. So I am happily embracing life—because my life is mine now. No more trying to plan a future around Fred or his failed attempts at finishing his degree. No more boundaries around when I can go travel (well, except money…:/), no more trips home unless I actually want to drive those two hours.
As if that wasn’t enough, I came out to my dad earlier that Monday. He was lecturing me about having lesbian friends and straight up asked if I’m interested in girls or guys. After a long pause I finally said, “Both”. It went better than I expected. Naturally, there was yelling and I almost walked out on him, not to mention him subtly threatening not to pay for my college anymore, but by the end of the conversation I said, “Love you Dad” and he said “Love you too.”
Another part of this honesty project I’ve got going on was admitting to my ex-girlfriend that I cheated on her with Fred. It was the worst mistake of my life, and I told her she could punch me in the face, but she didn’t. “I still love you,” she told me. “I knew you cheated on me, but what hurt was that you wouldn’t admit it to me.” So, amazingly enough, this incredibly kind, caring person forgave me for being an absolute dick. Just like that, I felt myself become a better person for admitting my mistakes. After all, I don’t want to be Fred, and use people at my leisure.
Another thing. I’ve been seeing this guy. Now I know I don’t need anymore drama in my life at this point, but that’s the great part about him—he doesn’t stress me out. It’s very casual, and he’s a really nice person. We only see each other about once a week and we don’t have to constantly text or commit to any labels. Basically, we’ve just been getting to know each other. (Although for me that means omitting all of the current events on Fred and my ex-girlfriend….we’ll see if I get there with this guy.) But I’m really happy with it. Sometimes it’s nice to surround yourself with new people when your life is becoming a whole new experience.
I wasted years of my life loving someone who put in minimal effort and didn’t show me respect. It’s time to just figure out what I want my life to look like, and go with the flow.
It seems like no matter what I do, I have this constant need to make things extra complicated for myself. I try to watch out, I try to tell myself: “Just let things be.” “Quit getting involved!” “Is this really worth it?” But somehow, my self-destructive side always comes back to bite me in the ass.
Let me just give you some real-life examples:
“Quit flirting with your ex-girlfriend.” I shouldn’t. I know I shouldn’t. We both need to let go of our feelings if we’re ever going to be legit friends. But she’s attractive. And I still love her. And when she texts me I still get excited. …..And if she offered to have sex with me for the rest of eternity I would graciously accept, haha.
“Don’t start dating anyone, or do anything even close to dating. I mean it.” And yet I made myself an Okcupid account. I figured I could meet some new people, maybe make a friend or two, and at the very least take pride in the fact that other people still find me attractive. I wasn’t supposed to meet up with someone right away. I wasn’t supposed to make out with them. But it was just making out, right? That’s no big deal; it’s not like I’m at all serious about them, or that they are serious about me. But still, I don’t want to do anything I’ll later regret.
“But seriously, figure out your shit with Fred.” Yeah, like that’s really going to happen any time soon. I need to be on my own for now (whatever that means), and he’s tangled up in a few friends-with-benefits situations. And honestly I think there are some sacrifices he’s not ready to make, so why should I sit and twiddle my thumbs, waiting for decisions he might never make? But I can’t help becoming involved. I still love him too.
But, even though I’m not succeeding so far in those categories, I did have one triumph…
“Do not send your ex-boyfriend topless photos. Do not. Do not.” And I didn’t. Yesterday snap chatting lead to texting which lead to some deep, personal conversation. It was the first time I had heard from this guy in months (I forgot his alias on here…something with a J, but then again there were like three different J-names). And I don’t think he intended to take the conversation to topless town, but it went there nonetheless. “Go to bed and think about your girlfriend,” I told him. “Or look up some porn. Because no offense, but I’m more than my boobs. But no hard feelings—we’ll keep this between friends.” (And apparently everyone who reads my blog.) So I redeemed myself as a feminist and simultaneously proved myself to be a solid friend.
So I guess I’m still learning. At least some part of me knows when the things I’m doing aren’t necessarily the most logical…now I just have to consistently side with that part of myself when making my decisions.
I don’t know why that’s so hard for me…I wish I was a stronger person, a better person. Maybe it’s time to stop wishing that and start doing it.
I guess this is it. This is the post where I unveil it all, what happened between us. This is when it becomes real, permanent, over. This is the real break-up post.
I bet you all saw it coming. My then-boyfriend and I were stuck in a situation where he was unhappy and I was unhappy because he was unhappy. I was dating my girlfriend, falling in love with her, and meanwhile all of that romance my then-boyfriend and I had was slipping away. We still love each other, we still know each other better than almost anyone else, we were still committed, but we had turned into best friends. We turned into two people who wanted to squeeze blood from a rock. We want different futures, or at least different visions of the future, right now. He wants planning, I want ambiguity. I want him in my college town with me, he has to stay there. If we lived in the same place and I hadn’t fallen in love with my girlfriend we could have fixed it, but even if he was here, if I was still with her not much would have changed. We still would have broken up.
Two years. Two of the best years of my life. The best birthday since I was a kid, the first college road trip, the best bands discovered, the best TV shows, the best movies, the best late night conversations, the best car rides, the best trips into the city and the first time I felt ready for that scary future stuff, for becoming an adult, for that true, serious love. Two years of working and waiting and planning–left only to memory.
What am I supposed to say? I love him. I wanted it to work so badly…I didn’t chose to fall in love with my girlfriend, just like I didn’t chose to be bisexual or fall out of romantic love with him. It just happened. My brain chose one path and my heart chose another. And it makes me so so sad, because he was my family, my best friend, my whole world. And then the world changed. I guess I changed.
Fred. That’s what I’m going to call him, after two years of simply referring to him as “my boyfriend”. I thought I’d never have to give him a name, that “my boyfriend” would remain stable until it one day became “my husband”. But now I guess he belongs to the list of ex-boyfriends, so a name is needed. I wish I could call him by his real name, because I love it so much, and it is the perfect description and explanation for everything he is and does. He is one of the best people I have ever met, if not the best, and I blew it. I let the world, my heart, tear us a part. He was nothing but kind to me, and I wandered. Why did I do that? How could I do that?
I have no regrets. But this isn’t the life I wanted for myself, this isn’t what I prepared for. I feel relief that I’m no longer stringing him along in my indecision, but I feel so much pain that it’s over. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy to be with my girlfriend and I love her very much, and I’m excited about the next few months we will share together. I’m just also sad, that’s all. It will be such a long, arduous process to get over Fred, if that’s even possible.
We’ve decided to remain best friends, and keep our mutual friends mutual. We both agreed right away that breaking up our relationship should not include destroying a place for each other in our lives, because after two years it is unthinkable to live pretending like we never happened. So I’m glad to have him in that respect.
My life has only the vaguest outline of a direction. Once my dad and brother find out I am bisexual my family won’t be much of a family. My girlfriend leaves for Costa Rica in August and I still don’t know what will happen to our relationship when she does. My friendships and either physically or emotionally distant (or, in the case of my roommate, hopefully healing from my many absences). My mental health is a toss up. School is coming to a close. My boyfriend is now my best friend, and I can’t be with him in the same way anymore.
I guess I’m holding it together pretty alright, considering. But mostly, right now I’m caught up between stress, sadness, and happiness, and numbness. I don’t know…I don’t know what to say anymore.