In which I prattle on about dating and relationships…
With several million souls residing in the Metro DC area, one would think that after several years, a single woman would meet a decent guy in this joint. Or, more appropriately, a guy I am sufficiently interested in that is sufficiently interested in me.
This is not to say I haven’t met decent guys, I have. The problem that I’ve run into is that I always meet them at the wrong time. Usually right about the time I’m escaping from one bad relationship or another. Needless to say, that tends to be disastrous. I’m still licking my wounds and they are wanting to go on long walks on the beach. Hi, licking my wounds over here, lemme alone! And the good ones, they go on their way, knowing you aren’t ready, while the bad ones pursue you, hoping your lack of clear sight will make their path into your bed easier.
I have had, for the most part of my adult life, a bad tendency to go from one relationship to another, with no time in between to truly heal from the pain and the loss of what I thought was love - hell, the blog archives will testify to that little factoid right there. And as the new relationship begins to take on aspects of the old relationship, I chastise myself for having gotten involved again too soon. Apparently, after chastising myself and beating myself soundly about the head and heart, I finally got the message.
When they, the elusive they that is our society’s collective voice, say that you should take time to heal from a breakup, even if the breakup was what was best for you, “they” aren’t fucking kidding. Otherwise, you might very well find yourself drawn to the exact type of person you were trying to get away from in the first place.
My adult romantic life is absolutely cluttered with memories of abusive asshats, guys with mommy complexes, aging wanna be players, you name it, and some even had all of those traits. Now, when one takes all the data and analyzes it, one sees that the common denominator in all of this is none other than yours truly. By not ever allowing myself a chance to really heal, and being so broken and battered that I fell for pretty lines without ever reading the fine print, I walked into every single one of these nightmares as a willing participant.
Last summer, as I sat licking even more wounds, with countless nights of crying myself to sleep, I made a vow to myself that I would not get involved right away again. But I hadn’t even given it a couple of months when I went out on my first cautious dates with a man I met on a dating service. It was not enough time. He was a great guy, and has actually turned into a close friend and confidante, but I was in no position to be in a relationship. Not as long as I was still finding myself crying over certain songs or laying in bed thinking about what might have been. So I politely broke it off. Being one of the truly good guys, he understood and we have remained friends to this day.
Afterwards, I started spending a lot of time with a friend, a man who I had once been very deeply involved with. As time wore on, I realized I was spending too much time with him, thereby making the exact same mistake I had sworn I wouldn’t make again. In a desperate hope that he would understand my need to fully heal from past wounds, I began to pull away a bit. I desperately craved time and space to get my head clear. As much as I wanted to rebuild a relationship with him, I simply wasn’t in a position to do so. Sadly, he did not understand and we are no longer on speaking terms, but what is, is.
As spring moves in, naturally I begin thinking towards dating again. I’m still not sure if I am ready. For awhile every time I even considered dating I would find myself in tears. I cried thinking perhaps there was a chance and it’s gone forever. I cried remembering the cruel words at the end and the absolute insanity I felt overwhelming me. I cried knowing that I had to be cruel in return simply to make it all stop. There was no other way out, I had to be cold, and that cut me deeply. I had to go against my very nature in order to save my sanity.
Slowly the tears are drying up. They come less and less, and I find myself angry instead of sad. Angry that I wasn’t allowed the time I needed to be whole, angry that I was backed into a corner and had to lash out in order to stay sane, angry that he still takes great pleasure in trying to hurt me. Damn, damn angry.
But this is a good sign. It means the healing process is finally working. I have a way to go yet, but I’m starting to open up to the possibility of dating once again. This time with my personal boundaries firmly set, and no ignoring the red flags I’ve seen in warning far too many times.
If I had done this in the first place, after six long years in hell what seems a lifetime ago, I wouldn’t be in the situation I am now. If I would have allowed myself more time to simply enjoy my own company, well, life would certainly be a lot different. I blew off a lot of genuinely good guys by getting pulled in by the bad ones, by ignoring the red flags, and by not looking at the fine print.
I’m coming back, and this time I’m armed with a checklist and some serious ass kicking boots. Cross the line, push my boundaries, raise the flag, and you are out of here. I’ve been working long and hard on myself, on allowing myself to actually feel instead of constantly trying to block out asshattery, or tell myself that it isn’t really happening, and I’m pretty good at spotting the bullshit now.
It’s not happening today, but it’s definitely coming. I can almost see it, right there at the edge of my peripheral vision. You’ve been put on notice, DC. I expect you to be on your best behavior when I decide to let you take me out to dinner again. Don’t make me have to kick your ass to the curb. If I’ve got to mow through thirty of you to find the one right guy, I will do it. You don’t scare me. I’ve crawled through hell to get where I am now, and you don’t scare me one little bit.