I’m not proud of this.
Maybe I’m just not ready?
What if I’m unworthy?
Am I just being childish?
These are things I’m wondering.
The story: I met someone. This someone was like the someone I’d been wishing to meet. First off, she was smart, y’all. In an early phone conversation, she rattled off the quadratic formula, then Googled it while we were on the phone to confirm that she was right. (She was.) Then, we’d had a long conversation and then both shared the number of Wikipedia entries we’d both opened during our conversation to learn more about the things we talked about. This is my life, and she shared it. We talked about the politics of hair, black identity, reality television, stars and planets, walking, our dating pasts, our hoped-for dating futures, the shades of blue. We laughed. Before our first date, I was sick to my stomach with nervousness. Literally. What if she didn’t like me? (She did.) What if there was no physical attraction? (There was. + Her smile!) The date lasted about five hours, after work. We went stargazing (!!). All the telescopes had been pointed at Saturn. We could see its rings. There were many giggles. We had dinner, talking until the restaurant closed. We walked across Manhattan, talking and giggling, and, in front of a closed rare books store, had our first kiss. All of this was just perfect. We had more dates — skee-ball at Dave & Buster’s; hours and hours at the beach, talking and eavesdropping; more stargazing; talks over dinner. Always with the giggling.
I found myself caring more about my health. I wanted to take better care of myself. I started to purge the past from my life. Once, the day before a planned date, I stayed up until 8 a.m. cleaning out my closet, getting rid of items of clothing that were reminders of another life. Three trashbags full. I started writing again. I started taking a journal with me again. I felt like sharing. I felt like I had things to say.
And, then, well, I don’t know. I really don’t. I got a “this isn’t right” feeling. I ignored it and then I rationalized it.
Sometimes, you see, I don’t think I’m worthy of happiness. You don’t need to convince me otherwise. Rationally, logically, I get that that thinking is bollocks (I’ve been watching a lot of Buffy lately). But I *feel* like I’m not deserving of love. I think that I’ve caused too much hurt in my life and that I should be left to dwell on that. Helen told me that I’ve caused the most harm to myself, which is true. But again this isn’t rational Eba. This is the other one. The one full of doubt and so little self-esteem.
So anyway I used that ^ to help me ignore that gut feeling that the passion I expected wasn’t there. It wasn’t, after all, but I now wonder if that was just me again, with my self doubting and all. I fought it because I wanted to. I liked spending time with this woman, this person who was so in tune with herself, who knew what she wanted, who worked toward happiness, who made me want to be and do better.
But late one night I blurted out my still-not-quite-realized reservations and now we are no longer seeing each other. And I have felt pretty shitty.
And I have felt so fucking sad. I just went out with a friend trying to explain it, to talk about what happened and why, to understand my contradictions. All of my insecurities are so here right now. I feel so, so unpretty. I don’t think I deserve someone who is stable and caring and *into me.* I don’t. I don’t get why that person would want me and so I start to feel like I’m being set up for something. I wonder if I’m confusing this person, making him or her think I’m different from my true self. To me, sometimes, my true self is unattractive, boring, lazy and really not smart. I feel so stupid sometimes. I really feel it.
But anyway. All bullshit. Yes, I know. No one needs to check up on me or give me a pep talk. This is ridiculous. I get it. What the hell, right? I must be a horrible person to think these horrible things about myself. And < this is how the circle is unbroken.
These feelings apparently come on the strongest when I’m dating. When I’m dating someone who makes me smile. My friend tonight made me think about why I think I’m so deserving of harm and instability. I can’t even. I don’t think it has a basis.
So, OK, a therapist would probably do me good. And maybe I’ll stay single forever. Or maybe these past three years of singledom have just turned me into something I don’t care for (or think others should care for). Or maybe I’m just more depressed than I’ve ever really been and I don’t know how to deal.
The morning after she and I last saw each other, my sister and I realized that one of the cats was missing. We looked all over the house, in the basement, in the back yard. I walked around my block, bra-less, shaking a cat toy and a can of treats, asking neighbors if they’d seen an orange kitty. My sister came out and helped. We’d given up and were walking back to the apartment (and I was about to just lose it). There he was, outside our door, waiting for us.
There have been so many fucking emotions is what I’m saying.
I think I’m OK with the not-dating-her thing. It seems like either I’m not ready or it just wasn’t the right timing or situation. I think I’m OK with trusting my gut feeling, even if I don’t understand. I have so much work to do. The sadness — the almost unbearable sadness — of the past couple of days has been in maybe never talking to this woman again. I want her in my life. And I feel selfish to even suggest it. It seems rather shitty actually. I think she was a good influence on me and that’s a takeaway. I hope she recognized my desire to grow and to overcome my insecurities and my immaturities.
What in all fucktuality?
Is it too late to say I’m actually, despite this, OK?
It’s 5:23:06 a.m. and birds are chirping and I have a flight in 26 hours (with two nights of sleep, a few loads of laundry and a full shift of work in between). It’s really light out.