0

The Blister on my Heal

It started as a slight irritation and then grew into a dull ache.  Soon enough it was a full blister, throbbing with pain, oozing with every step.

How ironic that her flip-flops were the cause.
Because she’s just that: a constant hurt that won’t subside.

He lent me the sandals, one day after the dog destroyed mine.
“Just keep them,” he suggested with a shrug.  “It’s not like she’ll be coming back to claim them.”
They were two sizes too big and covered in a hideous pattern of flamingos.  Even Jill commented that they looked wrong on me, yet I continued to wear them.

Perhaps I was too lazy to find new ones or maybe I was just used to being surrounded by reminders of her

When we first met, his closet was filled with all her stuff, everything she left behind and intended to return to, but never did.
When we decided to date exclusively, he removed up all her things and set me a picture of his half-empty wardrobe.  It made me smile briefly, until I realized the clothing had simply been boxed up and pushed out of sight, but not quite out of mind.  Just like her.  The bulk of it may have been packed away but some items still remained.  Her pink heart covered raincoat was still shoved under the seat of his car, a constant reminder of how fresh his wounds really are.

They still talk, comment on each other’s various posts and photos, but I know it’s never about me.  Because in her case, I’m the one out of sight.

Sometimes I wonder if I am the most insecure woman or the most naive fool who ever lived.
I can’t remember ever feeling such intense jealousy and resentment, especially towards a total stranger.  It’s disgusting.

Yet, he’s not without his own fears: that I’ll meet someone else, that I’ll up and leave, that I’ll change my mind.  In the end we both run the risk of getting hurt, we both have the potential to break each other’s heart, but that’s no reason to call it quits.


Since we made that transition into exclusivity I’ve felt bogged down with uncertainty and anxiety.  I’m constantly weighing the pros and cons, debating whether I should just up and leave, or try harder to let my guard down.  I wonder if he genuinely likes me or just sees me as something he needs to lock down.  I’m not an object, I’m not his personal prostitute, and I’m not her or his ex-wife.  I’m just me.  I don’t know how to be anyone else.
I know we have no staying power, but right now, being with him makes me happy.  Too happy.


I’ve thought a lot about it over the last couple weeks and have come to a realization.  The reason my relationships take on the same forms, it because I always get in my head about them.  I can’t decide if I should pull away or totally commit and I drive myself (and my boyfriend) absolutely crazy until it decimates and I fall to pieces, fearful that I’ve fucked up and made the wrong decision.
What if this time, rather than waste so much time and energy thinking about him, I focused it on myself and let the relationship run its course?  I’m happiest when I feel independent, so why not continue to live my life on my terms, whilst having a beautiful boy on the side.  My rules, my schedule, my life and if he has a problem with it, then the door is right there.  I need to put myself first and this so-called relationship second.

Easier said than done right?

Advertisements
0

Is It True?

After losing my passport and falling into a dark pit of self-loathing, I did what I always do in dire circumstances: I reconnected with a former fling.

In this particular case, it was my darling Lip Ring. I had been in Auckland and he had been pressuring me to hangout with him.  When he heard the news of my world collapsing (I’m not dramatic at all, I swear) he insisted I come out to the North Shore and have a couple beers, his treat. He rightly assumed that I needed my best friend/worst enemy, alcohol, to help me through the pain. We sat outside, chain smoking and sipping beers.  We chatted about a lot of things, but somehow our conversation got onto Neil Strauss’ The Game and the art of picking up the opposite sex.  I mentioned how intimidating it can also be for women to approach a man and strike up a conversation.
“There’s no reason a woman should be approaching a man in the first place,” he insisted.
“Why not?  How else will she let them know she’s interested?” I pressed.
“If he’s interested, then he’ll make the first move.  Simple as that.”
“So what’s a woman supposed to do to seduce a guy?”
“Make herself attractive, dress sexily and not be fat.”

ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!
Of course, this statement launched us into a heated debated, which made for some awesome angry sex later (God, our relationship is dysfunctional.) I couldn’t stop thinking about what he said, but decided to dismiss his views as exclusive to the Dutch and not applicable here in New Zealand. That is, until this week…

My friend Pete had just moved down under and came to visit me. We launched into a similar conversation when I insisted on performing my “Pick-up Rap” for him (yeah, I wrote a rap to pick up guys at the bar and believe me when I say it’s amazing.)
“Yeah, that’s pretty good, but there’s no reason for you to ever use it.”
“Why not?” I asked, “I want to try it out on a guy, I think it would be a great way to break the ice and at least garner a laugh.”
“If a guy is interested, he’ll approach you.  If you have to start the conversation, you’re wasting your time.  Sure, he might go home with you, but he’ll never actually be into you.”
“That CAN’T be true!” I cried, “What about shy guys?”
“Do you really want a shy guy who can’t even muster the courage to speak to you?  Believe me, as a woman, all you need to do is smile, make 5 seconds of eye contact and wait for him to do the rest.”
I refused to believe, even when Pete cited mating in the animal kingdom and how it’s normally the men who must put in the work to attract a partner. Here I was thinking that if I hit on a guy, he would be impressed and find it refreshing.  But apparently I am just coming off as desperate and pathetic.

Still in denial, I decided to test the theory.  During a Tinder rampage while in the city, I had matched with my ideal guy: tall, bearded, tattooed, well-traveled, North American.  We had chatted intermittently, but since I became pretty sheepish about my Tinder tear, I wasn’t really going on the app except to continue our lagging conversation.  He told me to add him to Facebook to chat there.  I did and then did not hear a peep out of him for weeks.
I struggled to come up with a clever and interesting greeting, but settled for something boring and cliche.  Then I waited. And waited.  And waited some more.  He had been online, he had read the message, but he didn’t respond for over two days.  Ashamed, I deleted the conversation history in an effort to pretend it hadn’t happened.  He finally responded after I took the drastic step of deleting him off Facebook, his response was half-hearted.

Who knows why he decided he wasn’t interested, but the fact of the matter was he obviously wasn’t and so he did not pursue me.  Maybe there is something to this claim after all, but it leaves me feeling so helpless.

Can someone shed some light on this for me?  Guys?  Girls?  Anyone?