I may be brave, courageous, adventurous, outrageous, bold, daring in many aspects of my life and the way that I live it, but for whatever reason I seem to be incapable of properly dealing with relationships.
For the past week I’ve been killing myself trying to figure out what to do about Ben… it was obvious that our relationship was falling apart, I just couldn’t figure out why. I agonized continuously, trying to solve this quadratic equation of variable lust/love/friendship with the two constants him and me.
After our confrontation on the street corner the other night, I think we both knew that it was the beginning of the end. I’d forced allowed him to put up with all of my bullshit for too too long [two months, in fact] and I could just see that I was hurting him. not on purpose—au contraire—but I was hurting him by stringing out a relationship that I couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t working.
My brain operates at 97GHz, and there’s no way to shut it down. It analyzed him—smart, funny, cute, sexy, caring, understanding. It analyzed our dynamic—give and take, romantic, friendly, casual, sexy. it analyzed extenuating circumstances—the stressful year I’ve had, the scene, the boys… all of these factors were considered but none of them could explain why, after two months, I still couldn’t commit. Not just that, but I was subconsciously treating him poorly and hurting his feelings.
But sometimes there isn’t a reason, sometimes it’s just the way that it goes. you can’t force romance, you can’t understand love. you shouldn’t have to make it work—it should just work. and when it doesn’t work, well, then, it doesn’t have to be anybody’s fault.
So we go our separate ways, promise to be friends. I’m sad, he’s sad. I apologize, he laughs, I laugh, I apologize again, he jokes. I’m single. Again.
Ben and I had moved in the same social circle for years before we met… when we finally did meet, our mutual friends found it bizarre that we hadn’t met already. It was so obvious that we should meet and fall for each other, they said. Under their breaths, of course, they whispered to Ben, “watch out for that Jonny—he’s a heartbreaker”.
I’ve dated 17 people in the past 4 years. Half of these relationships have ended in flames [they hate me, they loathe me, they move back home, they spite me] and the other half have ended in brilliant, everlasting friendships.
Am I going to give up? of course not. but I’m tired of hurting people. I’m tired of a bad reputation. I’m tired of lingering guilt and self-loathing.
I’m only 27, and I’ve got much to learn about this cliché game called love.
