Following in the steps of his healing

It's been such a long time since I've gone through the break up process I honestly don't really remember what it's like anymore. The last few days I've heard myself echoing in my own head Daniel's words about needing to be alone, and figure things out with therapy, and take care of myself. I started turning off my dating apps and saying no to the (many, many) dates I've been asked out on over the last few weeks and shutting down conversations that men keep starting with me. Even supposedly platonic conversations I have stopped in their tracks because, I am just not ready. I feel about as emotionally available as a tree stump.

 I'm sitting here in this coffee shop in midtown and every time I see a car that looks like his drive by my heart jumps a little, and in the same breath... my body feels like he's becoming a stranger a bit again. It's happening. He's going away. The memories are. We've been separated longer than we were together now and as much as I want to hold on to everything, the world has continued to spin madly on.

I hang on to everything I have because, this relationship mattered so much to me. And my heart still aches for the feelings he evoked in me and the connection I know we had. And I still cry. I cry in the car, curled in my bed late at night, over sad episodes of Sex and the City, and sometimes even in Target wandering around on a Saturday afternoon. But I can't stop him from going away. He's been gone physically for two months. I haven't communicated with him in a month now, and now, the part that I held and clung to so dearly- my memories- his voice, smell, how he held my hand, how he cradled me in his arms. Those things are starting to go too. Those are not things that I want parted from my memory and I know that I will cling to them as long as possible. And it will prolong the ache in my chest. But I can't help it. It's the only thing I have left now. I don't want that reality to happen. I don't want to meet him again one day as strangers. This man I loved so much. Even though I am afraid; I am already gone from his mind.

Why do we even bother with love anyway, when it causes this much pain?

Lost

It's 8 weeks today since Daniel and I broke up and I still feel so very lost. I feel like I don't know myself. I don't know who I am or what I want from my life. Every day I wake up, and lay curled up in this tight little ball and wish something other than last fall had every happened. Anything. That I never met him, or that I stayed in Oregon, or that he had been honest from the beginning and we had perhaps been friends instead of falling in love. Anything else. In September I was very, very ready to meet someone. And now I am so far set back I don't even know how long this is going to take me to get over this. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe I will just wake up tomorrow and POOF all of these feelings and confusion will be gone.

Maybe.

There was this moment when we were breaking up- I can definitively point to it. I know what floor board I was staring at. And it felt like someone reached over and just blew out this little figurative candle I have carried and protected in my chest all of these years. Dreams I carried since childhood of being a parent, partner, homeowner and so on. Woosh. Out that candle went. And all of my dreams went with it.

I've never felt that sensation before. Not even with Matt. Even with Matt I still carried that candle that I wanted all of those dreams to come true. I worried endlessly that they wouldn't and worked hard to ensure they would.

This time, that little light went out.

I don't know if I want those things anymore. I don't know exactly what I want.

I know I am afraid to risk myself with someone again.

I have come to believe you can "make it work," with lots of people. I think Daniel's past testified to that. So does mine. There are personality matches, and then there are those deeper emotional matches, soul matches- what I believe this was. And I don't know that I could handle loosing someone I connected with as deeply as Daniel again. But how do you settle for a "make it work" person after having had a emotional soul match like the one I just had?

I'm probably just wounded.

Like Daniel's friend said when we first started dating... I'm a stage 5 clinger. It was the truth. To me, this was offensive. We were in a relationship. Why would it matter if I was clingy or not? Wasn't that sort of the point? The problem with that was, Daniel should have been out having a fling. Which was his friend's point. To his friend, the fact I had been single so long was a giant red flag. I wasn't someone out for a fling. Daniel didn't pick up on this. But that was because Daniel didn't pick up on the fact that HE should have been out having a fling.

I don't know what I want now. At this point, I'm probably the one who should be having a fling. Except that that's not me. My friends have talked me into two first dates and I'm just about done with that now. I left the second date upset, lonely for Daniel and reflective that regardless of how lonely I am in general, it's going to take me quite a bit of time to get over this relationship. The last time we saw each other, Daniel told me he probably wasn't going to be able to start dating until next summer. Now, while I suspect he has already started dating, (and has perhaps already had an entire relationship/fling and break up since me....) this estimate is in all honesty probably going to be the accurate trajectory for myself. But that's just how significant this relationship was for me.

I feel like crap. I'm depressed. I don't know who or what I'm looking for. I don't know if I want to get married anymore. I don't know if I want kids. I don't even know that I want to stay in Sacramento. Honestly, I don't know that I can. Every time I come here, I am parlayed with one horrible experience after another. Assuming this turns out how I expect (I never see or hear from Daniel again, just like every other significant partner in my life has abandoned me) I don't know that I really want to be here anymore. Especially if I don't have long term plans or goals for myself... Maybe I just want to start over somewhere else. Without plans, the world really is my oyster and I'd rather spend my time exploring it. The only idea that truly excites me at this point is travel. If I had funds, I wouldn't even be here right now, I'd be in an old VW Bus, on the road. Or in Europe with a back pack. Or in SE Asia. Anywhere but here. I do want a job and a career, and I have been playing with the idea of once again continuing my education but the student loan thing stops me in my tracks.

Since those things aren't options right now, I am working on getting a job, exploring the hobbies I enjoy (concerts, music, guitar, roadtrips, swing dancing and so on) and trying to take care of myself. And working on my social life. I'm doing the best I can.

I know this post is exploding with depression. But that's just where I am at right now.

First Date at Chicago Fire: That time my Tinder Date CRIED

I met the guy on Tinder. He had a nice bio, a nice smile, and cleverly quipped with me over text. The intellectual chemistry was fairly smooth and (with heavy peer pressure from my friends) agreed to a date with him fairly quickly. He seemed entertaining enough, and he certainly got my jokes.

We were to meet at Chicago Fire, a restaurant and bar in Midtown that I had always wanted to try, but had never gone to, so I was pleased over the location. Although when I got there I realized it was within a block or two of Rick's Dessert Diner... a special place for Daniel and I, and also within walking distance of Daniel's apartment. It threw me off, and the non-nonchalant vibe I had been trying to fake to myself crumbled as I sat and cried in my car for a bit. I hate dating in general, and I hate the pressure that comes with meeting new people- jumping through hoops, unconsciously trying to impress each other- even if you don't really like them there's always some level of posturing, and of course the nerves. I also always felt like I was cheating on Daniel. This should have probably indicated I hadn't taken enough time for myself before attempting the dating scene, but I was getting so much flack and pressure from my friends about how I needed to "move on" that I felt that I had to start going out, even though I was pretty much crying every day, not eating, and felt horrendously depressed. It might have been a wise recommendation that I attend group therapy, but this was the best idea my friends came up with. "Use them for free drinks and get even for all the men that have screwed you over," they said. But I won't let them pay for my drinks unless I'm interested. So that doesn't usually work in my favor.

This guy was intelligent, kind, educated, had a good job with the legislature... it had potential- why not? I didn't really ask many questions about the future or what he was interested in or looking for and tried to just go with it, which for me is pretty off the wall and out of character.

I walked the two dark blocks to Chicago Fire and pushed the heavy door open into the restaurant. At first I didn't see anyone appearing to be waiting for me, or anyone obviously sitting alone at the bar, like a date would be. I knew he was  already there, so I was a little confused. Then, from a dirty table covered in plates and half eaten pizza, an extremely vertically challenged man waved me over.

My date had apparently commandeered a used table.

I awkwardly perched on a stool in front of some other person's half eaten pizza crust and smiled at my date... and tried not to stare. A large wound of some kind seemed to be protruding from the middle of his forehead.

...What the hell was that?

I smile. We shake hands. "So you must be very full from all of these pizzas! Exactly how many other dates did you have before me?!" I start needling him right away. Trying not to stare. WHAT THE HELL IS THAT?

He makes some jokes about the line of Tinderellas that preceded me in the restaurant.

I keep glancing back and forth between his face... and that thing on his forehead.

Is it is a zit? A massive, gigantic zit?

I lean on my hands and try to look away... and not put my elbow in the marinara sauce on the table.

This is already so awkward. 

The banter is quick and witty and entertaining, but already I have thought a thousand times, What the hell is he thinking? 

Finally a waitress comes and clears the table.

It's so dark in the restaurant I just can't get a look at the massive tumor on his head. It's a zit right? A giant big bite? Why doesn't he acknowledge it? Just own it! Doesn't he know I'm avoiding looking at him simply so I won't stare?

Suddenly the conversation turns. I'm not exactly sure what happened, but our witty banter suddenly shifted to a serious discussion about his family. I pause. I had already been struggling to keep up while I invented various stories about the massive tumor in the middle of his face. He leans his face into mine and... launched into specific detail about each member of his family's psychiatric history...

I clear my throat. I nod empathatically. I too, am wildly guilty of the over-sharing. Everyone knows this. Perhaps he hasn't realized he's starting to tread too far. I make a joke and try to help him back pedal. He shakes his head and plunges farther into stories of electric shock treatments and suicide attempts and people being committed to various asylums. Mmmkay.

"You just can't save everybody." No, looney date, sometimes you can't.

Now he was discussing his maternal side of the family. Surely he couldn't have too many more relatives?

"That must be very difficult for you,"I hear myself saying. I sip my beer. He shows no sign up stopping so I better pace myself.

Suddenly I hear a bizarre choking noise. I glance at my date. I had been trying so hard to not look at him directly so as to avoid wondering about that THING on his head.

He was crying. CRYING. The man was openly weeping at the table. He had begun talking about a cousin and had just lost it.  I glance at my iPhone. I had been on this date for 36 minutes. My date was sobbing at the table. WHAT EXACTLY IS THE PROPER PROTOCOL FOR THAT?

He continues sniffling and sobbing, babbling on about his mentally ill cousin. I have no idea what to do. DO I PAT HIM? HUG HIM? What if the tumor is contagious? A tear splashes to the dirty table. I have no idea where to turn my gaze. The sauce covered high top. The zitty tumor, which now curiously looks like it might have some dried blood in it. My date's tear-stained face. I admire my hands. I've always thought I had such pretty hands.

"We all have our challenges,"I hear myself saying.

My date sucks some snot back into his nasalcavity.

I try not to gag.

The waitress wizzes over with the check. "Split it?" My date says, suddenly recovered. Praise Jesus.
"Suuuuure." I respond, hesitatingly.  But shouldn't I get the beer for free as compensation?

"So, would you like to come back to my place? Or maybe grab another drink at the bar next door?"
"What?" How is this hell not over yet?
"It's only 9:40! I can make you a drink at my apartment around the corner, or do you want to go next door?"
"Uh, we just met, I don't usually hang out at my friends houses until I've known them for at least a few months."

I am so thrown by the invitation back to his apartment. Is he seriously asking me back to his house? Like.. for a hook up? Am I being punked? I scan the restaurant with sudden suspicion.
 
"Well I live right across the hall from my sister, so girls usually like that! Plus we have this open door policy, so-"
"Wait, what?"
"An open door policy! You know, she can come in whenever. "

"You mean, she like... walks in on you? With dates?"
"Well, I mean, yeah, that's happened."
"Isn't that... awkward...?"
Long pause "Well, I mean... It can be. But my dates still usually really like it."

"Uh...." I stare blankly for a minute...Okay, so I am just going to go with this... "So, since you guys basically live together, do you ever just like... open your apartment doors and make like a big apartment together?"

"What do you mean?"
"You know, like just open your doors, and like, seal the doors open with tape. Close yourselves off from the world!" ....Like Flowers in the Attic.
"I don't get it."
"Hmmm." Maybe he isn't that witty.
"Bar next door?"
I glance at my phone. It is 9:43pm. I have been on this date since 9:04. If I left right then, it would totally feel like I was ditching the poor crying tumor guy. I mean, the snot hadn't even totally dried off of his face yet. He's clearly never going on another date in his life so, can I write this off on my taxes as a charity donation?  "Uhh, I guess." A mercy-drink if there ever was one. I picked up my purse and rolled my eyes as I followed him out the door.

Now the advantage to going to the horrible dive bar next door was a giant SPOTLIGHT highlighted this thing on his head the second we slid into a booth in the back. I could finally see what in the hell this thing was. STITCHES. He had flipping STITCHES going across the middle of his face. At least a dozen of them. WHAT THE HELL?

We got a couple more beers; I took a couple of sips and I went to the restroom. Sitting on the toilet, I collapse my head into my hands. Shit. There's no way I can drink any more of that beer I just ordered. I had left it unattended with the crier and if I was ever going to get roofied on a date this was for sure the one. Shit. I'll just pretend I'm drunk instead of actually getting drunk. As soon as I came back I slid into my seat and got ready to go hog wild.

"SO."
"So?"
"What exactly happened there?" I point to the stitches.
"I was wondering when you were going to bring that up."
"Why not just volunteer the information yourself? Isn't it more awkward not to?"
He shrugs. "I had a cyst drained. It was the size of a golf ball. It really wasn't that big of a deal, but they had to wrap my entire head in gauze the day I had it done. Wanna see?"
"UH, YEAH."

He busts out the photos. It looks like he had brain surgery. Nothing is visible except his mouth and his bug eyes.
"My friend took me out bar hopping afterwards. Just for the reaction. Best night of my life."

...Yeah I bet.

"Well, my cat needs his insulin shot." I am so loving my cat at this moment.
"Your what needs his what?"
"Oh did I not mention? Yeah I have like 3 pets. All are super high maintenance. The cat has to have that insulin shot right on time or he might die. So I have to get going."
"Oh. I was having such a good time though. I thought you might want to go to my apartment after this."
"Uh.... Well, the cat though."
"Oh. Well. Can I walk you to your car?"
"Oh, I am good, I am right there, thanks so much!"

Then I ran out of the bar, darted around like 5 other cars to make sure he didn't follow me, circled the block like 6 times to again make sure he wasn't tailing me, and then sped home and locked all of the doors. And windows.

So what's your best worst date story? Because this was pretty good for me. 

First Date Post-Break up with Jeremie

And here we are, out on dates again. Honestly this wasn't a place I thought I would be, but here I am. At the urging of Brian and Angie I got on Tinder (and every other app in the world) and matched with a few people. The first person I connected with at all was of course a lawyer. I can't help it. I'm an overly analytical, overly logical person and I am wildly attracted to lawyers and law students. They're my type. The problem with this one was I kept thinking he had gone to one law school in town, but... he had actually gone to the same school as Daniel. My mind was absolutely convinced he had gone to this other school, and so I wasn't worried about there being any kind of overlap. Until right before the date started when I looked at his profile one more time and realized, OH CRAP.

Not only did he go to the same school Daniel did, but he only graduated a year ahead of him. Which means, in a school that small, the chances are like, slim to none they don't know each other or know OF each other or at least have friends in common. Great.

I tried to just forget about it, but I couldn't help but drop some of my handy law school knowledge (specific to their school) into the conversation because, I HAD JUST SPENT THREE MONTHS HEARING ALL ABOUT IT. I actually liked the guy enough that I would have gone out with him again, and felt like we had a nice intellectual conversation that I enjoyed- as a friend or as something else, but I'm pretty sure I screwed it up with what ended up sounding like crazy elitist comments bragging about the school's rankings based on things Daniel had told me. Which is stupid.

Also, beautifully, my date went on to the neighboring town of Davis after our date- we actually closed down the brewery we talked so long- and went to hang out with a friend from law school. Which gave me this huge wave of paranoia about who exactly that person could be. Because the likelihood that that person was someone who was still in school was probably pretty darn high. Which means they probably know Daniel. Which means I wanted to throw up. I already felt awful enough going on the date at all, and somehow I had put myself in the law school cess pool. What on earth? I'M NOT EVEN IN LAW SCHOOL ANYMORE. My very nice date continued texting me even after he was hanging out with his friend, but after a couple hours started asking some pointed questions about the body art project I had done, which to me made me wonder, if just maybe he was comparing notes with someone. I just had this gut feeling he knew who I was. He never asked, but for our pleasant date and lengthy texts after, I never heard from him again.

So either he faked it well that night or something else was going on.

Either way... I'm totally not ready to date anyway so it doesn't really matter, but the whole thing felt incredibly embarrassing.