Oh Jeez:

Ch-ch-changes

After stops, starts and stutters, soaring hopes, romantic weekends stolen from our “real lives”, sweaty sexy romps and gentle kisses, I told the Spaniard I just couldn’t see him or talk to him anymore. I need a break, and I need it to be real. No more “I’ll just see you in Boston” when we fall into each others naked arms for the weekend and come up needy. No more “maybe I’ll visit” that end in tears and talks of moving closer. No. More.

I’ve felt emotionally manipulated by him for awhile. Yes, in a moment of frailty I called him last week when I had a freakout - and I shouldn’t have. He dealt with it beautifully, swallowing his pride and letting me scream and cry until I fell asleep. Since then, I’ve felt guilty. He’s milked it for all it was worth “well I supported you, why can’t you just support me when I need you? I’m having a mental breakdown here.” He’s baited me, ensnared me, entrapped me into feeling like I’m the only thing that can save him, and its just too much pressure. I can barely save myself. I need to start seeing someone on the regular (therapy wise) to be able to sort through the fact I can’t figure out how to handle transitions, authority, changes and the real world. And you know what? Thats okay. I’ll work on it.

Its okay that I’m not grown up yet. All of the Spaniard’s hints about marriage and babies and the fact I’m the only girl he’s ever felt this way about (his words) make me sick to my stomach with fear. My mother (the sassy, crazy hippy) was engaged three times before she met my father. Her first husband was apparently extremely similar to the Spaniard. He was funny and sweet and attractive, but ultimately couldn’t get his shit together ever, and she left him. I don’t want my life to be spent supporting a man who is falling apart all over the place, only to end in heartbreak. I’m not going to start dating him again and let him move to DC so that I can keep supporting him for the rest of his life. I’m not going to commit to a relationship, because I can feel he’s in it for the long haul. I’m not. doing. that. 

Upon telling him how I felt, it was like a giant weight was pulled out of my body, from my tiny cold toes to my wispy weird brain. The day after, I’m going to say I’m sad. Its okay. Sad is fine, melancholy is okay, but ultimately I don’t have to feel unhappy and unstable about committing to something I just cannot handle. I’m only 23, I’m only on my first job, I’m only dating and I’m totally okay with that. I don’t want to know who I’m going to end up with for the rest of my life. If I let him go and he doesn’t change, I’ve sidestepped an emotional freighter that was bound to wreck my own self-worth. Instead, I’ll let him travel where he needs to go to fix himself, and I will fix my own feelings and thoughts on my own.

There’s a different guy, Penguin, who isn’t too special. Actually, he might be, and I just haven’t let myself notice him yet. He’s intelligent, refers to himself as High-Bro (a bit high-brow but with a large foundation of bro that I can’t seem to squash out of him) he’s still growing, he’s interesting and he makes me giggle. He’s weird-looking, with a hawkish nose and an almost-Gosling demeanor, if only he was cuter. Lets just say he would have been my perfect highschool-boyfriend. A plus is he knows how to dress himself, and although sexually we’re not super compatible, I’m having a good time. He makes me feel worth it (whatever “it” is). I just need to make sure I’m not jumping into this so I feel supported by someone, during this time of being alone and being by myself. He’s said the typical “I like you.” and I’ve responded in a generally favorable and agreeable response, but I’m not going to commit just yet.

In the past three months, I’ve noticed something. Its like a huge magnet is rolling around under us, realigning our thoughts, places and needs. There’s this huge upheaval in the universe. People are shifting, new places, new spaces, new boyfriends, new breakups. Something in the water, or the collective unconsciousness. We’re all looking for a change, and dammit we’re actually brave enough to throw caution to the wind and go for what we want. 

Is this what growing up means?

With love,
Bear

Obligatory Breakup Post (on Sad, or Maybe Not)

I wish I could be that romantic, wistful girl who is mysterious and beautiful in a heartbreaking story of love. The one who, when left, waifs around the fresh food section of an open air market, crying because the smell of fresh pecans or the sight of perfectly rounded grapes reminds her of feeding her loved one in bed while he twirled her hair through his strong fingers.

I wish I could be so deliriously heartbroken that I can’t eat, throwing my hands up in despair as my friends and family flock around me and coo and cluck and hug, and let me rest. 

Instead this seems almost worse. I am a crazed young adult, not quite a young professional (just need the job), who doesn’t know whether I’m sad, or fine. I’ve gone two days with happy thoughts in my head, a series of “good luck but good riddance” adages on my tongue as I think of all of our differences. But one sight of a luscious beard in a crowd sends me spiraling into a pit of doom, where I cry my eyes out. Only to emerge, instead of a teary wisp of a girl who everyone can nod at and say “oh, she was in LOVE, what a tragedy”, no, instead I rather resemble a rotten tomato. Squishy red face, with some odd hard places, and that feeling you get saying “oh, if I had only gotten to her yesterday she would have been great.”

No, I had to walk boldly into a love I was not confident of. I picked the opposite personality of what made sense, a complaining, selfish, loud, small-town guy who shook me up and let me spend all the money I could on the relationship out of love. He tested my patience, sapped my emotions, and now I am almost too sick of taking care of him, to take care of myself in the time I most need it.

What happens when the wrong guy still has your heart? I don’t see prince charming vaulting over pews up the wedding isle to grab my hand and take me away. Instead, I see the wrong guy knowing that maybe later we would have worked, but for now its too hard. I see him leaving my sorry ass crying in bed as he tells me, its just not working for him either.

But my heart, that vicious, fickle asshole, decides it has already run away to try and live with him, dreaming about him every day so every day I have to go and get it back. I think my ass-heart already convinced my lips all they need is to kiss his, and everything will be fixed, because they refuse to bad-mouth him or the situation.

So what happens when half your body believes its still living a fairytale, and your brain pipes up and tells you to quit it?

Maybe its like an addiction. If I go cold turkey, I’ll be okay. But looking at his pictures on my phone, listening to the saved voicemails…I slip into a zombie-like state of neurotic crying and shaking, then lethargic lounging while every movie I try to watch I turn off before it ends. Who cares? I don’t. Ends are for losers. That means either he loves you, or he doesn’t. and I can’t deal with that right now.

WIth grumpy crying and the inability to lose weight even when depressed,

Bear

Lead me not into temptation, but deliver me from penis.

At the cusp of diving headfirst into a happy relationship, I’m being wishy washy and stupid. The Spaniard, who I’ve been sporting as Official Boyfriend since December, is fantastic. I just got back from a week at his house and have been sunshine and rainbows ever since. I, for the first time since Nudge three and a half years ago, am madly in love with someone who actually feels the same way about me. 

The Spaniard is just needy enough to calm the fears in my heart about how his attractiveness must get him all the ladies and—since he lives in Boston—our long-distance love could be pockmarked with infidelity and secrets. But, it seems I am the only fickle one in this union.

Yet, here is what I’ve been looking for since Nudge broke my heart, and I’m feeling…unsure. A friend said I’m looking for reasons to ruin it, after I drunkenly confessed to her I felt I needed to break it off with him since I like him so much. 

Its Charles. I have known Charles for about…six years. He started as a friend of a dumb-boyfriend, progressed to an occasional date when he or I had any time for each other, and has since skyrocketed into occasional hookup territory slash best friends who pretend to hate each other… he and I both being massive bar-flirts. He’s one of those guys I am watching build an empire around him of adoring fans, thinking, ‘why did I not go out with him before?’

Oh, thats why. Did I mention I’m terrified of his junk?

I previously have been fearless. Tall, short, large, skinny, give me a man who wants to kiss me, and I will find something to love about him, opening my heart and eventually my bed. (boo, you whore). Yet, Charles and I have been dancing around each other for years without actually doing the deed. After confessing his love to me one night, he turned around and made out with a dumb slut at a party. I got drunk and slapped him, leaving his friends to hate me, and my friends to pick up the pieces. 

Bee calls me fickle, and I agree. If Charles gets a lady at a bar, I go home fuming, but every kiss of ours ended in uncertainty and weird feelings…what if I have to deal with his hefty manparts!? Now that the Spaniard is in my life, I have a good reason to keep Charles at bay, and I try. But last night was his 25th birthday, something I wouldn’t miss for the world. J.K. and I packed ourselves into a car and drove into the city, something we barely do. But Philly is a delight when you have three great men who love to dance waiting for some ladies to pal around with… so saying no was not an option.

Halfway through the night, Charles and I were sufficiently drunk enough that dancing with each other stopped being fun and started meaning something .You know. Like, the words you hear means what you’re thinking in your head. Yet, I couldn’t figure out if I should pay attention to his exaggerated “fuck you”s and references to the fact I’ll only love him when he has money. I got the hint I should step out of it when he had girls flocking to his side via his dance moves, yet Charles pulled me close, kissed my cheek and said it again.

I love you. 

Now, I care for him. I, okay, I’ll say it, I love him. I want him to succeed and have someone to support and care for him and part of me had always wanted to be that person, but not now. I want to be that bestie, that person who can watch him succeed and lend a hand and talk to him about how dumb the bitches are he hates, while thinking that about the ones he dates.

But I want the chance with my boy, the one who didn’t hesitate to step up and say ‘I like you’. The one who called me every night for nine months. The one who loves me for all the little things I do…the one who lies and says he has trouble falling asleep when he can’t hear me snore.

I’ll figure it out someday, right?

Bear