That is what I tell him when he treats me like I don’t matter. How can you be important to anyone who treats you like you aren’t important? “Him” is no one specific anymore. He could be anyone. The men blur together because despite their differences, they always turn out to be a slightly varying shade of the same color of trash. Even the so-called “good” ones.
I have been guilty of being stupid, of being romantic and gullible and soft…as usual. I shouldn’t be so surprised at myself. Truly, I shouldn’t. I should know me by now and know the kind of men I attract and have always attracted… the kind that I have always been attracted to. It’s like a long-running joke, but none of it is funny. Fuck boys always get the last laugh, don’t they?
I swerved out of my lane. I do that far too often, watch far too many romantic comedies and dramas with subtle happenings that bloom into heart shattering romances. I forgot for 10 seconds that this is the real world and that I have a long history of choosing the wrong men. For 5 minutes, I forgot that I was tired, that I had given up men for the 100th time this year, and that the likelihood of actually meeting someone who deserved me was very unlikely. I started dreaming.
I fantasized. I couldn’t help it. The idea of being in a functioning, well-balanced, and healthy relationship was too much of a draw for someone who doesn’t really know what that feels like. Then I remembered what happened the last time I fantasized and the last time I admitted to loving someone. I know I shouldn’t live in the past, so I don’t. I exist in the present but am hyper aware of my own history. When my triggers are tickled, I disengage. I do not expect anyone to change for me. I know that they never do. People do not change for “love”. They learn to hide the worst parts of themselves or temporarily behave in a more pleasing way until you are hopelessly addicted to the fantasy. By that time, you are caught in a world filled with dragons and ogres that your truest love always slays and true love’s kiss fixes everything…with a bandaid.
You are waiting for the wounds to open. Trauma often happens that way. You don’t know it yet, but I should know by now. You cannot change people; they have to volunteer to become better. I no longer ask people to change. I do not beg for attention or ask more than twice for anything. I can abandon people without ever leaving. Watering myself down feels natural to someone who has always been too much for others. So I ask for boundaries and lines and, as long as I am not pushed, I will not cross them. Playing pretend is one of my greatest talents. Pretending to be okay, pretending to be unfazed, acting like everything is fine, that I can truly just be friends with someone I saw so much more in, but…
I am tired. I know by now that my friendships always last longer and sexual relationships are always temporary and usually short-lived. Surely, it is better to build a long-lasting friendship than to recklessly pursue a romantic relationship that will be over in a few months. This is how I reason with myself: weighing relationships with time as the measurement because I am far too tired of temporary people. Even casual sex has felt empty knowing that I am allowing someone to use my body who doesn’t give a fuck about my soul.
I do not have the time or energy to fall for someone I cannot be sure of. I still want the big wedding and the wedding dress and a beautiful engagement ring of blue diamonds, or possible sapphires. I still have time to work out those kinks because I am still searching without really looking. I re-downloaded Tinder for the 20th time this year, deleted Badoo a couple weeks ago after only having it on my Galaxy Note for 3 days. It only took 3 days to remember why I was tired of men and their fakeness and fuckery. Even I, with my longstanding love for twerking and ballet and all things dance, get tired of the same two step with simple, boring men who never have anything interesting to say and are always focused on getting laid.