Just once it would be nice to be the main attraction, no knicks that, it would be life changing to not be everyone’s back up plan. For some unknown reason I have forced myself to be this very forgiving, loving, caring and far to available female. I let everything go, I look past everything, hell I even make up excuses for people who are too lazy or uncaring to do it themselves. And where does this get me? Firmly placed on the back burner, only to be put up front when there is a lull in the excitement.
I clearly remember sitting at the bar, waiting and waiting for the end of the night. I would sit there all night, laughing, drinking and pretending not to care, just waiting it out until a certain drunken asshole would be ready to take me home. Countless times other drunken patrons would tell me that he was always trying to go home with other girls and when that failed he would go home with me. Everyone told me that I was too good for him, yet I was the one waiting for him, he was at the top of my list, so I think that they had it wrong…he clearly was too good for me.
This pattern continued in life, even after moving and working so hard to become a stronger, more confident person. I fell into numerous situations where I was in a one sided relationship, holding out until which ever guy was ready to have me dote upon them, treat them with such kindness and understanding. We’d go home and for a night I would pretend that they actually gave a shit about me and that I wasn’t just a female to fuck who treated them like a king. The next day reality would come in with the morning light and everything would go back to normal, me being unloved and just foolish.
I’ve had my fair share of men tell me, very long after the fact, that they made a mistake and that they just didn’t realize at the time how much I meant to them. They would go on about how I treated them better than anyone else and that they regretted how they had messed it up. Granted this occurrence typically took place when I was completely unavailable, whether geographically or just so very much over it. I don’t truly believe that at any point in time that any of them really wanted to get into a relationship with me, they just needed to feel better about themselves and how awful they treated me.
I can no longer play second fiddle. This is not to say that somehow some miracle is going to happen and a plethora of men are gonna come out of the woodwork and fall head over heels in love with me. I am slowly coming to terms with the fact that I will never be someone’s first choice, but I can no longer be anyones contingency plan. It’s more painful to realize that there is just something about you that will never make the cut, then just being painfully lonely. So I think I choose loneliness. I choose spending every night alone over waking up next to another man who will never love me. I choose sessioning Ally McBeal on Netflix over having to hear one more guy tell me that I’m just not the one, but hey I still want to hook up but it will never be anything serious. I can’t try any harder, so I need to just stop trying altogether. After dealing with the harsh reality of knowing that I’ll never get to wear a beautiful wedding dress, or buy a house with someone or make joint future plans, it will get easier. Eventually the loneliness will just become normal and it will out weigh the once constant stream of rejection. I will never be anyones main attraction but I’m certainly through being plan b.
There was a time when people had to verbally reject you. This was good for two reasons, first of all it made them really have to deal with their actions, the words had to come out of their months and they had to hear the other person react. There is nothing more heart wrenching than hearing a girl sob after being broken up with. The other good thing was that for those being rejected, we could over time, twist the words, we could convince ourselves that it wasn’t so bad, or on the other hand that it was terrible and that the rejector was a heartless beast. Someone we could be relieved to be rid of…or at least tell ourselves that was the case.
Now however, now it’s down in writing when someone rejects you. Actually everything pertaining to a relationship tends to be in writing now and easily accessible. Between texts, emails, and depending on how crazy you are, facebook, most of the relationship is documented. From the first time you make plans to go out to the final text of rejection. So it’s impossible to remember it differently, to warp the words so they didn’t sound so harsh, or maybe they didn’t mean what they said. No now all one has to do is pull out the phone or laptop and see exactly the moment they were rejected.
Mine came as a complete surprize, it was preluded with a nice “How are you” and then went right into a long text that ended with “just not long term. I’m sorry.” And like that, with one press of the send button my thoughts of building a future with someone were crushed. I tried to just read it once, tried to accept the rejection as quick as possible. But I needed to respond so there it was staring me in the face…”NOT LONG TERM!”. Silly me for thinking that after dating for over a month, with several sleepovers and wonderful nights that he might at least pick up the phone to reject me. Instead it’s just there, in writing, to haunt me. Eventually I will delete every correspondence and picture sent, but for right now it’s still there staring at me. It’s amazing how words on a screen can yell louder than any person I’ve ever known.
I assume that most people probably think about a wide range of things when having sex, especially to achieve that quintessential moment. Certainly it all depends on who you are knocking boots with, the situation and how much you really want to be getting it on in the first place. The places my mind has wandered would never be appropriate to say out loud, which I’m sure is the case for a lot of people. There have been plenty of times I’ve been thinking about other people, other places and sometimes just my to do list for the next day. Nothing screams orgasim as much as “pay credit cards and water plants!”. But last night was a first.
While having sex with a man, who seems to be near perfect in most ways, I was thinking solely about him. His perfect body, he beautiful eyes, his huge dick…all the things that normally I don’t focus on while trying to get off. Strange I know, but I don’t like to ever get my hopes up, even in bed. But clearly I was letting go of my typical self when it hit me like a ton of bricks, I looked down at the gorgeous face attached to such a fit body and I thought, I want this to be the last man I ever have sex with. Not, “I want to marry this man,” or “I want to have his babies,” or even, “I’m falling in love with this man”, but that I only want to have sex with him from here on out.
For me, sex has always been so much more than just getting my rocks off, and not in the common, I want every sexual experience to mean the world, way. It’s always been my way of validating myself. Having such low self esteem for most of my life, the only way I could even begin to pretend that I had any worth, at all, was if a man had sex with me. For a few minutes I could convince myself that I was wanted, even if it was just for my lady parts. I’ve slept with a lot of men, trying to capture that feeling of being desired. I have always used sex to make myself feel better about who I was on whole, yes it typically always lead to heartbreak, but deep down I told myself that if a good looking man slept with me then I couldn’t be that bad. I called it deductive reasoning. Even when I was in a relationship with a loving man I would seek out validation from all other sources, because I was never convinced.
But now here I am, older and trying to be wiser. There was a time when the thought of only sleeping with one man for the rest of my life would have scared the shit out of me, how would I let myself know that I was still wanted? How would I validate myself? My worth? My attractiveness? Would I just have to trust that I was worthwhile because I am a good person and have worked very hard to become who I am. Wanting someone to marry me, or be in love with me, would just be an extension of the feelings associated with wanting to have sex with me. It would just be feeding my need to feel desired and validated. Me feeling as though I don’t want to ever have another sexual partner again, that is a sign of acceptance of who I am and maybe letting go of this idea of validation through male attraction. It also doesn’t hurt that my hopeful “last” is built like a greek god and hung like a horse…but here’s to self improvement nonetheless!
I remember the first time I told a real live living boy that I loved him. It had been a long time coming, we had been together for almost six months and due to the fact he was the first guy who ever wanted to be with me sober, it was only natural that I fell in love. He had gone back to England for christmas break and every time we ended our phone conversation I could feel it wanting to come out, but I held back, not wanting to make things awkward all the way across the pond. The first night he returned, as we lay in bed, he told me about how he broke his sternum playing rugby when he was younger and that he was self conscious about how the bone stuck out. I kissed it and told him that I love it, that I loved everything about him and I love him. He wrapped his arms around me told me the same. Years later everything would come crashing down and cause me the worst pain of my life, but in that one instant I was the happiest I had ever been, and to be truthful that is still the happiest moment I can recall in life thus far.
There have been two other men in my life that I have said those three, not so little words to, and the response was not nearly as heart warming…actually it was more devastating than most things I’ve experienced in life. The first took place, naked in bed with a man ten years older than my 23 year old self, half drunk and very depressed. For three years, on and off, we had been sleeping together, even though he tried to hide it from everyone. He had done a real number on me and at the tail end of my existence in Vermont I bared my soul, hoping he would finally come to his senses and profess his love. Instead I said, “I think I am in love with you…” his response, and I remember it oh so clearly was, “you can’t tell me that now, I’m naked and we just had sex.” Then he turned over and fell asleep, two days later I was on a plane to California for what I thought was only going to be a two month stint. A week later I got a call from my friends telling me that he had been drunk driving home, went off the road and killed a girl we all knew well, he spent a year in jail for involuntary manslaughter. The night I had confessed my love, he had driven me home from the bar.
The last time I dared to utter the words it was slightly less up front. It came out in a an email, it was slipped in with a bunch of other soul searching questions and accusations. I had been in love with this man for almost six years, again without any commitment on his part. When my time was coming to an end in Tahoe I felt the need to put it all out there. Once again I was hoping for some sort of grand jester from him, for him to tell me that he felt the same way and that he was sad he had wasted so much time, but instead he got defensive and two weeks later had began a serious relationship with a woman who seemed to enjoy all the same things I do. He didn’t even feel the need to apologize for unintentionally leading me on for all those years, not only from all the sex, car sharing, plan making and holidays spent together, but for having let me put him on my phone family plan. At least now once a month I remember why I should never give so much to someone who doesn’t give a shit about me.
Today I told a guy I liked him. I thought I was gonna puke, the whole drive over to his house I had convinced myself that he wasn’t interested in me anymore and that I should end things before he had the opportunity to destroy me so easily. I had it all planned out, I was going to admit to him that I suffer not only from depression but a sever case of female craziness. And that I just don’t have the mental strenght to date anyone because I spend more time thinking about the relationship’s demise than actually working on having someone like me. So I was all ready to give my spiel but then I got to his house, sat on the couch, he held my hand and kissed me and I lost all sense of my mission. When he walked me to my car I stood there awkwardly, I looked down at our hands holding and made a very choppy and painful speech. I stumbled and stuttered and after what felt like an eternity I got it out…”I like you”. His blue eyes flashed amusement and he laughed, “oh you like me?” His teasing nature put me at ease but I realized that it had taken all of my energy, nerves and stomach bile to tell a guy, I’ve been sleeping with for three weeks, that I like him. I think if I ever get to the point of being in love again I will near pass out just thinking about it. I’m not sure if it’s my age or just my terrible past experiences of so many noncommittal men, but I’m pretty sure telling someone you like them should not be that hard, especially if you’ve already had their dick in you, but who knows now a days.
That old saying, “wherever you go, there you are,” is oh so very true. I made a large life change once again and moved from the home I’ve known for almost seven years. The land of pristine alpine lakes, large breathtaking mountains and the bluest skies you’ll ever see. The first place I found any type of happiness with myself and my lot in life. I found friends, new family and a sense of belonging that I never experienced in Vermont. And for a while life was good, well as good as I had ever known. Everyday was sunny and even when things got bad, which they always do, I would just force myself outside and somehow things would become right with the world.
I know I’m painting Tahoe in a wonderful light, and to be perfectly honest I would never be able to speak ill of a place so beautiful and close to my heart. But to be truthful Tahoe has its flaws. It’s an incredibly transient ski town that is home to so many noncommittal people, especially men. A large majority of the jobs are seasonal, offer no health insurance and have no growth potential. Everyone there jokes that it’s poverty with a view…but that is no joke, that is the reality and for so long I was completely okay with that reality. But then I kept growing, kept working on the type of person I wanted to be, kept maturing and kept getting lonelier and lonelier.
Tahoe had a lot to offer in the way of heart break. I feel deeply in love, kind of in love and in some really hard liking situations. All of which ended…typically very oddly. I tried to date, I put myself out there time and time again just to get terribly rejected. I also tried on the job front, I worked my way up to a great job but it had no growth potential and it came with three months of unemployment and unknowingness. So I decided to move.
On September 1st I had made up my mind that I would give my 30 day notice on my appartment on October 1st. I began searching for my new life. I picked wine country to explore. I took a road trip and decided it would be a good fit, close to the bay, less seasonal and more job opportunities. I then spent a month applying to ever job that I thought would even remotely consider me. After plenty of rejection I landed a job at a four star hotel in Sonoma and by October 30th I was on the road at 3am to begin a new chapter.
And here I am, in this new land of rolling hills and vineyards as far as the eye can see. It’s certainly not Tahoe but it holds it’s own type of beauty and intrigue. At first I did nothing but cry and curse my decision to leave my comfortable, albeit stagnant life in the beautiful mountain town. I told myself I just had to make it work for one year and then I could move back. I hardly ate at all my first week here and I was typically in bed by 8:00pm. Slowly I began to adjust, I started running and became comfortable at work and I began to see the beauty in being somewhere completely new.
It only took about a month for me to catch up with my move. I began to see a guy that I really liked, because I like everyone, who doesn’t like me and started feeling unsure about my work situation. The me that had been so unhappy and lost in Tahoe was now here with me in Wine Country. All of the insecurities and feelings of loneliness came at flooding back to me and have made me realize that no matter where I go, and how far I run, I am in fact still me.
Part of me wants to keep running, keep trying to find the place that will make me forget that I suffer from clinical depression, but I think it’s time for me to face the harsh reality that I can’t run from myself. I’ve never been a fighter, I’ve always chosen flight, but now I fear I may have to fight. The worst part is that I have no desire to fight for my life. I can see no benefit in trying to keep pushing through. The only reason that I have kept going this whole time is because I would hate to put that burden on my family. I will be fighting solely for others, not for myself…at what point in time do I get to tell everyone that I choose not to fight, that I shall try flight one last time and make it my final journey?