Taking myself out on dates has been a favorite of mine for years.  It’s pretty typical fare—a movie or some food and since I’m easily amused, I enjoy myself.  Plus, you’re a sure thing if you want to be.  No expectations. 

Tonight was an exceptional date.  I craved Mexican food all afternoon, so it was the obvious choice.  Feeling particularly adventurous, I decided to drive across town to a restaurant instead of trekking to the usual one within walking distance. 

I live on the edge. 

In addition to excellent camarones, I enjoyed reading the new “Runner’s World” and tweeting odd things I overheard during dinner #thingsihearinmexicanrestaurantsinSD.  Like I said, easily amused. 

No awkward convo.  Plenty of laughing, mostly at myself, and dinner was enough since there was a new season of “House of Cards” waiting for me to binge on at home. 

But as it often does, my introspection takes over and on the ride home I managed one decent psychological breakthrough and ended up all teary-eyed at a blurry stop light on 18th Street. 

Social media shares and memes are 73.4% shit, 17.2% hilarious, 9.3% thought-provoking, and .1% eviscerates you and offers you a Band-Aid as you try to pack yourself back together without anyone noticing.  While I don’t hate much in this world, I hate platitudes, so a lot of the shares inspire me to puke on a puppy.  I prefer the dark humor memes or ones that instantly make me feel like I shouldn’t have enjoyed that, like the first time I listened to Guns N’ Roses. 

 What ripped at me today?

 

 Be still, my heart.  You even used "you're" correctly.  

Be still, my heart.  You even used "you're" correctly.  

 

I told myself I was hard to love since I was a child.

I knew I didn’t deserve love.

I was a sham.

I told myself these bad things made me hard to love.

 

I am:

Introverted

Opinionated

Usually right

Lonely

Creative

Argumentative

Without interest in being nice

Known to make inappropriate jokes

Easily bored by people

Scarred from the places I have been broken

 

I have never had a serious relationship with someone who wasn’t struggling with addiction.  People have accused me of being “a fixer,” in that I picked broken men I wanted to fix or wild men I wanted to tame.  It couldn’t be further from the truth.  None of them loved themselves; they certainly weren’t able to love me.  Because I thought I was hard to love, I chose men who validated that.  I mastered the skill of crying myself to sleep without disturbing the person on the other side of the bed. 

All that was running through my mind at the stoplight earlier and I’m not quite sure what to do with it.  It completely authenticates why I have been able to have amazing friendships throughout my life.  I’m not talking acquaintances here, I’m talking the ones for whom I would take a bullet.  There is love, admiration, and respect in my friendships. The question is how do I transfer that to a romantic relationship if and when I ever want to? 

It sounds so logical on paper.  But we are strange beasts.  We are strange beasts who have simple needs, but complex ideas about how to meet them.  I’m really grateful that line gutted me:  Stay away from people who make you feel you’re hard to love.

I gotta let that part of myself go. 

The lonely little girl deserved love.

The boy-crazy girl deserved love.

The 19 year old who was raped deserved love.

The 20-something full of gin and whisky deserved love.

The 30-something hitting her stride deserves love. 

 

 I certainly didn't peak early.

I certainly didn't peak early.

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