It’s no surprise I suck at relationships, like suck bad. I’m really good at a lot of things: work, friendships, family, cooking, writing, etc. but relationships with men are my handicap.
There are probably more than one reason for this, I’ve talked about my broken picker before, and while I’m sure that is a big piece of it, I think another large contributor is the fact I am self sabotager.
I don’t believe that anything good will stay in a relationship. I am forever waiting for the other shoe to drop; for the relationship to crumble to the ground, and me to pick of the reminents of my broken heart. I’ll have a cocktail and step over another failed relationship, headed out the door with my head held high and my middle finger up. It’s what I do, it’s what I know. I don’t know how to have a relationship that doesn’t fail.
At this point, I can’t remember what it’s like to feel excited about someone. I don’t get butterflies, I’m not giddy, the best I ever muster up is cautious, optimistic curiosity. I don’t get nervous, not even for a blind date. This, probably of all things, is the saddest part. I think I’m broken. I was having dinner with one of my best friends on Sunday evening, and she asked me, “do you think you just don’t feel that way, or do you think you won’t let yourself feel that way?” Fuuuuck me. I hadn’t even thought about that.
It’s painfully obvious that is EXACTLY what I’m doing. If you don’t get excited, you’re never disappointed. If you don’t care, you can’t get hurt. If you don’t love, your heart can’t be broken. If it never starts, it never ends. I’ve been playing it safe under the guise of disinterest.
My need for self preservation has created someone I don’t recognize, and it’s surely not someone I want to be. Who wants to be with someone who can’t get exited about you? Who wants to be with someone who is scared (I’m calling myself out) to even dip their toe into any sort of relationship? I wouldn’t.
I guess I should apologize for those men I’ve ran over the last eight months, or however long I’ve been glass-eyed and inattentive. In all honestly, it wasn’t you, it was me. You never had a fair chance. I never even considered you. I used you as a bandaid for a night, or a weekend, or a month. You didn’t deserve that. My only defense is I was trying to not feel. Anything. I think I felt too much, for too long, and somehow you got stuck on the wrong end of the switch.
I have truly mastered the art of self sabotage, and the sabotage of any man brave enough to try to attempt to even kiss me. Maybe being self aware will help me stop being like this. One could hope.