To all the boys…thank you.
Thank you for teaching me.
Thank you for showing me what I’m worth.
Thank you for opening me up to new experiences.
Thank you for giving me love.
Thank you for breaking my heart.
Thank you for all of the opportunities to see my own strength.
I don’t want to go on and on about them all, and there have been plenty…but there are a handful from who I truly learned, who I fully loved, who without a doubt - have made me into the person I am today.
If you’re reading this, and you think it’s about you; it probably is. I’ve never been one to shy away from my feelings, to let others know how I felt about them. So if you’re reading this, and you remember our time together and if it was significant to you in any way - you are one of the ones.
Certainly I haven’t done everything right in my life. If I had, one of you would have been my last one. But I’m still here, looking for that one.
Each and every one of you gave me a story. Stories that I have written, or will eventually one day write; or for the most special of you - ones that I will never share; because I don’t want to let the world into what we had. No matter how long it’s been over.
I think about you all. Maybe not everyday, but often enough that I wonder where you are and if you’re happy.
I hope you are happy.
That’s all I have ever wanted for you - even if it wasn’t with me.
"So, what are you looking for exactly?"
I’ve been asked this question so many times. By friends, by strangers, by potential lovers and by my mother.
I’ve come up with a not so clever battalion of answers which include the following:
- Someone to hang out with.
- Someone to play video games with.
- Someone to eat pizza with.
- Someone to spend a significant amount of time with that I eventually don’t want to punch in the face.
The last one is pretty much my standard, go-to answer 99% of the time.
At least once I day I ponder that question - What am I looking for? I think if I knew the answer my life would sure as hell be a lot easier. Sometimes I am completely content sitting at home in my sweatpants, ordering GrubHub and playing PacMan. Other nights, I am lonely - wishing I had a person with whom I could go out on the town and be fabulous with.
You would think that being 36 I’d have it all figured out.
You would be wrong.
I have been, for most of my adult life, fiercely independent. I have built my life around never needing anyone, relying on anyone, or expecting that anyone would ever come through for me when I wanted them too. The strange part about this way of life is that I didn’t do this out of necessity. I have I strong family structure. My parents are still together and are just as much in love as the day I was born. I have an amazing group of friends, who would do anything I asked of them.
So why am I so fucked up? Why am I perpetually throwing any possible chance of happiness and love under the bus? Why am I jumping ship, even before the boat starts to take on water?
The only explanation I can come up with, is that I am completely and utterly terrified of being 100% happy.
The most significant relationship of my formed adult years was with a man whom at the time was a complete train wreck. He was an alcoholic, emotionally manipulative, bi-polar and basically unreasonable and unreliable on every level. And we were together almost eight years. I gave everything I had to him. Everything.
Is it possible I gave away my faith in love in the process???
All I know for sure, is that now, when I meet someone that I truly find charming and interesting - I become one of those crazy girls who wants to share everything, who has no filter, who can’t keep her facehole shut to save her life.
I had hoped that I would have more wisdom about this crap at this point in my life. Instead, I am perpetually freaking out all the goddamn time.
I should say that I’m sorry. I’m sorry for loving too hard, for caring too much, for investing so much…when the reality is, none of these things are bad. I wear my heart on my sleeve, I speak my mind, I share my feelings. I am open. Probably so much more so than any person should be. But I won’t apologize for that. I won’t apologize for being myself.
One day, maybe I’ll meet someone who can understand it. Someone who won’t care that I cry at stupid commercials, someone who will appreciate that I know what I want from my life and won’t fault me for it. Someone who won’t care that I have a nice apartment and a job that I love and sense of self that knows what I am willing to put up with and what I am willing to compromise.
Until then, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if I was too much. Too giving, too loving, too concerned with you and how your work day went. I’m sorry that I was ever genuinely interested in your life. I’m sorry if that makes me seem needy. I’m sorry if that makes me seem naïve. I’m sorry if my wanting to know what makes you tick, what makes you want to get out of bed in the morning is of interest to me.
I’m sorry for being someone who just simply wanted to get to know you.
The thing is - of all of this - I’m not sorry.
I am done apologizing. My character, my heart, my feelings - you discount them. You ignore them. You pretend that they don’t matter. And this is where you are wrong. I love fiercely, I am loyal to a fault. I am open and trusting and forgiving. And if you just gave me a chance, you would see that.
My alarm goes off. It’s 4am, still dark out, and the world sleeps.
I get up and out of bed, stretch and turn on the dimmest light available. I am not ready to face the world yet. I am not ready to face the fact that I don’t dream about you anymore, that you are not the first thing on my mind when my eyes open to start a new day.
It’s weird that I miss missing you.
But here I am. Moving on, moving forward… The cruel words said, the mistakes made, the lies told and the truths never spoken. It’s getting easier; but it doesn’t mean I like it. It doesn’t mean that I wanted it this way. It doesn’t mean that I thought this would how things would come to be between us.
I get up and brush my teeth. I wash my face and I look in the mirror, and I stare at the image of a woman whom I sometimes no longer recognize. Time changes things. People change you. Adventures and events that once seemed so important are suddenly inconsequential. Lessons learned from a lifetime ago, even if it wasn’t a lifetime ago.
I miss missing you.
The crazy thing about moving on is that sooner or later you are bound to forget. Forget their face, their name, their touch. I think that’s where the sadness comes from. Losing the memory. Forgetting what their voice sounds like. Forgetting the way they used to make you feel special. Forgetting how they made you feel so alive. Forgetting what those “Good morning” texts did to your heart.
Dressed and out the door; everyday I take this walk and it slowly fades that you’ve been here before. On this sidewalk, in front of my house. Inside my heart. I know I was always the dreamer. More in touch, more invested, just - more. One day enough rain will fall, enough suns will set, that I won’t picture you on my front steps. It hasn’t happened yet.
"I hate children."
This is verbatim what he said to me via text message last night. Before I can respond to his absurd and very to-the-point statement, he continues…
"I honestly believe, and this is for real, that if everyone under 25 was exterminated, and no one was allowed to reproduce for ten years; the world would be a much better place."
This short, but very intense rant came about because I had been out to lunch with some friends earlier in the day, and they have a 14 month old child. While I was playing with the child, I was unintentionally headbutted by the little guy; and I ended up with a busted, fat lip. No harm, no foul. He’s a kid. Things happen. However when I shared this story with him, that was his immediate response.
"I hate children."
I understand that kids aren’t for everyone. I like them well enough, mostly those who I actually know - strange kids screaming on the bus, throwing tantrums in the grocery store, and generally acting like little heathens - those I can do without. But to say that I hate them? I don’t hate anything.
Hate is a strong word. It sends the message that you are incapable of feeling even the smallest amount of sympathy for any person, place or thing. I can’t stand the Olive Garden. I don’t know why, it’s just not my kind of place. But do I hate it? No. That would be dumb. To hate something that isn’t outright causing me any direct harm. I have many ill feelings towards child molesters. But do I hate them? No. I should, but I don’t. I don’t like them very much, and I realize that sometimes victims become victims; and while I’m not excusing or condoning their actions I have a hard time feeling hate.
The thing about the word hate is that it is tossed around too loosely. I honestly believe that negative energy only begets negative energy. So when you choose to surround yourself with the kinds of people who use the word “hate” on a regular basis, you are simply allowing them to pass off that negativity on to you.
Think about it…have you ever been witness to a fight, an argument or some other altercation that while you weren’t directly involved in somehow managed to stress you the fuck out?? We all have. And even though it has nothing to do with you; suddenly you’re all amped up.
As far as the dude with his hatred of children mentality, it gave me some excellent insight to his character as both a man and a human being. Fortunately enough, he showed this side early on; and I realized I didn’t want to spend another moment sharing my time with someone like that.
There isn’t a place in my life for haters.
you get what you pay for.
you pay for what you get.
just think about that for a minute…
Yesterday I got something that I had been waiting a very long time for. Even though I knew it was coming, and in the first moments of it’s arrival I was filled with excitement. Joy, even.
But as I held it in my hands, something changed.
I realized, in that moment, that while I wanted it, I didn’t NEED IT anymore.
It was a rare moment of clarity for me. I was grateful, but no longer desperate. I was thankful, but no longer envious. I was hopeful.
And really, that’s all I’ve ever wanted.