Oh, Mr. Breakfast!

 I liked him on Facebook Dating, but I heard from him in my DMs. He said he'd accidentally swiped left when he scrolled through my music selections, so he sought me out through one of our two mutual friends! Effort! I thought that was so sweet.

His answers to my screening questions made me feel like I was in good hands. I liked his job and his face. We made a date for the best diner in his neighborhood. He took two busses to get there, despite the fact that it was blustery and like ten degrees. Honestly I should get some kind of reward for doing anything at all when its this aggressively February out!

He charmed me right away with his love of breakfast. It's one of those old fashioned diners that has a million things on the menu, but we bonded over our love of breakfast, and we ordered enough to have dinner and take some home for the next day. A man I can eat in front of! I felt so free and happy and full of French toast and bacon and damn fine diner coffee.

And the conversation was the perfect combination of overshare-y and polite. We both talked about our therapists--how hot is it to be on a date with a guy who's in therapy?! He was fragile, though, apologetic. "You're allowed to exist, " I said at one point. I was being either very Ma'am or very codependent. Por que no los dos?

His face was sweet and soft, mostly made out of smile. He's a little taller than me, soft in places but strong. Dark-skinned with charmingly scraggly locs. Extremely my type, of course he was.

After diner, it was decided that I should come over and meet his dog. Once we got in the car, I realized I'd left my hat inside, and he faced the weather to go get it for me--gallant. Effortful. Kind. So promising!

 He apologized in advance for the parking situation--his neighb is one where I've had can't-find-a-parking-space panic attacks before, and our city is filled with glaciers and mounds of hard, frozen grey snow. We agreed that if a spot couldn't be found, it meant we would take it slow and try another day.

Driving around looking for a spot with him was so much fun! Even though he, a non-driver, had driving advice aplenty! At least he could laugh at himself being a side seat driver. And he joined in my little stim songs like an absolute champ. I felt far from panic! This guy made me feel so strong and grounded, or maybe it was just me making myself feel that way.

Anyway, I parallel parked on a part-glacier, on a narrow street, with a car waiting impatiently behind us! It was beautiful, how neatly I parked. Honestly the biggest rush of the night.

When we got to his place, we kissed, and I asked to be under a thousand blankets please. Two very fluffy ones were enough, and the very good dog joined us for a snuggle. The perfect place to be on a freezing cold night, but he wanted the basketball game on TV. I asked if we could put on something nice instead, and he had to go find batteries for the remote so he could put on Steven Universe for me. Having the TV off was not an option, and eventually, the game would have to come back on.

The non-negotiable sports TV might have been the dealbreaker, if not for this:

We were talking about fetishes we had and he said

that he likes to initiate sex

while his partner is asleep!

I called him out for how not-consensual that was, and he admitted that he felt bad about it, and obviously he wouldn't do it if I'm not "into that."

I was tempted to name him "Sleep Rape Guy" but thought it would be too triggering right up top. The thing is, I went home feeling like it was a good date with a few red flags. It didn't sink in how scared I was until the next morning, when I texted and told him WAY TOO FUCKING GENTLY that we weren't a good match. Because of the SLEEP RAPE FETISH.

Dating is so hard and scary and de-humanizing sometimes. There's an OCD thought that's trying to be loud right now, telling me I'm only good for taking advantage of, for raping or using up in other ways, while other women have value and deserve to be treated with kindness. I don't know if other women are having such an easy time either though.

It's been a triggersome, hurty couple days since. I'm proud of (belatedly) saying no to Mr. Breakfast and of caring for myself as best I can. My next date is Wednesday, and I think it will probably be a lot gentler on my poor heart. Here's (Somehow! Still!) hoping. 

Poly Feelings and Christmas Cute With the Guy Next Door: Part Two

 

Christmas Eve at my (Unitarian) church was SO good. I went with one of my closest friends, the music was gorgeous (Even when they messed with the chorus of "Go Tell It On the Mountain." Not the time!) and we did the thing where they turn off all the lights and we sang Silent Night and everything was absolutely perfect--I'm so glad I stayed in town for Christmas this year.

The pastor read a poem about how it was really kinda funny for the angels to say "Be not afraid"--like OMG an angel is talking to you and the whole sky is opening up and you're supposed to be...super chill about it?! I liked thinking about awe and it helped me understand why my connection to The Guy Next Door felt so overwhelming--miracles are big and overwhelming, but you have to deal with them anyway.

And that gave me courage! Or foolhardiness, time will tell I guess. I was going to put up some street art after church and I invited TGNS to go with me. And he did! Is the romcom a compulsion or just how things are sometimes?

Either way, it was Christmas Magic for sure. I felt so aglow, so in love with the world and my neighborhood, and, okay, him, and he seemed happy too! After we got the art done and made a few "Wait are you Banksy?" type jokes, he agreed to come home and watch Bob's Burgers on the couch with me. He'd never been on my couch before! 

But! The Roku was out! And we were both too sleepy-stoned to fix it, (plus troubleshooting makes me feel like I'm dying) and I didn't want to push my luck with the couch stuff, so we said a dreamy goodnight. He was coming over for Scrabble with me and Sweetie the next day! It kinda felt like things were coming together, like romance might be possible with him, like we would keep getting to know each other and maybe something sparkly would develop between us.

I'm glad I gave myself a moment to feel that! Christmas just kept getting better.

Two Moons Later

January 3rd moon--we were free and in love.

I wasn’t going to type this one up, but there, last night, was the full moon looking down from a halo in the sky when I went to take the trash out. Moving on is a labyrinth. It’s the cycles of the moon. Grief is an unpredictable tide.

Last week, I had that lovely burst of horny healthy moving-on inspiration, and it was real. But then, just as quickly as the happy, hopeful vibes had come: a wall. A panic. The vulnerability, hopefulness, and mostly-real self-assurance it takes to be dating is A LOT, and I just sort of crashed.

It helped to tell the lukewarmly interested new guy that I heard his lukewarmness, that I was glad I’d gotten to meet him but we weren’t a match. But the feeling of exposure kept coming until I deactivated Feeld and took it off my homescreen along with Hinge and Bumble. I turned off all the notifications.

I felt the panic recede after that but, close to the end of my workday last Friday, a new tide of missing The Shy One came in. The way I deal with that grief is finite: I sing along to Frank Ocean’s Moon River. I screech along to Robyn’s Dancin’ on My Own. Sometimes when I really want to twist the heartbreak knife a little, I put on Virgo’s Groove. (I didn’t realize that Beyoncé sings about “You’re the love of my life” in that song-aaaaaaalllll the times I heard it when he and I were snuggling, I never noticed. At least I know my life doesn’t have just one love.)

I wanted, when I parked at home Friday night and the blaring speakers went quiet, to find out if The Shy One had really loved me. It had been an unspoken agreement with myself for a few weeks that his love wasn’t real, it was a way to be less mad at him for going away, less mad at myself for not finding a way to feel okay in that relationship. I knew where to look, that his second-to last letter was probably right there in my “sent” folder.

It had to be finite. I do NOT go down heartbreak rabbit holes, my depressive brain can only confront these things a little at a time. So I set a timer for 20 minutes. I got into child’s pose and said a prayer for him, for me, for moving on, for new love. I sang the loving kindness meditation I wrote myself right after the breakup:

May I bloom and expand.

May I remain curious.

May I honor the longing.

May I thank and let go.

May I put it away til it feels
easier.

May I hear my heart, my body, and my mind.

May I internalize the love.

May I leave scarcity behind.

May I live in faith.

The Shy One’s second-to-last letter was from after our second-to-last fight. It was full of paragraphs and plans, apologies and ideas for how we could get closer, how he hoped to help me feel more secure. It was a lovely letter, hopeful, kind, and attentive.

Rereading it, I felt my body calm down and my heart quiet: He’d loved me. The knowledge was like a warm internal blanket, soft, solid, dependable, secure. I knew I had that love with me, that it was going to be a resource for whatever comes next.

Then I read through the WhatsApp messages from his Sierra Leone trip—no struggle. Just hotness, kindness, and future plans. And one video I definitely was not ready to look at, maybe never will be. My soul aches to think of the couple who wrote those texts, who selected those GIFs, so full of hopes, so briefly free.

I was done before the timer went off, full and secure. I worked on my puzzle and lay down for a peaceful sleep.

It definitely doesn’t feel like that all the time. They say (or used to say in, like, the Eighties when I was little?) that it takes at least half the time you were with someone to get over them. If I count from our first date, which I do, we were together ten months, so that’s five. Two down, three to go?

I don’t know how long it will take til my body stops missing him, stops wanting him only. Dear moon, dear universe, dear Christmas box of pretty lingerie (a completely reasonable thing to pray to!) please let him not have been my last love. Yes, give me time to honor him and heal, but don’t take too long sending the next sweetheart. Please.