The Same, Only Different
I become genuinely heart broken and distraught when I get rejected by a guy I’ve slept with, even if it was just once. I have the tendency to believe that every man I sleep with is the one for me. I become infatuated and they consume my thoughts. On my long runs I’ll envision our lives together, and then, inevitable they reject me. It comes at all different points, sometimes early on, sometimes 6 years after they have taken advantage of me, but it does always come. And then I spiral into a tornado of self loathing and bewilderment.
I just can’t ever understand how it could be that these men can just not care. It seems nearly impossible to me, someone who does everything full force, that they can just move on to the next one. I have spent countless hours, days, weeks, yes even years wondering how it could be possible that I did not matter. I can’t seem to grasp that I made no real impression on their lives, that they could so easy just toss me aside. What was it that made them even drawn to me in the first place, if I am clearly so forgettable?
After a fair amount of inner reflection and false hope,that these men who are rejecting me will have a change of heart, I move on to being angery, well angery for me. In my head I get all worked up and despise the fact that I’m just another notch on their bed post, another girl they “took down” or just another meaningless fuck. When I finally come to terms with the reality, I except how much it hurts and then I move on.
I’ve spent so much time getting worked up about the same scenario, over and over again, never once realizing that I too just get over it. It may take me a little bit longer, but I just stop caring. I have no problem falling just as hard for the next gorgeous guy that happens to spend a night in my bed. From there the cycle repeats itself, clearly indicating that I must have not been that into the last guy if my feelings are so easily swayed to the next one. So although it may look different, it is in fact the same thing. Each guy becomes a tick mark in the form of a blog post, if they are even memorable enough for that, and then nothing more than a memory, sometimes a fond one, other times just a memory. At the time though, they were the most important person in my life, and when it is over they weren’t. Although I like to think I’m above the assholes I sleep with, I’m actually just the same, only different.