The Happiest I’ve Ever Been

I have four unfinished drafts. I haven’t written in four weeks… or more. I get four new ideas every sleepless night. There’s too much and not enough going on in my life. And I can’t take it anymore. I’m writing at 3 am and decided to publish whatever word vomit I create. A friend of mine once suggested (likely out of pity) that my readers must like the honesty that these sad writing sessions are born from. He said this after I expressed confusion that one such word vomit post did infinitely better, views-wise, than a post I spent upwards of eight hours on.

 

Audio of this post:

 

The Best Four Months of My Life

 

Living on my own, therapy, love, and more…

I want to write. I do. I used to fight for myself. I did very well- surprisingly well- the first semester I moved into an apartment on campus by myself. Sure I had apartment-mates, but I saw them each no more than three times that whole school year (they were worse recluses than me!). It took until finals time to falter. That semester in group therapy I gave more advice than sought it. My life was great and I ran with that. Literally. That was when I started running. I wanted to do a 5K. About two months in I was pushing myself and that was the only area in my life I would not be satisfied with. I wanted to continuously improve and did.

I loved my life that year. It was the best semester of my life. Best three or four months of my life. I did things because I wanted to and that was that. I tried the whole vegetarian thing. I was looking into studying abroad. It was glorious. And, of course, I was in love. My first boyfriend. That’s pure. Completely the wrong person for me and that became blatantly apparent in the next few months, but for that brief beginning… it was glorious. I didn’t know I could be so happy.

 

Friendship, Healthier Coping, and Constant Support

That was the semester I began a friendship with one of the most caring people I’ve ever met- Mariah. I’d never had such a close friendship with someone before. It’s incredible she’s still my friend. That was also the semester we both turned 21. Every other weekend we’d get together, just the two of us (well with her boyfriend playing video games on a nearby couch), at her apartment to hang out and try different types of alcohol. Not the wildest college drinking stories. Not even close. But the best I could have asked for.

I’ve had issues with emotional overeating since I was about 10 years old. That semester? Not until finals time. It was like I imagine nicotine cravings are. Awful. Constant. And gnawing. Obviously, it wasn’t without a couple slip ups, but until I gave up during finals week… it was amazing. I sang so much that semester. Constant music. That’s what they always say. Therapists and other positive role models I’ve had: replace negative behaviors with positive ones. It’s so difficult. Sounds simple, but a song isn’t as effective as a donut for me. Not at first. That’s the semester I learned to be okay with crying. I’d been told crying isn’t shameful since I’d started therapy two years prior to that semester, but on my then boyfriend’s shoulder I accepted it.

It was my first semester as manager at a little food shop on campus. I met my coworkers I’d be friends with for the remainder of my university career. I was so nervous about my first leadership role. The boyfriend was constant support through anything and everything that semester. I’d never had that. With him, my therapists, my friends, and a pinch of belief in myself I learned I could be happy. I didn’t have to keep punishing myself for something I felt I deserved.

 

Beginning to Like Myself and Learning to Enjoy Life

I can’t underestimate this next part. I’ve hated the way I look, especially my weight, over any horrible thought I’ve ever had about my intelligence or other abilities. I never in a million years thought I’d look at myself with anything but disgust and shame. That semester, sometimes I’d wish I looked like someone’s reflection or shadow I’d catch at the corner of my eye then I’d realize that reflection or shadow had been mine. It was extremely confusing and alien at first. I began wearing tank tops for Pete’s sake! I liked how they looked… I almost can’t believe I got to that point. I was by no means skinny. I’ve dreamt of being skinny for more than a decade at this point. I didn’t weigh myself that whole semester. Maybe once for a class, but I think I refused to look at the time. Yet, I’ve never been happier with my body. Sometimes I would look in a mirror (I hate mirrors) and like how I looked! Actually looked at myself and felt good- confident even!

Unbelievable! That whole semester… And I enjoyed the heck out of it. As I experienced it I knew it likely would end. I was terrified. Like an unsavory indigestion I kept swallowing down. Yet, I pushed it aside and had the best three or four months of my life. It doesn’t sound like much, but when you’re used to wallowing in sadness sure that that’s all you’re worth- pain and disappointment- four months is infinity. I regret nothing. I lived. I loved. And I sure as hell made the best of it.

 

Where Am I Now?

Wow. That was certainly not the direction I expected this to go. Usually when my mind wanders it reminds me how unhappy I currently am. Getting creative, Brain. You jerk. Well, since I doubt I’ll finish up those other four drafts anytime soon, here’s the summary.

  1. I used to publish just whenever I was inspired on my old blog which was about once a month. I’m done making promises I won’t keep. Not to be rude, but I can’t keep disappointing myself. I’ll publish when I publish. Sorry.
  2. I hate living at home. My friend offered to let me move in with her, but she lives in West Texas about six hours away from where I currently live. I said no. I regret that at least five times a day. Okay, maybe only three times a day.
  3. I’m codependent without anyone to be codependent with. That’s what those four drafts said in a nutshell.
  4. The fourth kind of overlaps with the friend offering her home thing. It was a pros and cons list of moving out or living at home with my parents.

 

I hate my life right now. I have plans to make it better. I hope I follow through with them. It’s kind of difficult at the moment to find motivation. But what choice do I have? It’s fight for myself or be miserable. I know I’ve written something like this at least five times before, but that’s what I’ve found life to be: a repetitive pep talk where I have to convince myself I’m the most qualified person to care and put in the work to make my life enjoyable. I don’t know what else I can do.

I’ve given up on people before and I will never forgive myself for it. I’m terrified of what will happen if I give up on myself completely. I’ve seriously let myself go, but I know there’s some line I’ve never crossed. I know I haven’t reached rock bottom. Things can be worse. And I’m afraid. I don’t want to get there. I won’t get there. Stupid pep talk after stupid pep talk- I won’t let myself get there. Thanks, Fear. Thanks, Unhappiness. I will only let my life get better because of you.

I’m Still Sore – Personal Poetry Collection

Disclaimer: This is an old poem. I found a batch of poems from my last semester in university. I wrote this less than a year after breaking up with someone. It’s the same someone I posted about who isn’t over “the way he made me suffer when we were together” (click here for that post). It’s a year late being published, but I find transformation and change fascinating, so I’m posting it to mark that confusing, but all too real, state I went through post break up.

Appreciate yourselves and know when you deserve better. That’s one of the most important things I learned from that relationship. Sincerely, thank you Jay.

 

 

Spring 2018

I’m Still Sore

What do you want from me?

Isn’t that always the question?

Please don’t hurt me.

I’m still sore from last time.

 

Don’t you see?

I gave you my prime.

I gave you my glee.

Now, I give you my rhyme.

 

Did I want to be free?

or simply flee?

Truth is, I felt like a flea.

I felt that was my fee.

 

So now I plea-

please don’t hurt me.

I’m still sore from last time.

 

You ate my thyme.

Turned me into chyme.

Now I am slime.

But I am no mime!

 

Don’t you see?

I gave you my prime.

I gave you my glee.

Now I give you my rhyme.

 

It is not a crime-

to be.

 

Though I’m still sore from last time,

You will not hurt me.

No more questions.

 

Do what you want, but

not with me.

 

Trust – A Short Story

I have something special for you guys today. It’s a story I wrote for a creative writing class back in in 2015 or 2016. I’d never attempted a short story before. In fact, this was before I began blogging, so it’s the first narrative I’m proud of. Not so much for the writing skills, but more so for the twisted message. Enjoy?

 

Trust

            “Jump!” he screamed, hurling himself from the precipice.

I, unprepared, stumbled a few steps before tripping after him. I jumped, kind of. “Why did I jump?” I wondered as I flew down the mountain close enough to it that had I not been hugging my arms to my chest I would have sanded myself on the way down. “You meet a nice guy and next thing you know you’ve jumped off a mountain.”

On one of my morning runs, I met Jimmy. His father owned the grocery store in town that I typically passed. For several days I had seen a figure lurking in the shadows of the brilliant pink and orange sky of dawn. The figure was the size of a young man. Short and wispy, but with a sort of strength to it I could see from the path. There he stood, leaning against the door of the shed his father used to store inventory. I saw him there every day for a month.

In June, after six weeks of living in town, I passed the solitary dirt path and glanced over to the shed about twenty feet into the property. No one was there. I couldn’t help but feel a bit disappointed. Since I had moved in, I had met several kind people, but it seemed as if everyone had already found their niche. The farmers’ wives chattered away when they found the time, the mothers regularly met up to exchange gossip, and the men, I had heard from a little girl who had wandered to my house one evening, sometimes met up for a night of card playing in someone’s basement. The women of the house would be ushered upstairs and only be allowed down if they brought food or refreshments.  What a strange place. It was like traveling back in time.

Lost in my thoughts, I had not heard him running beside me. A light tap on the shoulder brought me back into the present moment. Startled, I jumped, then took off in a sprint. He looked ahead, a few steps behind now, and began to laugh. Curious, I looked back.

“Didn’t mean to scare you” he said, still laughing, “You’re Alice, right?”

“If you didn’t mean to scare me you shouldn’t have snuck up on me!” I said, irritated that I had jumped like a jackrabbit at the first sign of danger. “Yeah, I’m Alice. Who are you?” I replied with a scowl.

As if he didn’t hear the annoyance in my voice, he replied, “Jimmy.” He had caught up to me with those sluggish steps of his.

I looked him over, wondering if he would say more. When he didn’t, I invited him to walk with me. We walked until lunch time, him talking about the past and me talking about the future. At the time to depart, he walked to his house for lunch with his family and I walked home for lunch alone. After that day, I wasn’t alone much anymore. Jimmy and I would walk in the mornings, then go to his place for lunch. His family all seemed to enjoy my company and I loved theirs.

This morning we took a new path, to the mountains at a distance.

“You still haven’t told me why you moved here you know,” he began.

He’d asked me several times, but I would always make up some excuse to avoid the question. One time, the fish we caught in the river just happened to get knocked out of the bucket we’d put them in. Another time, I tripped out of nowhere, scraping my knee. Now, I regarded him. It’d been two months since he’d last asked me.

“You haven’t figured it out yet?”

“No, for all I know you moved out here to escape from a flesh eating disease killing off city dwellers.”

“How’d you know?” I said with false surprise. “The disease doesn’t eat your skin though. It eats your soul.”

“Huh?”

“It’s greed, desire, selfishness. I wanted to get away from it.”

“You can’t get away from that Allie! That stuff is in the air!” He shook his head, as if to rid himself of my foolishness.

The mountain air became louder, more forceful as we reached the base of the dry, rocky mountain.

“No, I guess not, but hey I tried.”

I was glad we had reached the mountain. Now we’d be even more alone. Only nature balances out human folly. The rest of the climb we spoke about lighter subjects. His sister had recently had her first child, so I gushed about her for most of the hike. When we reached the top no one spoke. The silence coated us like frosting on a cake, beautifying the moment.

As far as I could see were blue skies. Not a single cloud lingered. Even the dull gray rocks below us seemed to shimmer. The peak was flat and wide, so we sat and looked at the eagles soaring past. What seemed like hours later, Jimmy took my hand and led me to the edge. Afraid of heights, I hung back. He let go and stood with the tip of his boots over the edge.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

“Of course.” I replied solemnly, unsure of where this conversation was headed.

“Will you do me a favor?”

“Yeah, anything.”

“Jump!” he screamed, hurling himself from the precipice.

So I jumped. Not knowing where it would lead, only trusting him, I jumped. It was terrifying. First you feel nothing, then your stomach lurches into your throat and your heart flutters as if trying to take flight and save you. Several endless minutes of abdominal clenching later (as if that could stabilize the air whooshing around you), the body begins to recognize this new speed and direction as normal. Your body releases its tension and it feels like flowing through a lazy river. It feels safe and natural.

I know this isn’t natural or safe, so while my body has calmed down and accepted its fate, my mind goes into overdrive and begins scrambling for ideas. I open my eyes. When had I closed them? Rocks and only rocks surround me. Jimmy! Where is he? If two objects fall at the same time, they will reach the ground at the same time regardless of weight. I jumped a few seconds after him, so he shouldn’t be too far below me. I never would have guessed physics would be one of the last things I thought about before I died. Then again, I didn’t think I’d die by jumping off a mountain at the request of my best friend.

There, about three seconds below me, is Jimmy. His eyes are closed. He looks completely peaceful. My brain begins to slow.

Suddenly, he opens his eyes and yells, “No more human strife!”

“What?” I think, my mind going wild once again. I see him splat on the grassy valley. His limbs are bent every which way, but his eyes are open and he smiles at me as I join him.

 

 

The Most Romantic Date I’ve Been On- Meeting Chance for the First Time (Part 1 of 2)

I met a guy. On the internet. Well, technically on a dating app. And technically I met three guys before him. But this post isn’t about those other guys. This post is about Chance. I gave him that pseudo name a couple days after we matched. It just felt right. He’s a year younger than me and while I haven’t done a ton of dating myself, I clearly remember wise women in my life telling me not to ever date younger men. “Guys mature slower than girls”, they said. “Only date younger guys if you want a boy not a man”, they said.

 

First Impressions

So, even though Chance is only a year younger than me, I was wary. He didn’t have much on his profile either. Just a few pictures of him in a cozy sweatshirt with his curly hair or him on a beach. His scant profile was generic with the typical interests cited: anime, movies, and one somewhat standout thing- that he is learning to play guitar. What can I say? He’s cute. I swiped. A few days later so did he. And like that we matched. I understand that’s not the most romantic story, but what would follow comes close.

He said “hey” (plus a happy emoji). Not something cheesy or a pick-up line. Just hey. That was red flag number one. Haha, just kidding, I remember thinking that was odd as it had not been my experience with the other guys. Either way, I forged on and we struck up a conversation. We talked about several different things. Not at all forced or overly formal like it had been with the other guys. I remember thinking he’s super chill. We eventually got to the topic of him learning to dance. To which, I replied I’d like him to teach me a few moves. He said he was just beginning and that I’d have to be the judge of his dance skills. I saw my chance and I took it!

Mind you, I’d been waiting for this guy to ask me out on a date for a couple days now. So, what did I do? He said I’d be the judge of his dance skills, so I slyly responded, “When’s judgement day?” That’s (sadly) one of the coolest moments of my life. X) And just like that, I had a date with Chance. That whole process was different too. I guess I did ask him out, but I assumed he’d take over from there. Nope! He gave me a range of days, I gave him a range of times then he asked if I had any place in mind. It’s kind of cool how we decided on the date together.

 

Date Part 1: The Café

Tuesday sometime after 5 pm at a random café I picked from Google maps. Those were the official date plans. I got out of my rotation early that day to procrastinate for our date. I ended up showering and getting dressed then dashing out the door, wet hair and all. I almost jogged to the café (which was about ten minutes away) where I waited in front of a big green bush until Chance arrived. He was about 15 minutes late. It was cute how we found each other. He sent me a text he was outside but couldn’t see me, but that he was wearing a blue shirt. I’d already told him I was wearing a black and white shirt. We both turned a corner in the tiny parking lot in front of the café and seemed to notice each other at the same time. That was cute.

Ah! Detail. We’d been messaging in English ever since we matched. So, I said hello in English when I met him. He responded in English with saucers for eyes. I smiled and laughed internally, deciding “Spanish. Definitely switch to Spanish”. X) With that, I began speaking to him in Spanish. I could see him breath again and knew that was the right choice.

I’d never been to this café before, so it was a tad awkward to go inside and try to order. He’d never been to this café either. Eventually though, we ordered a coffee and sat down to talk. It was the epitome of small talk. All polite and neat. Eventually we finished our drinks and I waited for him to make some excuse to leave.

Instead! He asked if any of the pastries/ baked goods had looked appetizing. He wanted to keep talking! ❤ Aw! I’m not a complete idiot, so I followed him to the counter to pick out something sweet. I got some corn bread and he got a slice of carrot cake. A few moments later as we sat nibbling our respective treats, he asked if I’d like a bite of carrot cake. Cute! I offered him some of my corn bread and we continued chatting. Eventually he asked if he was everything, I expected he’d be. I said, mostly. However, I expected him to be more extroverted. He seemed to be by via text, but here I was chatting incessantly to fill up space. Boring stuff about my internship mostly. :p

He said he’s usually shy around new people, but is a completely different person with his closest friends. I smiled. I’m the exact same way. I suppose many “shy” people are this way. There’s just has to be trust to be oneself. Cake was gone. What now? He answered that quickly. “Want to go for a walk or something?”, he asked. My heart sang. “Yes!”, I replied.

 

Date Part 2: The Drive

Once we got outside though, he paused and asked if I preferred to walk or drive around for a bit. I thought for a second then said that as long as I ended back in my neighborhood, I was good with either. He chose the drive, so I hopped in this red Mazda to parts unknown. I didn’t ask and he didn’t tell. Maybe dangerous, since I don’t really know this guy, but definitely exciting. Here, in his car, he started to ease into the moment and the conversation. From this point onward, my memory turns hazy. It feels like a dream.

He told me he’s clumsy. I bragged that I’m also super clumsy, but oddly I stumble at least three times a week, but never fall. “I’ve mastered the art of catching myself!”, I said proudly. He told me about someone robbing his car some time back. I shared I’ve only had my bike stolen before and that broke my heart, couldn’t imagine someone robbing my car (which is back in Texas). He verified that I’ll only be in Puerto Rico till the end of my internship in June. Five months. I’ll be here for another five months. I asked what his future plans are and he said after graduating this summer, he plans to stay in Puerto Rico for a few more months before probably moving to the United States (Miami, Florida).

 

Date Part 3: Old San Juan

When we stopped, we were in Old San Juan. Everyone I know says it’s a must visit. They quote the nightlife and the art and history. What they didn’t mention is how beautiful the architecture is. The streets are big and open. A giant plaza. Here we started walking (again, I have no idea where to) and talking about his photography. That’s a big thing that stood out to me: his appreciation of beauty. So genuine. We found a bench to sit and chat. It was peaceful. There were lights in the distance from ships and buildings. The bench we were sitting on was a few feet from the marina and on the other side was the path to what Chance referred to as “the castle”, a historical looking building.

After some time, we walk up that path and find another bench by the castle as we chat about tattoos (Chance has two; I fear permanence). There are other people here hanging out around the benches a little ways away from us. Two steps- no, not even! Chance goes around the left side of the bench and probably sat down the exact moment my ankle gave out and I fell shin first onto the gravely rocks surrounding the bench. Ouch! Haha, real life foreshadowing. I shouldn’t have bragged about my not falling skills.

Luckily though, as part of that conversation, I’d also mentioned how I hate it when people try to help me up if I do fall and how my first instinct is to hop up and pretend like nothing happened. I don’t like making it a big deal. And that’s exactly what I did. I was laughing so hard! I jumped up cackling and limped to the opposite side of the evil bench to sit next to Chance. He was laughing too, asking if I was okay between chuckles. I assured him I was perfectly fine. And that if I wasn’t, I would never admit it. X)

It hurt, guys. A lot. Later when I assessed the damage, turns out I earned a conglomeration of about four to five big, ugly, green bruises on my right shin, one deep brown bruise on my left shin, and even a tiny brown bruise on my inner forearm. What the heck? Who knows, but at the moment I just laughed it off, trying not to let my wincing let on how much pain I was in. Who decorates the last step around a bench with rocks?!

Who knows how, but the next memorable part of this section of the night, apart from him asking me to ask him questions (he said he liked seeing how flustered I’d get trying to think of something) was when he subtly bragged about his kissing skills. It was something like “people say I’m a good kisser, but I don’t know, that’s just what they say…”. Oh, I got the hint, guys.

 

Interlude: A Word on Affection and Promiscuity

Let me be real for a sec. I told you guys I’m not promiscuous. Uhh, yes and no? See, I like affection. Physical or otherwise. But I don’t often get physical affection. At home, yeah, my mom and dad (even my brother sometimes) would give out free hugs. My best friend greets me with a hug. I have a cuddly dog. Here? For seven months I’ve been on a literal island. No family. A different version of friends (all interns which means they are also my peers). None of which are huggy types. Least of all the one I spend most time with (my roommate Axyl). It’s not like I need hugs to survive, but I admit they do help immensely.

Mini rant over. My point being, I’m deficient in hugs and cuddles. I figured this whole dating thing could give me a version of that. Hand holding and maybe a kiss at the end of dates, I didn’t think it’d be something I’d be morally conflicted about. I figured it’s logical. I want affection. Here are people who are looking for some sort of romantic relationship, which last time I checked, usually involves physical contact to some degree. It’s a dating app, not a church group. People know what they are signing up for. I figured, a kiss is a kiss. It doesn’t have to mean anything. I don’t have to be attracted or want a relationship out of someone to kiss them. That’s what I wanted to believe.

But when Chance brought up the topic, hinting at an opportunity to prove my new life philosophy right, I changed my mind. I thought, “I don’t really know this guy. I can’t kiss him!”. I did want that connection. Kisses do mean something to me. I still feel bad I held the hand of the first guy I went on a date with a week prior to writing this post and not going on a second date with him. Gosh. Do I feel bad. But yes, so I care. I’m a hopeless romantic who craves the touch of another human. Nothing strange about that.

 

Date Part 4: Romantic Rain

So, I glazed over his comment and changed the subject. I think Chance got the hint, because he didn’t insist. A guy who understands subtle hints. That, I like. It means he truly understands how I think. Or that’s how I interpret it. At this point, it’d started to sprinkle, so the people around us started walking back to the safety of their cars or restaurants nearby. On the other hand, Chance and I, though I don’t remember the topic, were engrossed in conversation, so I only mildly noticed the little droplets from the sky. Soon though, those droplets turned into drop-lots! (….I’m sorry. I had to.) We looked at each other and agreed to start walking back down the path away from the castle.

And walk we did! I mentioned to him how he’s the first person I know that doesn’t exaggerate about the rain. He walked. Didn’t run or try to even cover his head from the sky water. He just walked, calmly and contently. Right by my side. 😊 It was beautiful.

The crystalline water dripping off his strong jawline and the curls in his hair shone a light on his attractiveness and made him the epitome of male beauty. Maybe I read too many romance books… And the night isn’t over yet! Maybe about halfway there. But I hardly expect anyone to make it through what I’ve already written, so, this calls for a part two! Now, I’m a lady, but you turn on the heat and water turns to steam. If you didn’t understand that… don’t worry about it. XD If you catch my drift, come back for part two to read about the exact boiling point. 😉 Okay, I’m done with the lame chemistry puns. (Ha! Chemistry!) Okay, okay, I’m seriously done!

Thanks for reading. Expect part two by next Friday, February 22nd!

An Exchange – Personal Poetry Collection

This is a bit of a cop out, but…. I’d rather do this than not post anything. Soo, remember I have a myriad of hobbies? Welp, here’s the poem that started it all. I wrote it for English class during 11th grade.  I got a good grade on it which encouraged me to keep writing more poems. Not sure if that was a good thing or not, but it was definitely a thing. X)

The assignment was to write a poem about love. It could be made up or real. Mine was inspired by a kind friend. (Link to the briefest of mentions about AJ here.)

***

An Exchange

January, 2013

He cares for you and protects you from harm.

You care for him but can not protect him.

He stays by your side despite your alarm.

He risks himself to help you from the rim.

 

Useless, you stand by as he thinks of you.

Meanwhile you think of him, and decide: no.

The unfairness overwhelms you. You rue

the time you met him. You wish he would go.

 

You must not burden him. He matters more

than your silly problems. This you know well.

With this you withdraw. You become poor.

You yearn for his thoughts. You yearn for his smell.

 

Him without your problems and you without

his company, makes you think, makes you doubt.

 

 

What I’ve Lost and What I Should Not Find… Yet Or Maybe Ever.

Originally Published February 26, 2018

It’s hard to live life missing something, but it’s almost impossible and tangibly painful when you are aware of what it is you are missing. What I am struggling with is common. Boys. Ick! I never really cared for them in a romantic sense. They were my buddies growing up. I associated girls with drama and guys were so much more chill. It was easy hanging out with them. Sometimes, yeah, I’ll admit often times, I’d flirt. In my last year of middle school I discovered the joys of flirting. It flustered guys and that made me feel good. It made me feel powerful. Influential. Important. Though, I did not date in my school years, I flirted. Still today, I’m a big flirt.

It was like a game to me. How to make the opposite sex blush. Because that’s often how it would go with the boys in my league. They were shy and quiet types. Often intellectuals. On one of these occasions I got an offer I’d never gotten before. A next step, if you will. By this time, I was 20 years old. I’d gone on one, I repeat, one (there was no second!) date. And now I was offered a relationship request. The last time I had been asked to be someone’s girlfriend was in fifth grade. I ran off the playground and left that kid standing there with his heart in his hands! So you can bet, I considered this request.

In the end, I accepted. This changed my life in too many ways to count. The one change I’m struggling with now is simple. I, for the first time in a romantic sense, got love and affection and attention. Up to this point, I lived my life solitary. It was my normal. It wasn’t a problem. It was just my life. I didn’t know another way… until my first relationship. Yes, my first relationship was at 20 years old. Actually, a month before turning 21! I just barely committed to someone before having my first shot. Also, yes, I did wait until I was 21 to drink. This tells you even more about the type of person I was… maybe still am.

My long winded point being that by experiencing a relationship I got to experience all the wonders that come along with it. For the first time in my life, I had a person. My person. Someone I trusted with all of my secrets. I trusted him with my whole being. I never felt judged. This was HUGE for me. As you lovely readers may have picked up on, I’m wary of people. I don’t open up easily. I have a twinge of paranoia about everyone and everything. I surprised myself with him. I gave myself totally and, arguably, gave more than I had to give.

In return, I got love. Love so deep and beautiful that I had never experienced before. People have loved me before. My parents, friends, and family members, of course. But never an other. Never someone completely distant. Never a stranger who owed me nothing. Never someone who I could not explain away his care for me. Because before we were in a relationship we were strangers. He had no reason to love me. But he did. We clicked. We understood each other. That was one of the biggest things for me. No one had ever tried to understand me. Not my friends, or even my parents. He not only tried to understand me, but I sincerely believe that he did.

Aside from understanding, and genuine love, I got something I had never experienced with anyone before: physical affection. Since I had gone on one date in my life prior to this relationship, I had not done so much as sit next to a boy before him. With him, I learned the beauty of holding someone’s hand and crying in someone’s arms. I was so jittery in the beginning. I could not sit still. I didn’t know how. He taught me it’s okay to just lay with someone. Just lay together and enjoy each other’s presence.

I don’t have that anymore.

It was okay before I ever had it, because I did not know what I was missing. Since I didn’t know, I did not feel like I was missing anything. Back then, love and hugs were like a fairy tale to me. They were this mythical creature that I’d run into in the future. Not a concern of the present. Even after breaking up, I wasn’t too torn up about this. I went a bit extreme. That, “I swear off boys” phase. I really was done. No hugs, no love? I really did not care. I did not want it. I had it and it hurt me. It was not worth it.

But now…

If no one had poked my bubble. I would have done fine on my own. I was adjusting well back into singledom. But someone popped my bubble. Now I crave. I want. I need. But I don’t have. And it’s killing me.

I know I let him pop my bubble. It’s just so hard to say no when I have seen life outside this wretched bubble. But it is not time. This is not my hand to hold. I need to remember, and accept, that my life is meant to be alone. I need to be my own best friend. My own support. My own care giver. Then, and only then, can I think of a partner.

Please, wish me luck.