So I know I’m overdue for a post, so I’m just going to compile my thoughts, and hope that it presents itself as some sort of nonsensical discourse that eventually all makes perfect sense. Okay?
So I feel the need to vent/be a little sad about something that happened to me a few weeks ago.
Side Note: I own a tank top that states: Be nice, or you’ll end up on my blog.
You were warned.
So here it is. I met a person that I felt an instant connection with. I felt like I was comfortable around him; we fit strangely into each others’ lives even though it seemed as though we barely had anything in common. We came from different places, different backgrounds, had different types of friends. All this being said, I felt like we complimented each other.
Now, I’m aware that sometimes these things tend to get so intense, that they burn out like an exploding star, but I honestly didn’t think this particular instance would end like that.
Until it did.
Why is it that I allow myself to get close to these men, who often have to PRY my emotions from my clenched, cold hands and make me have The Feels, and then kick me to the curb!? It’s almost like one gigantic cosmic joke. Almost like the Universe is telling me that it’s going to dangle these men in my face who do and say all the “right” things and then lay the smack down and say, “HA HA SHAN! Just kidding! You can’t have a man who is smart, and funny, and successful, and good looking, who likes you and might actually care about you!”
No. That would just be too easy.
Look, Universe, I’m twenty-fucking-seven. I’m not saying that I’m “old” per se, but I am getting “old-er” and I feel like it’s not fair that you keep treating me like some broken baby doll from the Land of Misfit Toys.
Except it doesn’t look like this:
It looks like this:
What’s the fucking deal???
And the PROBLEM with this, is that each time something blows up in my face like one gigantic bomb, that sets fire to all the blood and tissue and sinew in my poor, sad broken heart, I feel the need to EXPLAIN MYSELF.
Well then THAT just ends up blowing up in my face like another land mine that was left undetonated and the cycle continues.
And I look like this:
Long story short, when this particular boy blew up in my face, I thought perhaps I could justify my feelings by writing a well-written, concise email that explained EXACTLY why I reacted the way that I did and gave a DETAILED account of “The Feels.” I hoped that this person would read my heartfelt words, and know that the only reason I reacted the way I did, was because I had actual FEELINGS for this person. And they were indeed reciprocated. How do I know this? Because this person did things like call me “just to hear my voice,” send me text messages about future plans, wanted our lives to be integrated with one another. He told me that he was happy, and I was too.
Then, WHAT here is the problem?
And here’s what I think it is.
The men of my generation know how to say and do exactly what women want them to do. The sincerity of everything has been brushed aside. It’s an equation; a way to solve a problem. Men are usually the ones to find solutions to problems that their ladies present to them (often at the annoyance of the lady, who only want to vent).
My generation of men has perfected the craft of deceit.
And this is how that makes me feel:
Now I know I appear to sounds like a broken record about this particular subject, but I still cannot believe I continue to be duped by these men. What drives me crazy is that this one in particular felt so REAL. Perhaps I still fail to see the risk I’m taking every time I try to see the best in people.
I don’t know.
Anyway, after my email was sent and I presented my unfiltered feelings to this person, his first reaction was (and I quote), “I think it’s best for both of us if I take a step back.”
WHAT?! AM I TAKING CRAZY PILLS. I was aggressively courted by this person; swept off my feet, introduced to his best friends, told I was beautiful, told I was cared about. I did not concoct an imaginary person out of thin air!
So why does it always feel like I’m the one suffering when things go awry?
Here is this person who essentially took me for this magnificent ride in his flashy car full of “promises” and “futures” and “respect” and “caring for one another,” and then the MOMENT I decide that I would ALSO like to reciprocate feelings, he needs to take a “step back.”
I call bullshit.
I call bullshit on the entire thing. It’s like women of my generation can’t be fucking honest about how they feel because they will be labeled as “crazy,” whereas the men of my generation I believe actually WANT relationships and WANT to care about another person, but if they let themselves too close they feel like they are losing something. In New York a big excuse is the “career.” Another one I’ve heard is that they are just “confused about what they want, and looking for someone to help them figure it all out.”
What? Help you figure your shit out so that you can leave me in the dust, while you pursue your budding finance career and go off to fuck some other chick with a thigh gap and an IQ of 50?
I don’t get it.
I will never “get it.”
I’m sorry Taylor Swift, but boys don’t only want love if it’s torture. In FACT, the first hint of torture they start running. The reason they stay with you is because you’re beautiful, and powerful, and famous.
I feel like I’m almost a different species to these men. And I’m not talking about being a woman in general, I’m talking about being the specific kind of woman I am: strong-willed, driven, emotional (without qualms), blunt, honest, but also loving, and nurturing, and respectful, and thoughtful.
You don’t get to have one side of my personality and run aways when things don’t go the way you want them to.
Basic human interaction is full of choice and compromise. I feel as though my generation has become so self-indulgent that we’ve forgotten this. We’ve forgotten what it feels like to love and be loved. We allowed ourselves to achieve greatness in our lives, but not with each other. We’ve become hard; addicted to machines, and sex, and instant gratification.
Let’s let go of the deceit and start getting real.
Until then… scratch everything I said in this blog post (What I Think About on Airplanes) and let me go back into my shell until the winter is over and have someone else use a hammer and chisel to try to get my heart-sickle to open up again.