Loved and Lost

Welcome to the Valentine’s Day edition of Down With The Norm.

To get into the spirit, let’s talk about the times that stupid cherub Cupid royally fucked me over.

My first was innocent and sweet. Dylan. I was fifteen, and so was he. I’d never kissed anyone before, and he graciously showed me how in his basement, my entire body burning red as he leaned me against the pool table and gave my eager lips their first peck.

The next one I remember is Alex #1. I met him at the Singles Ward. Neither of us took church seriously, and we’d leave early to make out in his car. It was something fancy, like an Infiniti or something that I was supposed to be impressed by. He was at least 5 years older than me, had pale skin and orange-red hair, and talked about working out more than he actually worked out.

Next was Joey. He showed me Fall Out Boy and the Oreo Cheesecake Shake at Sonic. A true emo boy who took his feelings out on a guitar. He had no idea how to follow through on plans, and, as Joey did, bailed on our Halloween date to go to a haunted house with his buddies instead. So I, desperate for somewhere to be, went to Alex’s (Alex #2, that is), who was just a friend, I swear. I don’t remember how that night ended, but the next morning began with a spinning head and pain in every place imaginable. Part of me blamed Joey, and we went our separate ways.

Somewhere between Joey and the next one was Brody. Brody raped me, and that’s all I’m going to say about it here because that horse was beaten to death four posts ago.

I knew Austin from high school. We’d lost touch until a while after he’d returned from his mission. He didn’t drink, but he brought me wine and insisted that I drink it in hopes that he could feel me up. He ghosted me after a couple of months, turns out he was married.

And then there was Joe. He was 25, and a brand new pharmacist. He was boring, but nice, and therefore deserved a chance. I gave him one for six whole months. I think he may have been my first breakup. I vomited both before and after, I have no idea how to handle disappointing people. Last I heard, he’s still friends with my ex-roommate. She had a habit of keeping in touch with those I’d left behind.

After that was Alex #3, because I hadn’t yet learned my lesson. Alex #3 was different, though. We met thanks to Tinder, our first date in a quaint European-style cafe for brunch. We eventually got kicked out after four consecutive hours of blissful conversation. He took me bowling after, and a month later, I was all but living with him. I invited him to a fundraiser gala where he’d meet my parents. He took me with him to Banana Republic to find the perfect suit. The night of the gala arrived, and I was dressed in an elegant, floor-length red dress, jewelry, and a face full of makeup I’d been working on since I’d gotten home from work. He rang the doorbell, and to my dismay, he wasn’t wearing the suit we picked out. Just jeans and a simple t-shirt and jacket. My face sunk into my throat, which sunk into my chest. He was breaking up with me. He said he’d coincidentally ran into his One That Got Away the other day, and decided he had to chase her instead. I closed the door slowly, gripping the sides of my gown, and sauntered to the gala alone, hoping that no one would ask me for an explanation.

This wouldn’t be the first time I’d be left for someone else.

Tim was somebody I’d admired from a distance since high school. He and his girlfriend back then had exactly what I was craving; a seemingly blissful, happy union between two blissfully happy dorks. He was a bleeding heart liberal, a D&D nerd, a motivated millennial with a master’s degree at 24. He only asked me to coffee because his girlfriend wanted to be my friend. It took me months to agree (thank you, crippling anxiety), and by the time I did, they were broken up. He and I clicked over iced coffees and side hugs. Our second date was at the cinema, and afterword, he declared his like for me. I was giddy, and proclaimed mine for him. And we swiftly became each others’ dorks. A few weeks later, he asked to come over. After skirting around the issue for a moment while petting my cat as an excuse for not looking me in the eye, he asked if we could not date anymore, as he was too anxious.

I found out on Facebook that he’d gotten into another relationship not 2 weeks after he dumped me.

Will met me at a Halloween party. He told me I had something “special,” something so alluring that he simply couldn’t keep his eyes off of me. (I was dressed as a PlayBoy Bunny, in true Elle Woods fashion, though, so that more than likely explains it). He was sincere, sweet, and genuine. The last time he attempted to see me, he had to work late at the Apple store, and he was terribly sorry. He waited until midnight on a Thursday to explain why he never showed. And now, it’s been two months since I’ve heard from him, so I presume that that’s over.

Then there’s the one that blindsided me. A Facebook acquaintance, initially, turned best friend, turned Cat Sitter, turned boyfriend all in a matter of a month. I panicked and withdrew, then reached back out again. He panicked and withdrew and begun a hiatus of which I see no end. But as soon as I get closure on that one, I’ll pass it on. I’m sure you’re dying to know, just as I am dying to get it over with so I can stop feeling like I’m about to fall off a cliff of emotions.

I’ve heard the “it’s not you, it’s me” bullshit a handful of times. The sting of being left for another girl only lasted a day or two, and honestly didn’t even alter my self-esteem. I’ve had terrible experiences with relationships and dating. I actively, deliberately, obnoxiously avoid them at all costs, but they evidently just happen sometimes. I keep using the excuse that I’m not ready, but I think that’s a lie. Relationships scare me because they require some degree of sacrifice of freedom. They confine me, suffocate me, and I inevitably either run, or make him run. They require vulnerability, trust, and communication. All things that I am still doing my damn best to develop.

Despite all this, or maybe because all of this, the weight of loneliness is getting heavier day by day. And sure, we can blame some of it on our society’s commercialization of love; Valentine’s Day.

Here I sit, almost 24 years old, with two cats and no idea what a healthy, meaningful relationship is, much less how to be in one.

I don’t need chocolates or flowers or teddy bears. I don’t need a date or a card. But damn would it be nice to be loved in the way I need to be loved for once.

Securely.

M.

 

On Love

I run the risk of making myself out to be a bitter, petty spectacle, but hey-that beats dealing with feelings in a self-destructive manner. If this doesn’t work, my plan B is to consume a lot of cadbury eggs and then poke at my chubby self in the mirror for an hour.

(side note: Easter has way better candy options than Valentine’s day. Mini Cadbury Eggs > those Sweetheart candies.)

(side note to the side note: the aforementioned side note is not a plug for one holiday over another. All holidays are created equal. But the ones that feature Cadbury Mini Eggs are slightly more equal.)

Contrary to popular belief, I actually love Valentine’s Day, despite my lack of a “significant other.” I hate when people are like “We shouldn’t need holidays to make sure our loved ones feel loved! We should make them feel that way every day!” Frankly, we (I’m speaking for the general public) don’t have time or the funds EVERY DAY to wake our loved ones to heart-shaped pancakes and present them with thoughtful cards that we totally didn’t just barely scribble on in the car before thrusting it in our loved one’s face. We knew it was a Special Day, okay? Our handwriting is always that shaky and illegible. You know what? I’ll just read it to you.

My point is, Valentine’s Day is fun. It’s a day we can plan ahead for (but probably won’t) and take time out of our hellish schedules to really connect with our significant others and remind them that we love them even though we are so busy and so tired all of the time from being adults 24/7. It’s unifying and comforting-knowing that millions of couples are displaying their affection for their loved ones at the same time because there’s always room for more affection. It’s beautiful and cheesy and mushy and gushy and pathetic and I LOVE IT.

No, I’ve never had a “Valentine.” I’ve just coincidentally never been in a relationship on February 14th over the past 22 years of my life. What of it?

And no, I’m not even the slightest bit sad, bitter, or petty about it. I’M NOT, STOP GIVING ME THAT LOOK.

I mean, I’ll admit-I did my share of comparing my single life to the coupled individuals roaming the mall, arm-in-arm, as I loitered around solitarily, hoping to find a little something to treat mah-self today. Luckily for my wallet, I didn’t find anything. I must admit, for just a moment, I felt a bit sad-recognizing that all these couples were compiled of individuals that have found somebody that (presumably) understands them and loves them and is willing to work through each others’ problems and differences and I applaud that! Because it’s not easy to do. My record of tolerating a boyfriend is like 6 months sooooo I’m not saying I’m a quitter, but if the shoe fits?

Anyway, I’m not one of those bitterly single people who are going to spend their evening wallowing with a bottle of wine and a chick flick tonight. (But if you are-more power to ya! You be the best wallower you can be. Wallowing feels GOOD.) I’m really comfortable with being by myself. And I acknowledge that human relationships just haven’t been a priority for me up to this point in my life. I have so many priorities that I can’t possibly squeeze any more in! And for that, I must suffer the consequences-which include a lame Valentine’s Day.

Reading back through this post, I have no idea what my point was, and you probably don’t either. All I know is that I was feeling a little melancholy on my way home from the mall earlier but that is no longer the case. I’m off to eat some Mini Cadbury Eggs.

Happy Valentine’s Day, y’all.

M.