As you may have noticed, I don't post much anymore. But recent events have got me thinking and so I give you a more serious take on men and women than my previous posts have offered:
I have a lot of things I want to say and I'm not quite sure where to start, so bear with me here. The recent violence carried out by Elliot Rodger has got me thinking, as well as articles written about him/violence against women in general. Here's a good editorial I just finished reading that's pretty amazing: http://www.thedailybeast.com/articles/2014/05/27/your-princess-is-in-another-castle-misogyny-entitlement-and-nerds.html
But here's the thing. First of all, it's not just women that experience sexual violence, but I agree that's the most prevalent type of sexual violence.
And it's not just men who are enraged because their romantic advances are constantly ignored or turned down.
I feel like I have an interesting perspective here, because I have been treated extremely poorly by men, turned down and dumped, date raped, and abused, physically and emotionally. I have a lot of rage toward the opposite sex, but it's not violent in nature. And also, I really love the opposite sex and know I've had the misfortune of meeting a lot of the less savory members of the gender.
But I have also turned down men. I have been pursued and asked out by men that I just wasn't interested in for whatever reason, sometimes reason unknown even to me. I have been turned down by men and I have turned men down. But I have never physically hurt a man (even when I probably should have).
I also understand mental illness. It kind of runs in my family. And I have been treated at various times in my life for OCD, anxiety, and depression. So I know how the hopelessness of that feels, but realize that it's a more extreme mental illness that causes someone to carry out such a heinous crime. So no, I don't really understand it to that degree.
It's not just women who are abused. It's not just men who are angry because they've been dumped or it seems no one wants to date them. Also, women are hurt by women and men are hurt by men. This is not a gender-specific issue.
But yes, yes to #yesallwomen, because we have to start somewhere and I think focusing on the most commonly seen form of sexual violence is a damn good place to start. Let's start by teaching our boys not to rape instead of teaching our girls to be on the lookout for rapists everywhere they go. And let's make sure to just always treat everyone with kindness, umkay? Because that's pretty damn important, too.
If you read all this, thanks. I just kind of felt compelled to share. And you know what? I feel a little bit better now.
Thursday, May 29, 2014
Thursday, August 1, 2013
Back in the Game
I realize I've been gone for a while, but since the details of my personal life are of no consequence to you unless they relate to dating, I'll just sum everything up by saying I've been working on some other projects and no, I don't understand the male species any better than I did several months ago.
The guy I alluded to dating in my previous post got really creepy prior to our second date. He started sending me texts that were gratuitously vulgar, even by my standards. Thinking perhaps I had sent him the wrong type of signals, I decided he still deserved a second chance. I think everyone has probably realized by now I don't always make the best decisions. The date didn't start out terrible, but after walking around Union Square's holiday market for a while and telling him how hungry I was, he picked a bar that didn't serve food. I left and got food, but when I brought it back, he ate most of it. Then he watched tv at the bar instead of engaging me in conversation and when he did, it was to ask me what I wore to bed and what type of fantasies I had. I was so out of my comfort zone. Makes sense that his last name was literally "Hard."
After that #fail, I dated Brian for a couple months and there wasn't anything inherently wrong with him. I should note, however, that this was my first attempt at dating a younger man and that was Brian's fatal flaw. By no fault of his own, he was not ready to head toward the "settling down" track at 26, but he could tell that I was. But what was his fault was dumping me in an e-mail two days before my birthday. You stay classy, Brian. (Note: At 29 1/2 I now refuse to date under 30. I think this is reasonable).
Then I found Rob, who, as a Catholic, Republican (not only a Republican, a Republican who actually voted for Mitt Romney), who did not appreciate baseball OR the Brooklyn Bridge and also smoked, broke every rule about what I wanted in a man. He didn't laugh. His fear of bedbugs kept him from going to movie theaters. He preferred dogs over cats. But god, was he smart. Conversation with him was always stimulating and I could truly open up to him. I found myself telling him things on our second and third dates that I'd never verbalized to anyone. He said things to me I'd been waiting for a man to say since middle school: "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" (I have that exact phrase written down, word-for-word, in an old journal. The page is titled: "What I wish a boy would say to me:"). He went out of his way to support my endeavors, even if it meant getting 100% soaking wet on his way somewhere else. He confided difficult things in me as well and it wasn't long before I found myself caring less and less about his repellent qualities.
I started to wonder how much I could look past to build a future with someone if the connection was strong enough; where's the fine line between compromise and sacrifice? I felt as though he was getting really carried away by the relationship and I didn't want to let too much time go by before having the conversation re: potential dealbreakers. If they were really going to break the deal, better have it sooner rather than later. Turns out he was freaked out because he thought I was the one getting carried away by the relationship. I maintain that I was not: I wasn't the one who came to support his event in the pouring rain, bought his nephew a doughnut, literally offered the coat off my back, sparked the conversation about relationship history, stalked via social media to find out about past boyfriends, told my mom about him over the phone in front of him... these were all things he did. All I did was accept his Facebook request and return his affection. So we mutually called it quits, and at least now I don't have to worry about a future argument debating whether or not our children are getting baptized. Whew, dodged that bullet!
Recently, I toyed with the possibility of dating the host of my favorite pub trivia night. My friends pointed out after several weeks that I was the only one at our table he spoke to and that when he talked to me, it was blatant flirting. I laughed them off; after all, they're girls, and girls always think guys are flirting with their friends. But then the next week he called me the most beautiful girl in the room. And the week after that my guy bff came along and agreed that Trivia Greg was into me. I'd thought for some time that Greg was really cute, so I finally allowed myself to agree that just maybe all of my friends were right. After trivia concluded that night, I stuck around at the bar for a drink, sans friends, and Greg sat down at the bar next to me. We talked for the next hour until closing time, at which point he paid for my drink, we left together, and he walked me to my corner on his way to the train. We hugged prior to departure, and that was that. We've spoken at trivia night since then, but never another flirt in my direction.
So no, nothing has changed. I still don't understand men one bit. And the only possibility I have at the moment is a blind date on Sunday with a dude whose last name is a synonym for "butt floss scrotum."
The guy I alluded to dating in my previous post got really creepy prior to our second date. He started sending me texts that were gratuitously vulgar, even by my standards. Thinking perhaps I had sent him the wrong type of signals, I decided he still deserved a second chance. I think everyone has probably realized by now I don't always make the best decisions. The date didn't start out terrible, but after walking around Union Square's holiday market for a while and telling him how hungry I was, he picked a bar that didn't serve food. I left and got food, but when I brought it back, he ate most of it. Then he watched tv at the bar instead of engaging me in conversation and when he did, it was to ask me what I wore to bed and what type of fantasies I had. I was so out of my comfort zone. Makes sense that his last name was literally "Hard."
After that #fail, I dated Brian for a couple months and there wasn't anything inherently wrong with him. I should note, however, that this was my first attempt at dating a younger man and that was Brian's fatal flaw. By no fault of his own, he was not ready to head toward the "settling down" track at 26, but he could tell that I was. But what was his fault was dumping me in an e-mail two days before my birthday. You stay classy, Brian. (Note: At 29 1/2 I now refuse to date under 30. I think this is reasonable).
Then I found Rob, who, as a Catholic, Republican (not only a Republican, a Republican who actually voted for Mitt Romney), who did not appreciate baseball OR the Brooklyn Bridge and also smoked, broke every rule about what I wanted in a man. He didn't laugh. His fear of bedbugs kept him from going to movie theaters. He preferred dogs over cats. But god, was he smart. Conversation with him was always stimulating and I could truly open up to him. I found myself telling him things on our second and third dates that I'd never verbalized to anyone. He said things to me I'd been waiting for a man to say since middle school: "Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?" (I have that exact phrase written down, word-for-word, in an old journal. The page is titled: "What I wish a boy would say to me:"). He went out of his way to support my endeavors, even if it meant getting 100% soaking wet on his way somewhere else. He confided difficult things in me as well and it wasn't long before I found myself caring less and less about his repellent qualities.
I started to wonder how much I could look past to build a future with someone if the connection was strong enough; where's the fine line between compromise and sacrifice? I felt as though he was getting really carried away by the relationship and I didn't want to let too much time go by before having the conversation re: potential dealbreakers. If they were really going to break the deal, better have it sooner rather than later. Turns out he was freaked out because he thought I was the one getting carried away by the relationship. I maintain that I was not: I wasn't the one who came to support his event in the pouring rain, bought his nephew a doughnut, literally offered the coat off my back, sparked the conversation about relationship history, stalked via social media to find out about past boyfriends, told my mom about him over the phone in front of him... these were all things he did. All I did was accept his Facebook request and return his affection. So we mutually called it quits, and at least now I don't have to worry about a future argument debating whether or not our children are getting baptized. Whew, dodged that bullet!
Recently, I toyed with the possibility of dating the host of my favorite pub trivia night. My friends pointed out after several weeks that I was the only one at our table he spoke to and that when he talked to me, it was blatant flirting. I laughed them off; after all, they're girls, and girls always think guys are flirting with their friends. But then the next week he called me the most beautiful girl in the room. And the week after that my guy bff came along and agreed that Trivia Greg was into me. I'd thought for some time that Greg was really cute, so I finally allowed myself to agree that just maybe all of my friends were right. After trivia concluded that night, I stuck around at the bar for a drink, sans friends, and Greg sat down at the bar next to me. We talked for the next hour until closing time, at which point he paid for my drink, we left together, and he walked me to my corner on his way to the train. We hugged prior to departure, and that was that. We've spoken at trivia night since then, but never another flirt in my direction.
So no, nothing has changed. I still don't understand men one bit. And the only possibility I have at the moment is a blind date on Sunday with a dude whose last name is a synonym for "butt floss scrotum."
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Grabbing a Spoon
Seven months after my breakup, I’m totally ready to move
on. It was a gradual process, comprised
of throwing photographs and ticket stubs away one month, deleting his number
from my phone another month, finding a cute boy to flirt with the next. Baby steps.
And now I’m ready to grab a spoon!
Two, actually.
I didn’t plan to follow up my Dharma & Greg post with a Friends
post, but sometimes romcom tv shows can teach us a lot about relationships and
provide metaphors that are easily relatable to real life. “Grabbing a spoon” is how Joey (in his
lovable, promiscuous way) motivates Ross to move on after his divorce from Carol. Carol was vanilla, and vanilla was great, but
now it’s time to try some new flavors; see what else is out there!
So a couple weeks ago I grabbed a spoon. For the first time in ten years, I gave a guy
my phone number without the aid of liquid confidence. It was a guy I had talked to on a few
occasions and he seemed flirtatious, so I made a move. He never called, but it was empowering just
to take that step after so much time. It
was the first time in over a year I was interested in a new person and that
alone felt pretty good, but since I had nothing invested in the new guy and don’t
have to see him again, I suffered no loss.
And then, earlier this week, I went on my first actual date since the breakup. And it was really, really great. The guy was someone I talked to for several
minutes at pub trivia the week before and asked me for my number which,
like, never happens. So that was awesome
and empowering as well and I realized that now that I’m no longer wallowing, I’m
displaying confidence that others might find appealing. So the date went really well, the guy and I
have been chatting all week, we’re going out again next week, and… who
knows? Maybe it will be something, maybe
it won’t, but at this point I again have nothing to lose. Sure, I like him a lot so far, but how much can
you really tell from one date? I used to
think a lot could be told, but it’s time to take a step back and just let
things happen.
I’m trying to do something I have NEVER done before: have
fun when dating! It’s an entirely new
concept to me. So I’m going to keep on
grabbing spoons and see what is out there that I haven’t yet experienced. I’ll admit, it’s a little scary, but I
encourage others to do the same. But be
careful, because there are some pretty crazy flavors out there, especially if
you’re browsing the Ben & Jerry’s section of the freezer aisle! And stay away from nuts.
Wednesday, May 16, 2012
What I learned about soul mates from Dharma & Greg
I remember an episode of Dharma and Greg in which an ex-girlfriend of Greg, who he has remained close friends with returns to town. Dharma feels threatened by this beautiful, successful, single woman who seems to be much better-suited for Greg than Dharma is. Dharma and Greg take the ex out on the town to find her a man, but Dharma spends most of the night talking to a guy at the bar. Like Dharma, his parents were also hippies, he has an unusual name, he enjoys yoga and New Age-y things that Greg generally scoffs at. At the end of the evening, Greg asks Dharma if she found a soul mate, referring, of course to someone suitable for his ex. Dharma replies to him, "Yes! But I'm going home with the man I love."
I think about this episode a lot. It really got me thinking when I originally saw it years ago, too. A Romantic and true idealist, I always believed in soul mates. Dharma made me consider, for the first time, that even though I may have a soul mate out there, he might not be the right person for me. Yes, I know I am basing this theory on a sitcom, but the philosophy is worth exploring. Recent events in my life have brought this to mind, and I can't stop thinking about it. Maybe, maybe Nate was my soul mate. Nate wasn't the first man I was convinced was "the one." He was the third. But he was the first of the trio I had a long-term, happy, healthy, cutesy, committed relationship with, so that made my conviction seem all the more reasonable, even likely.
Maybe Nate was my soul mate. On our first date he recited lines from a documentary written by a man my brother was named after. The first time he walked into my apartment he noticed right away that I arrange my bookshelves according to genre. We both have a tendency to put on ridiculous music and break into an even more ridiculous spontaneous dance and we shared an obsession with the Brooklyn Bridge. From the very moment I met him, I felt comfortable and happy and was able to be myself without holding anything back. The first time we kissed I felt electricity course through my body and thought, "I'm never going to kiss another man" -- a thought that terrified me, but one I couldn't push away.
Maybe he was my soul mate. Maybe not, but it's possible that he was. And maybe we were soul mates, but there's actually someone out there I'll be happier with. Right now that doesn't seem like an option, and it's not something I'm going to explore for a long time, but I have to accept that it just might be true.
I think about this episode a lot. It really got me thinking when I originally saw it years ago, too. A Romantic and true idealist, I always believed in soul mates. Dharma made me consider, for the first time, that even though I may have a soul mate out there, he might not be the right person for me. Yes, I know I am basing this theory on a sitcom, but the philosophy is worth exploring. Recent events in my life have brought this to mind, and I can't stop thinking about it. Maybe, maybe Nate was my soul mate. Nate wasn't the first man I was convinced was "the one." He was the third. But he was the first of the trio I had a long-term, happy, healthy, cutesy, committed relationship with, so that made my conviction seem all the more reasonable, even likely.
Maybe Nate was my soul mate. On our first date he recited lines from a documentary written by a man my brother was named after. The first time he walked into my apartment he noticed right away that I arrange my bookshelves according to genre. We both have a tendency to put on ridiculous music and break into an even more ridiculous spontaneous dance and we shared an obsession with the Brooklyn Bridge. From the very moment I met him, I felt comfortable and happy and was able to be myself without holding anything back. The first time we kissed I felt electricity course through my body and thought, "I'm never going to kiss another man" -- a thought that terrified me, but one I couldn't push away.
Maybe he was my soul mate. Maybe not, but it's possible that he was. And maybe we were soul mates, but there's actually someone out there I'll be happier with. Right now that doesn't seem like an option, and it's not something I'm going to explore for a long time, but I have to accept that it just might be true.
Monday, May 7, 2012
On this day in 1995: Dear Diary, What Is Love?
May 7, 1995:
Dear Diary,
I just got back from Washington, D.C. with my church's Youth Club. There is this one boy who goes to my church. His name is Steven but he'd probably get mad if you called him Steven. Anyway, I think I'm madly in love with him. He is AWESOME looking, and he's really sexy. I got to sit by him in the van on the way there. Go me!
I found this diary entry particularly amusing after having recently been actually, really, truly and very madly in love with a boyfriend with whom I spent painstaking months building a deep relationship. Three hours sitting next to a boy, even an "awesome looking" one in a church van does not equal love.
I have been in love three times. Unrequited loves, all of them.
Current score: Love: 3 / Me: 0
Go Me!
Dear Diary,
I just got back from Washington, D.C. with my church's Youth Club. There is this one boy who goes to my church. His name is Steven but he'd probably get mad if you called him Steven. Anyway, I think I'm madly in love with him. He is AWESOME looking, and he's really sexy. I got to sit by him in the van on the way there. Go me!
I found this diary entry particularly amusing after having recently been actually, really, truly and very madly in love with a boyfriend with whom I spent painstaking months building a deep relationship. Three hours sitting next to a boy, even an "awesome looking" one in a church van does not equal love.
I have been in love three times. Unrequited loves, all of them.
Current score: Love: 3 / Me: 0
Go Me!
Monday, April 30, 2012
What NOT to say to someone who has just been dumped
It's been a week since Nate broke up with me and the wound is still fresh. Friends and family have rallied around me to cheer me up and offer comforting words, and while in most cases they have proven very helpful, they've also succeeded in providing me with a new blog post: what NOT to say to someone who has just been dumped.
"You'll find somebody ten times better."
- Better is not the point. Ryan Gosling could ask me to marry him right now and I wouldn't accept. I don't want better; I want Nate. I want what I had. That's what was perfect and made me the happiest I've ever been in my life.
"It's Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all."
- Is it? Really? I disagree. Had I known it would end like this, I would have walked away eight months ago and never fallen in love with him in the first place.
"You will be happy again."
- Duh. The point is that I'm not happy now.
"Finding true love takes time."
- How much longer will it take? I thought maybe 28 years was long enough.
"You must first love yourself before someone else can love you."
- I do love myself! I think I'm fucking wonderful. Yet I'm still waiting for someone to love me...
"On the bright side, you can still be friends."
- Oh, so we can hang out and laugh and have a great time and do everything we used to do, except have sex? Yeah, that sounds really awesome. Not to mention I'll have to sit around and watch when he finds someone new. Sounds like a real party.
"At least it's not just you. The success rate for relationships is really, really low. Almost nobody stays together anymore!"
- Wow. Just... wow. Extremely encouraging.
There are, however, some words that have actually made me feel better this past week, and I thank my friends whole-heartedly who have been there for me and said these kind things:
"That fool just lost the best thing he ever had."
- Damn straight.
"You weren't too good for him, but you were far too good for the situation."
- Ahh yes, I can't deny this. Being in a "medium-distance" relationship and stressing about the next time I'd get to see my boyfriend had definitely started to take its toll.
"I know it hurts that he didn't love you, but just remember that I have loved you for 19 years."
- Friends that have stuck around since I was a chubbster wearing stirrup leggnings are the best.
I can assure you that, for the most part, when someone has been dumped, all she/he wants to hear is how much life sucks. And it does suck. A lot, sometimes. But my week of mourning is over and now it's time to let the wound begin scabbing. I know, I know... scabs are really gross and generally unwated, but that's how I view the process of healing from a break-up. No one really wants to go through that, either. I could also form an analogy about how even after the wound heals the scar remains, but... maybe I'll leave that extreme corniness for a future post. Deal with it.
HAPPY 50th BLOG POST TO ME! Thanks for reading :)
"You'll find somebody ten times better."
- Better is not the point. Ryan Gosling could ask me to marry him right now and I wouldn't accept. I don't want better; I want Nate. I want what I had. That's what was perfect and made me the happiest I've ever been in my life.
"It's Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all."
- Is it? Really? I disagree. Had I known it would end like this, I would have walked away eight months ago and never fallen in love with him in the first place.
"You will be happy again."
- Duh. The point is that I'm not happy now.
"Finding true love takes time."
- How much longer will it take? I thought maybe 28 years was long enough.
"You must first love yourself before someone else can love you."
- I do love myself! I think I'm fucking wonderful. Yet I'm still waiting for someone to love me...
"On the bright side, you can still be friends."
- Oh, so we can hang out and laugh and have a great time and do everything we used to do, except have sex? Yeah, that sounds really awesome. Not to mention I'll have to sit around and watch when he finds someone new. Sounds like a real party.
"At least it's not just you. The success rate for relationships is really, really low. Almost nobody stays together anymore!"
- Wow. Just... wow. Extremely encouraging.
There are, however, some words that have actually made me feel better this past week, and I thank my friends whole-heartedly who have been there for me and said these kind things:
"That fool just lost the best thing he ever had."
- Damn straight.
"You weren't too good for him, but you were far too good for the situation."
- Ahh yes, I can't deny this. Being in a "medium-distance" relationship and stressing about the next time I'd get to see my boyfriend had definitely started to take its toll.
"I know it hurts that he didn't love you, but just remember that I have loved you for 19 years."
- Friends that have stuck around since I was a chubbster wearing stirrup leggnings are the best.
I can assure you that, for the most part, when someone has been dumped, all she/he wants to hear is how much life sucks. And it does suck. A lot, sometimes. But my week of mourning is over and now it's time to let the wound begin scabbing. I know, I know... scabs are really gross and generally unwated, but that's how I view the process of healing from a break-up. No one really wants to go through that, either. I could also form an analogy about how even after the wound heals the scar remains, but... maybe I'll leave that extreme corniness for a future post. Deal with it.
HAPPY 50th BLOG POST TO ME! Thanks for reading :)
Thursday, April 26, 2012
Just Somebody That I Used To Know
My boyfriend of nearly eight months broke up with me four days ago, telling me that he could never love me. He was the best thing I ever had and I'm left aching and broken, with so many questions that don't have answers. The breakup was preceded by my telling him three weeks ago that I was in love with him, to which he responded kindly and sweetly, but said he couldn't say the same... not yet. Over the next three weeks nothing changed within our relationship, we were still as happy as we were before, but I guess that's all the time he needed to realize something just wasn't there for him. Except I don't understand. How can eight months together in a relationship separated by a distance that required a great deal of effort on both of our parts, a relationship in which he sent me flowers for no reason, talked to me on the phone for hours a night, sent me messages just to tell me I was beautiful, romantically surprised me on Valentine's Day, ditched all his friends for me on his birthday, eagerly met my family last month... how does that not amount to love? What is that, if not love? And what is love, if not that?
I once dated a guy through the Fall and he told me years later that the season always makes him think of me because "you were my Autumn." Well, Nate was my Autumn. And my Winter. And my Spring. I thought he was going to be my Summer, too. There were things I was really looking forward to experiencing with him: camping trips, friend's weddings, the rest of our lives... you get my drift.
On Sunday night he held my hand and told me we couldn't keep spending time together as boyfriend and girlfriend because the "spark" (why do guys always use that word?) wasn't there for him and it wouldn't be fair to me, but he cares about me too much and enjoys my company too much to eliminate me from his life. He still wants to be friends. Of course he does. They always do. I told him he can't have it both ways, and that's the hardest part. I'll never see him again. To do so would just be too hard.
A breakup is like a death in that way. Someone you loved so much and thought would be around forever is all of a sudden just cut out of your life. The stages of grief are very similar to those experienced when mourning a death: 1. Denial; 2. Anger; 3. Bargaining; 4. Depression; 5. Acceptance. I think I'm currently in the midst of denial and hope I can skip over the middle three stages to the last one. Going about every day life is the hardest part right now. It's not possible for someone to remain in your life for the better part of a year (and believe me, it was the better part) and not have them impact pretty much every aspect of your life. I can't shower without thinking of him because he bought me my shower gel; putting on my coat brings him to mind because we were together when the middle button popped off; I put on my favorite necklace and remember the time I lost it while making out in the backseat of his car; I open my top drawer and see his favorite bra and the underwear he bought for me; I put on my shoes and am reminded that I bought them to wear with the dress I wore for his birthday; I can't go in my backyard without picturing him out there playing basketball with my nephew for hours; and my bed, which is usually a safe haven... well, that's where he broke up with me.
And after the death blow, he gave me a list of things he hoped would put a smile on my face: inside jokes, good times we shared together. It was incredibly sweet and he held me while I sobbed. He kept offering to leave if I wanted him to, so I'd tell him to go, but then he'd say, "I can't leave you like this" and hold me again. He had tears in his eyes when I finally pushed him out the door. The next day was the first day in four months that we didn't speak, and it hurt like hell. I ache. The first thing I did, when I hauled my ass off the couch and made myself stop crying, was to collect everything that reminded me of him and pack it into a box: ticket stubs, photographs, dried rose petals, cards and notes from him, lotion he got me... eight months of my life, neatly packed away into a shoebox. Unfortunately, things like my bed and my backyard require a slightly larger box, so I guess I'll have to overcome the sadness they bring me by reassociating happy memories with them.
I know that I will probably love again and someday I'll find someone else... but honestly, I'm not sure I can do better than Nate. We complemented each other perfectly; it was a really, really great fit and in eight months, we never had even one fight. Maybe that was the problem: not enough danger, not enough excitement. But I'm not about to begin analyzing where and when the relationship went wrong; to do so would drive me mad. So for now I'll let myself be coddled by my family and friends, eat whatever I want, listen to my breakup playlist and go to sleep hugging a box of tissues. That's what will get me through the moments every day when I reach for my phone to tell him something funny that just happened, forgetting he's completely out of my life.
I once dated a guy through the Fall and he told me years later that the season always makes him think of me because "you were my Autumn." Well, Nate was my Autumn. And my Winter. And my Spring. I thought he was going to be my Summer, too. There were things I was really looking forward to experiencing with him: camping trips, friend's weddings, the rest of our lives... you get my drift.
On Sunday night he held my hand and told me we couldn't keep spending time together as boyfriend and girlfriend because the "spark" (why do guys always use that word?) wasn't there for him and it wouldn't be fair to me, but he cares about me too much and enjoys my company too much to eliminate me from his life. He still wants to be friends. Of course he does. They always do. I told him he can't have it both ways, and that's the hardest part. I'll never see him again. To do so would just be too hard.
A breakup is like a death in that way. Someone you loved so much and thought would be around forever is all of a sudden just cut out of your life. The stages of grief are very similar to those experienced when mourning a death: 1. Denial; 2. Anger; 3. Bargaining; 4. Depression; 5. Acceptance. I think I'm currently in the midst of denial and hope I can skip over the middle three stages to the last one. Going about every day life is the hardest part right now. It's not possible for someone to remain in your life for the better part of a year (and believe me, it was the better part) and not have them impact pretty much every aspect of your life. I can't shower without thinking of him because he bought me my shower gel; putting on my coat brings him to mind because we were together when the middle button popped off; I put on my favorite necklace and remember the time I lost it while making out in the backseat of his car; I open my top drawer and see his favorite bra and the underwear he bought for me; I put on my shoes and am reminded that I bought them to wear with the dress I wore for his birthday; I can't go in my backyard without picturing him out there playing basketball with my nephew for hours; and my bed, which is usually a safe haven... well, that's where he broke up with me.
And after the death blow, he gave me a list of things he hoped would put a smile on my face: inside jokes, good times we shared together. It was incredibly sweet and he held me while I sobbed. He kept offering to leave if I wanted him to, so I'd tell him to go, but then he'd say, "I can't leave you like this" and hold me again. He had tears in his eyes when I finally pushed him out the door. The next day was the first day in four months that we didn't speak, and it hurt like hell. I ache. The first thing I did, when I hauled my ass off the couch and made myself stop crying, was to collect everything that reminded me of him and pack it into a box: ticket stubs, photographs, dried rose petals, cards and notes from him, lotion he got me... eight months of my life, neatly packed away into a shoebox. Unfortunately, things like my bed and my backyard require a slightly larger box, so I guess I'll have to overcome the sadness they bring me by reassociating happy memories with them.
I know that I will probably love again and someday I'll find someone else... but honestly, I'm not sure I can do better than Nate. We complemented each other perfectly; it was a really, really great fit and in eight months, we never had even one fight. Maybe that was the problem: not enough danger, not enough excitement. But I'm not about to begin analyzing where and when the relationship went wrong; to do so would drive me mad. So for now I'll let myself be coddled by my family and friends, eat whatever I want, listen to my breakup playlist and go to sleep hugging a box of tissues. That's what will get me through the moments every day when I reach for my phone to tell him something funny that just happened, forgetting he's completely out of my life.
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