We’re all a little mad here

Basic reaction to a whole bunch of people I don't know reading about my feelings.

Basic reaction to a whole bunch of people I don’t know reading about my feelings.

So, in a completely unexpected twist, the CEO of the gym I joined last week shared a link to my blog and my readership blew up. The first thing I thought, after “holy crap why are so many people looking at my blog today?” was, “Oh SHIT, I was totally talking about my feelings, oh god oh god oh god oh god.” But, then I remembered that I’m human and most of us have feelings, so I stopped hyperventilating. Anyway, so grateful for the sharing of my blog AND for the program itself – four classes this week and all of them were amazing! I’m finally a little less acutely sore, soaking in Epsom salts and eating protein can help with that (in my humble opinion), but sore enough that I know I was working past my comfort zone. Have you ever done push up/sit up pyramids? You do ten push ups, ten sit ups, nine push ups, nine sit ups, etc until you get down to one of each. We did that between circuits including donkey kicks (aka I’m learning how to twerk somehow) and jump lunges. As per usual, absolutely soaked in sweat. As per usual, went out in public afterward and didn’t give a single shit. I’m pretty sure I jokingly told my friend verbatim, “Oh, I’m sweaty and you don’t like that I’m not all cute right now? OH DAMN, I DIDN’T REALIZE I WAS LIVING FOR YOUR APPROVAL.” Not that she gave a flying crap, we’re both pretty low maintenance people.

That’s actually what I had originally wanted to write about. I don’t know how to function around men that I find attractive anymore (nor have I ever really been able to, to be honest). I really am, in the least cutesy way possible, that idiot that runs into a pole, or end table, or wall because I’m physically incapable of thinking of something clever and also being a human at the same time. Which it proving very difficult because my life is decidedly far more filled with attractive people. I also, incorrectly, assume that men I’m attracted to would be more attracted to me if I…oh, wore makeup or did something other than let my hair do whatever the hell it wants. And wear something other than spandex pants. Well, maybe not that last one. Like I said, I’m a low maintenance person. Every once in a while I’ll whip out the curling iron and get really crazy, but for the most part, if you don’t like it, don’t look at it. Did that keep the 60-year-old thing that came directly from a swamp from catcalling out the window of his car “COME HERE AND GIMME A KISS, COMERE GIMMEA KISS” while we were both going 70mph on the highway? Of course not. Some people are just really hoping to be involved in vehicular manslaughter.

Oh, most people shower before going in public after a workout?

Oh, most people shower before going in public after a workout?

But anyway, something I’ve started to learn, at almost a quarter century old, is that I shouldn’t want to be surrounded in any capacity by people who wouldn’t appreciate me just the way I am. I wear jeans like five times minimum before I wash them, have no problem jumping into basically any body of water at any temperature, listen to every single genre of music that exists (except polka because fuck that), I don’t give a flying shit sideways about sports unless I’m actively participating in them, and will happily pummel a burrito when the mood strikes me. If someone doesn’t appreciate that, then I shouldn’t want to associate with them. I spent a lot of time in middle and high school not really understanding that. That the happiest people are the ones who are completely themselves, for all of their quirks, regardless of what people think. I read an article about that the other day, how the “insert stereotypes here” from high school are miserable now because they tried to fit a mold that doesn’t really exist. I read it and afterwards just shrugged, because at this point it just seems like common sense. People who try to be someone they aren’t to be accepted by society in some way aren’t going to end up satisfied at the end of the day. If you want to change, it has to be for you and not anyone else. Maybe that’s years of working with people trying to make positive changes that taught me that, but regardless. I’m glad that I accepted by complete lack of an ability to be a ‘normal’ human being years ago. Guys, I’m weird as shit. And I’m totally okay with it. I will dance in public if I hear any song that could be considered in any capacity “bouncy”.

That’s about it for now; it’s been a really good week. Plus, Friday the 13th is usually a good day for me, but that may be because I set the really bar really low. Like, oh I didn’t get hit by a car today or sleep past my alarm? Other than those two situations being vastly different in gravity, clearly as long as I get to work on time and survive the day, I’m doing solidly. I decided that I wasn’t going to be the person that continues to wax poetic about a failed relationship, but instead celebrate what was and accept that I’m meant for something better. Note: something, not necessarily someone. Because, you guessed it, I don’t need a man to be happy. Though after a month and a half, man, some action would be lovely. Like, shit. Emotions notwithstanding. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. Also, Shakira is on and I’m alone in the office and you better believe I’m dancing around.

– a.

Gotta get down to that Shakira, man.

Gotta get down to that Shakira, man.


Staying committed

Ha, those two words can hold a heavy burden on some people, depending greatly on the subject at hand. In this particular case, it’s staying committed to myself. The past almost two months now (since the turmoil of break up/back together/break up/why won’t you mail me my shit for the love of god) have been, to be completely cliche, a roller coaster. For a little while, I struggled to find any lasting satisfaction or contentment throughout my day. Certain things would make me feel better, but I didn’t really feel good. Thankfully, blessedly, my commitment to self-joy has brought me sufficiently out of the dark place all people go during a break up and my days are mostly joyful now, with moments of sadness. I read a fabulous quote last night from (you guessed it) Tumblr: ” Before I met him, I would dance in the shower. When he was in my life, I would think about showering with him. After he left, I would sit on the ground in the shower and cry. When I got over him, I showered so quickly there was no time for dancing, fantasies or tears. Someone can invade the smallest parts of your life, you won’t even realize it until you dance in the shower again and wonder why you ever stopped.”

Sorry man whose name completely eludes me, I still struggle with the word "no" sometimes.

Sorry man whose name completely eludes me, I still struggle with the word “no” sometimes.

What a perfect way to describe a break up. And desperately true. I’m still in the part where there isn’t time for dancing in the shower – but at least I’ve stopped thinking of him washing the conditioner out of my hair for me. And other inevitable things that happen when showering with your significant other. Speaking of said other things, I have to say that I’ve noticed a stark increase in exboyfriends/lovers/casual sex partners/people I’ve literally never looked at that way/asshole misogynistic strangers reaching out to me. Now, while I am fully aware that rebounding is something that happens and inevitably there will be someone “after”, I have never been a big rebounder. Honestly. After a break up, especially one that wasn’t mutual, the last thing I want is someone else shoving his tongue in or around my mouth (in some cases, mostly around – ew). Don’t get me wrong, attention when I’m feeling down is fabulous. Yes, tell me I’m pretty. All day. Go ahead I encourage the fuck out of that. But, telling me that you messed up with me and/or wish you had done things differently? Drop it, man (x10). I don’t know if I’m alone in this, but when I move on from someone, I fully move on. When I make the decision to walk away, fully drop the rope, I am gone and I don’t look back. Not emotionally, anyway. And, on a mildly related note, I really need to apologize to the guy who I convinced to wait for me upstairs when I didn’t know how to say, “JK no, you’re really good looking and clearly intelligent but I’m an emotional mess,” and then ran out of the house. But I knew that trying to use sex or anything like it to try to make myself feel better wouldn’t fix anything and it certainly wouldn’t make me feel any more chipper.

Peeta is just as confused as me.

Peeta is just as confused as me.

It feels good though. To feel good again, I mean. To have days where I don’t run across something that reminds me of all the good in the relationship – because I don’t need reminded of that right now at all. Just like I don’t need to know how he’s doing, or if he’s happy, or any of the above. After bothering him for three, count it, three weeks for the rest of my things (trying all different tactics, mind you), I finally just told him to keep it last weekend. Said it was the last text I was sending. I’m appalled by the childish behavior, that he’s so scared to even see me when I offered to just pick them up because it’s like $20 to ship anything anymore. Mind you, of course he responded to that text (but not to the cut and dry “please mail me my things, let me know if you need my address” one, idontevenknowyouguys) and gave some excuse and then asked for my address but still the whole process? Ugh. And her mother trolling my Facebook page to “see if I said anything mean about her?” For Pete’s sake. I was willing to put up with the sitting outside and watching the house to see if I was over, mildly suicidal ideations, drunkenly showing up at his house, social media stalking, etc (btw, all of these are classic signs of an actual stalker, FYI) while I was in the relationship, now I’m not and I would very much like left alone. Was it actually her mother? I have no foggy notion; she used to use her mother’s Facebook to stalk us beforehand. Do I want to continue to think about it? No. Truly, I want left alone. I need to recommit to myself and myself alone. I don’t want any more relationship garbage, or long lost loves flying back into my life, or any of it. If this was a book, I’m finished reading it. I’d like to put it down now and not have it be like that book about creatures from Harry Potter.

So, all of that fun nonsense aside, I’m really pushing myself to be even better than I was before November. I signed up for a 5K, have been trying to help and reach out to as many friends as possible (this is symbiotic – I also don’t love being alone), have been really trying to keep improving at work, and joined a gym. And I’m really excited about this gym. Like, typing about it keeps making my eyebrows do this jumpy “are you excited cause I am” thing that kind of freaks me out because I can’t help it. Anyway, it’s called Soldierfit and it’s abso-fucking-lutely bloody-fucking-tastically amazeballs. I can’t believe I just wrote those last three words. It’s a program that’s based around military boot camp drills – but they offer so much more. MMA classes, yoga, kids classes, a regular gym, etc. My friend got into it a few months back and is already working there as a trainer because she’s a. awesome, b. a beast, and c. toootally gets the whole “reinvesting in yourself after a breakup” thing. So I left my old gym and joined Soldierfit and already love it. It’s not just a gym, it’s a family. Everyone is so nice, there’s so much camaraderie, and you can bet your ass that all of the trainers are good looking. Like, do another box jump for me unnng, good looking. That’s some serious motivation right there.

After the break up, I stopped eating and lost almost 15 pounds. I was happy to lose it but not in the way that I did. Once I started eating, I gained about five back. That’s about normal and didn’t really bother me, but I really miss how I felt when I was actually in shape. And I’ve been waxing on about that for years now, which is, at this point, stupid. I know what I have to do to get actual abs back. I know what I have to do to run an 8 minute mile (I’m clearly not a sprinter or anything along those lines, definitely a plodder). This was my very enthusiastic way of finally doing it. And oh dear god, everything is sore. My life is sore. I am so sore. Soreness 4 lyfe. It’ll improve and I’ll get stronger, and for now this pain is a good reminder of why I shouldn’t quit. And man, these functional fitness workouts are awesome. Slamming a mallet into a tire, heaving sandbags (really heavy ones), whipping a 10 pound ball at the wall like a shot put – I love it. I love all of it. Indian runs will likely be the death of me, but I love it. I’m so exhausted afterward, and nauseous, but it feels so good to know that I did it. I’m doing something. And it makes me feel good. Good for me, not good for anyone else. If I look great in a bikini and can be eye candy for others, that’s fine too, but I want to be able to climb ropes and army crawl through mud, flip tires, and do back flips. God, it really feels good to be active again. It feels really really good to start feeling like me again. I’m just starting, but it feels so good.

It’s funny, last year around this time, I’d written a post wherein I’d used a .gif to describe my love life. It was, still apt and perfectly chosen from Bridesmaids, when she raises her champagne glass, looking begrudging. I feel a little differently this time.

No really guys, I got this.

No really guys, I got this.

Fitness assessment tonight before class. I’ll try and post the results.

– a.

Why California Pizza Kitchen is a tricksy hobbitses.

Well good afternoon! You’re all looking smashing. Is that a new haircut? You look like you’ve gained some muscle tone all up in your – you know.

Great, now that we have all of the pleasantries taken care of…I have two orders of business. One relates to the title, the other relates more to the ongoings of my exciting life.

But first, California Pizza Kitchen…your frozen pizzas are TRICKSY. They are a delicious tricksy little sneaky hobbitses. At first, I pull you out of the freezer and I’m all like:


And then I plop you in the oven and bounce back and forth on my heels for 11-13 minutes. By the way, when it actually takes 13 minutes instead of 11, I feel sort of like I did when I got a B+ on a project for doing TOO MUCH of the work and not giving enough to my partner. And then you come out and you’re so hot and delicious and really hard to cut into eight pieces. And then put three pieces on a plate and fall into this sort of happy, fat, world-could-be-ending-but-I-give-no-shits trance. And then my plate’s empty and I’m not sure what’s going on because my stomach is still pretty empty. So I go back and end up eating THREE QUARTERS OF THE PIZZA. SIX PIECES OF PIZZA. So I feel guilty and I wrap up the one sad last piece (giving the other to my complaining younger brother) and put it in the fridge and walk away, justifying that they were thin pieces of pizza and it took that much to get me full and – HOLY MOTHER OF CHRIST I AM FULL. Your little devil pizza when all “rice in water” on my ass and blew up in my stomach so that I am rolling all over the floor feeling like the world is actually ending and how if Brad Pitt burst in now I wouldn’t mind the zombies behind him so much. Damn you, California Pizza Kitchen. Your thin little wafer slices tricked me.

So that happened about 20 minutes ago. And is, sadly enough, the precipitating event for me writing this post. But I did want to actually say what had been going on in my life because it does involve relationships. And normally I wouldn’t share specific details, especially because they aren’t positive aspects of my life (things I like to share), on here but…sometimes I feel like one of the only single bloggers out there. Most blogs I follow are of women either married, engaged, or in healthy (mostly) happy relationships. I’d just like to say to you single folk: you aren’t the only ones. And if you are struggling with being single or being in a rocky relationships or pseud0-relationship or WHATEVER that was, you aren’t alone. What you’re feeling is often times normal. And it’ll get better. But life in general was hard for me for a while, I mentioned it last time I wrote. Luckily, I’m doing better enough now to feel comfortable reflecting on it. I will also be using references from Bridesmaids to illustrate my points.


There was a large combination of factors and a lot of people noticed that I was struggling (including my boss and my boss’s boss and patients and my parents and all of my friends…apparently I wear my emotions on my sleeve I CAN’T TELL). I wish I could tell you that I had a stiff upper lip and dealt with things in any sort of quick or mature manner but who are we kidding here? I got ‘dumped’ (if a Manthing can actually officially dump you, anyway) in a very much so disrespectful way. Said Manthing then moved on to another girl, who I have a feeling he will be doing the same thing over with.

I’d again like to say that I was a total adult about my feelings and handled everything in a smart, healthy way but that didn’t happen. I cried every day for two weeks, probably because this was the first time I had ever had someone dump me as an adult. Wow, that sounds stupid conceited and I don’t mean it that way. I just haven’t really been in more three serious relationship or relationship-y situations as an adult. fuckingkiddingme

So, when it came down to it, I could have continued crying all the time, wondering what I did wrong, hating him, hating her, hating EVERYTHING, wanting to throw things, and giving myself what is probably a stress fracture from running so much…or I could just accept it and try to move on. After a month or so, being sad, angry, spiteful, jealous, and confused were just too heavy. I could be a heinous bitch to him and his Womanthing every time I saw them, but what good would that do? Who would that help? And, this is a big one, why should I want to be with a guy who doesn’t respect me? Did having to avoid watching them make out the entirety of the Fourth of July become tiresome and irritating? Sure it did, I am an emotional person and there’s still (dare I say it) love for him there that feels hurt by the change. But was I going to huff and puff and bitch and make snarky comments and noises every time one of them walked by? No! What’s the point?

bridesmaidsA part of me still hurts but I am no longer hurting. Over the past month, I started actually feeling like myself again. I think I mentioned before but it wasn’t just the ‘break up’ that had me out of sorts. I’d been feeling not like myself for a while, struggling and confused with my own life path. I’m not sure, honestly, what I did to truly get back on track. I guess a lot of the coaching I do at work rubbed off. I know all of the coping skills one can use to help with depression, anxiety, or anger. Yeah, I totally did scream “GODDAMNIT IT” in my car once, and it felt super duper good. I’ve read about 40 books in the past two months, no exaggeration, and made a few grumpy statuses on Facebook waxing poetic about love (or whatever). Granted, I was also hit on by a scary number of guys right afterward. It’s like men smell vulnerability. But I’m not interested. I’m haven’t actively pursued any relationship, sexual or otherwise, since then (TMI? maybeee). I know rebound potential when I see it and I’m not putting myself or another, well meaning person through that.

Long story short? Break ups are hard. People can be dicks. None of it is worth losing your self-love, dignity, or world view over. Sure it’s fun to shit talk sometimes, sometimes it’s straight up healthy to vent. Being that I’d avoided getting close with men since I ended my last long-term relationship a few years ago, having this happen when I was relatively happy really sucked. It sucked a whole bunch. It still kind of sucks. I’m not used to it. But I’ll get over it. Funnily enough, from those first days when I was unable to stop crying even as I was walking to my car to go to work (also, I cry a lot), I always knew I’d get over it and move past it. And I am. Even when I’m feeling lonely, denial was pointless, sadness is exhausting, anger is boring, bargaining is useless, holding on is endless, so I might as well accept it. Are there still a million and one things I’d like to say to him? Of course there are. Will I ever? No. And that’s okay.

– a.

Cheers, world.

Cheers, world.

Stay-cations and Motivations

So this may sound totally weird, but this blog entry is my “mental break” right now. I’ve been applying for jobs for a little over an hour and my brain already is kind of swilling about. A co-worker and I had a pretty honest conversation about our jobs today: we love them, but wow is it hard to be young and broke. I’m hoping to find a full-time job closer to my home and maybe continue working Per Diem at my current facility, every other weekend or so.

But on to more interesting things! So, it has been awhile I suppose. I’ll be honest, guys: I had four days off of work (built up PTO time just begging to be used) and even though I planned on spending them running and blogging, I basically spent them on a bed or couch snuggling. Bad me. I don’t really feel bad though, because what is the point of a vacation if you don’t relax? And boy did I.VdayDrink

I did manage to make it to the gym on Thursday and Saturday, so I really didn’t lose any work out days…even though my Saturday workout was basically me hurdling through a mile on the treadmill then showering and running out the door for FORMAL! 🙂 This post will be a recap, next post will be recipes of things eaten/made/devoured/worshipped and the continuance of my workout tweak.

So, brief-ish stay-cation recap:


VdaySteveMy day of luuurv was probably the best I’ve had in years. And no, I didn’t not spend the majority of it with a man! I woke up, spent my morning relaxing and browsing blogs, then went to the gym and worked out HARD (see next post for specifics!), then made myself look fabulous and met my friend Taylor for drinks. I also may have tortured Steve with kisses for the entire morning and he may still be feeling vengeful because he bit my lip today but I don’t blame him.

Taylor and I went to T.G.I. Fridays after a whirlwind of trying to figure out where the hell to park. I haven’t been out to dinner for Valentine’s Day in years. I’m not bitter about that at all. We sat at the bar, luckily there were two seats available for us to squeeze into, and man I have to tell you: we were the most attractive women at that bar. Both of us are good looking women as it is but still, it was a really nice feeling. And it let to a man giving us his free dessert. Hello! We had a great time, I drank a pink martini, and we ended up going back to her house and hanging out. I had made plans with man-sicle (I’m sorry, I really don’t know what else to call you…also I almost wrote “man-nequin” and laughed) to basically just snuggle afterwards in a very non-holidayish manner. It was all around a great day. I wish I had taken a picture of Taylor and I because we looked super fabulous. You’ll just have to trust me. Va-Va-Voom.


You know what’s sad? I’m looking through my texts to remember the order in which I did things this weekend. When I say that there was a lot of being in the horizontal position, I mean it. We woke up, and because both of cuddle partner’s roommates work on Fridays, we had the house to ourselves. So we made breakfast. And napped. Though, I am particularly proud because I made “my eggs” (i.e. mostly egg whites) and HE LIKED THEM. HAHA. Healthy food wins again! We lazed about, and even though there were a few half-hearted attempts to actually do something productive, napping won. I actually barely made it home in time for dinner with my parents. We were supposed to go to this place in Boonsboro but thanks to the hour and a half wait and the really intense moment when a server came running through asking if anyone knew CPR, we chose not to stay. Speaking of which, I know CPR, but what the customer actually needed was the Heimlich. Luckily, this was administered by one of four (go figure) registered nurses in the restaurant at the time. So nobody’s fate was in my hands…FOR NOW.


Fresh garlic, fresh basil, and goat cheese. Yum.

We ended up at my favorite pizza place in the world. Il Fornos Pizzeria in Frederick, MD. I don’t have words and pictures do no justice. But I was transported to cheesy, garlicky, happy heavenland for about 25 minutes while I munched. Add one Samuel Adams Spring Alpine draft beer and I am in hog heaven. Minus the tiny detail that I was not a huge fan of the beer. I’ve really turned into one of those people that REALLY has to be in the mood for beer or I just won’t drink it.

I ended up back at Taylor’s, where she and, ew I almost wrote man meat in seriousness but you can guess who I’m talking about, had made a baked fish dinner that they both apparently loved. We then all proceeded to drink maybe a little too much wine and be merry. It was a really nice Friday night.


Oh my gosh, you guys. I love Formal. What is it, you ask? Formal is something the fraternity that I was sweetheart for in college does every year around this time where all active brothers and dates plus a lot of alumni (and dates, or in my case, harems) get together, dress up, eat, drink, and be merry. It’s one of the few chances I get to see a lot of people that graduated before or with me in college, or that I just don’t get a chance to see. Weirdly (but still awesome-ly), two of my co-workers were there as well. We all knew each other from college before we were co-workers. Small world? I say yes.


Myself, Tara, and Vicky – note that both Vicky and I took one shoe off for this. Unplanned!

So I woke up and much cuddling happened and then after tugging on my arm for about 25 minutes (he really didn’t want to stop cuddling…I don’t blame him), I raced home, raced to the gym, flailed on the treadmill, then raced to my co-worker/friend Tara’s house to get ready together.

It was held at this place called Premier Events in Shippensburg; they don’t have their liquor license so it’s BYOB. Which is awesome – I’ve never seen so many bottles of wine floating about. And, of course, pictures were taken. After formal ended – by the way, did you know that there is a new ‘dance’ called “The Wobble” and I am apparently to old and sad to know it? – we went to our favorite local bar and commenced joie de vivre.

The night ended with me driving back to Maryland, I hadn’t really been in the mood to drink or party too hearty, to deliver a mediocre burger and fries to a rather silly Man-Wich (oh, these are getting awful). Who then proceeded to eat that, an egg sandwich I made for him, and make bacon at about 5am. I was asleep for the bacon-making, but it was commendable nonetheless.

Sunday, or, The Last Day

I was supposed to run a 5k on Sunday. Not an official one, but at the gym as a workout. This is me being accountable: I did not do that. I ate one heck of a breakfast made by a friend of the Tremanson household (for future reference: that’s Taylor and gang’s house) consisting of eggs with cheddar cheese, green onions, spinach, and possibly nirvana. I laid around a bit more until mid-afternoon, when a few of the bunch wanted to do something and all I wanted was a Disney movie and a fleece blanket. So I went home and took a bath, lazily flopped around in what could possibly be considered yoga-like positions, and ate some of my mom’s asparagus salad. I don’t have the recipe for it, but I’m going to get it from her and put it on here because IT IS DELICIOUS. I know there’s asparagus, leek or green onion, quinoa, mint, and a whole big bunch of other things but it was so good.

After that, I ended up back at Tremanson for movie watching and chips and queso. We watched Django, which was probably one of the better movies I’ve seen in a while. While the blood mists became a little ridiculous at points, I loved the storyline, characters, and music. And I officially believe that Django was “The” O.G. If you know what I mean.


Back to the Grind


Obviously that is not me. I am not a dog.

So that was it, my stay-cation. I just can’t seem to bring myself to regret not being productive. Sometimes I run myself ragged driving to get everything possible done and it doesn’t make me a happy person. And even though I wasn’t feeling remotely motivated to work out Saturday, I still made myself do something, even if it was only a mile. Last night, I wasn’t in the mood again but I still powered through over 20 minutes on the bicycle and a few weight machines. Today, luckily, I felt my motivation kick back up a notch. Maybe it was getting back into the swing of things, maybe it was the pizza I ate for lunch at my work training (Basic HIV…yay). But when the gym location I usually go to was so busy I couldn’t find a parking spot and was too late for yoga, I went to the next nearest one and hopped on the treadmill for 30 minutes.

I’ve been very into this blog: Success Along the Weigh and the writer, The Mrs., wrote something fabulous that I love. This isn’t verbatim but she said that it isn’t about the days when you’re feeling motivated because those are the easy days; it’s about the days you don’t want to, you don’t care, you get a case of the “f-its” and want to eat a big piece of chocolate torte with greek frozen yogurt (not that I’ve ever done that). Those are the days that matter most. And even though this little break for me was full of laziness, I still managed to make it to the gym every other day. I still watched what I ate, and even though everything wasn’t healthy, it equaled out at the end of the day.

But that’s all for now – I should be back to regularly scheduled blog posts.

What is your ideal vacation? Have you ever just taken a few days off to be at home?

What do you do when you aren’t feeling motivated to exercise or eat right? How do you get over the hump?


Commit-a-phobe, commit-a-holic.

As a forewarning to this post, I just wanted to let you know that this may get a bit deep. I’m like Shrek, I have layers. These should be slowly getting more lighthearted but I guess I just need to get a lot of stuff off of my chest that I’ve only really talked about either a.) half-drunk to someone who murmurs sympathetic noises (because I have truly good friends that are willing to do things like listening to me grumble half-drunk or half-asleep) or b.) alone aloud in my car. Yes, I talk in my car aloud. Why process silently when you don’t have to? Anyway, thanks to those who are still reading. The humor and more fun things like grilled peach salads will be coming shortly. Anywho:

I believe that humans love unconditionally constantly throughout their lives and only look back and say, “I never loved him/her,” because they don’t love him/her now, and it’s hard for us to not live in the now. So, at this point in time in my life at the tender, ripe, near child-like age of 23, I could say that I’ve loved more than a handful of men. As a kid, we called them “crushes” and giggled and maybe wrote stupid notes to them pretending to be someone else named Justine because we were too scared to talk to them ourselves (not that I have ever done that…outside of 7th grade). Once we hit that age wherein the girls have actual underwire bra straps to snap and the boys can’t wear gym shorts unless they have something to cover stray boners, things get slightly more complicated. Feelings get more complicated.

When I was in elementary and middle school, I liked so many random boys. Colin Mauro, Zachary Fedorkas, Jared Rebescher…the list goes on. But I had no idea why I liked them. I wanted them to like me but I didn’t know why. Since then, I’ve fallen for countless other guys. What was the difference between then and now? I mean, the feelings are more complicated and I understand them more and what causes them. I understand what happens when it’s no longer there. But the actual ‘feelings’ of infatuation, has that changed since I was 9? Even when I was in 8th grade and liked Bart from St. Johns (oh, let’s not get me too started on the topic of Catholic school and military guys), I knew I liked him and was attracted to him physically, but what other than that?

I say all of this because I realized the other day that the “I just like him and that’s that,” mindset is still so prevalent in today’s society. In me, especially. While I have countless friends in serious, committed relationships, I have not found myself in one since my long-term boyfriend and I broke up almost two years ago. I wish I could say I didn’t know why, but I do. Ever since, I’ve sought out relations with men that are, well, not bad, but bad for me. I’m infatuated with people I know will make me miserable. If I’m really honest with myself, I always have been. Have you ever had that person that you, at least at some point in time, would’ve dropped everything for and done anything you could for them? Maybe you were lucky and that ended after, say, high school but for me, it’s lasted since I was sixteen.

Where the title of this post comes from is my sad reality: I would drop anything for a man that I care about and that terrifies me so I refuse to commit to anyone. I seek out bad, toxic, volatile situations so that I don’t have to. I’m embarrassed by this, but it’s important for me to admit it anyway, but back in January I pledged everything to a man who was probably the most manipulative person I’ve ever met, and I meant it. He told me he couldn’t be with me because of reasons that were, at the time logical, and I told him that I would follow him. I would follow him across the country, I would drop everything and go. And I meant it. And I have never, in my life, felt submissive enough to give up my own dreams for someone. Especially someone that refused to commit to me, for reasons that I know now involve other women and general inability to tell the whole truth about anything. That alone terrifies me now, so much, that I will run as fast as I can away from any plausible romantic potential. I was willing, and for a while did, lose myself entirely in someone who I meant nothing to. The fact that I could be so blind, so accepting, absolutely makes me want to bang my head off of a wall. And while this was the first time I’d ever committed so fully, I have aimlessly let myself be led along by other men before. So how can an independent woman like myself be so…pathetically co-dependent?

The answer is that I don’t have one. After the situation in January, I’ve really spent a lot of time getting to know myself more. And not in the cliche “oh I’m such a well-rounded person go me,” way but, as my friend Tara put it, “finding my passions again”. I sink easily into the people I’m with, it’s why I’m good at flowing from one group into then next, but while it makes for an easy social life, it makes for a really shallow personal life. In the past months, I’ve learned that I love routines. I love numbers and order and organization. And these are things that, if my parents read this are probably thinking, “AHAHAHA OKAY ALYSSA,” so that should show you how weird that is for me. I have the same sense of humor as my dad, something I never knew. I hate most of the teen books I grew up reading because the woman gives in and changes for the man. I actually agree with Ms. Achey and her dislike of Grease. WHAT. Yes, anyone here who went to high school with me knows who that is, and feel free to laugh as hard or be as disgusted as you like. These things are little but I’m feeling a lot more independent than I was. Oh, I also constantly end sentences with prepositions and hate it.

So how did I end up this way? How did I turn into someone who is so terrified of finding someone because I would be too committed to them? Too infatuated? And what if that goes away, like it has in the past with my relationships? How did I become so freaking neurotic?

I’ve tried casual sex, I’ve tried celibacy, I’ve tried waiting for someone to be ready, I’ve tried breaking up relationships (and regretted that, a lot), and I’ve tried hoping. I think I’ve finally reached a point in time in my life where I’m going to try not trying. When I say I want a committed relationship, I’m lonely. When I say I don’t want to be in a relationship for a while, I’m feeling like crap. The reality is, I don’t care about my relationship status right now. I was in relationships consistently from 14 through 21 and then in and out of volatile shit-storms until semi-recently. I need to be alone. I want to be alone. I finally feel comfortable being alone. And happy. Because I hate sharing the bed.

If you’re still here, thanks for reading. So much. This has been something eating at me that I refused to really put out into the open. For those who have known me for years, you’ve seen me struggle with trying to grow up and fight through immature relationships. For those who just met me or don’t know me at all, my love life has (obviously) been a complete mess. I’m aware of it, most of the free world is probably aware of it thanks to a lot of screaming battles, and I’m sick of it.

Wishing to have someone there is not a reason to look for someone, wanting someone to text when you’re bored is not a reason to commit, wanting to plan your perfect Pinterest wedding is not a reason to sign up for online dating. We as humans seek out companionship. Monogamy wasn’t always popular. Pheromones were not designed to make you fall in love, but make you seek out a sexual mate. He will never show up at my front door (or your front door), with smoldering eyes and a heartfelt confession of love.

And if any of you gentlemen are reading thinking, “What in the hell…?” You do not understand women. At all.

Well, I could rant longer about how I’m doomed to a life of training for marathons and wishing I finished the stories I began but I need sleep and you’re probably wanting a cigarette/donut/beer/good long cry/imgur.

And I’ll end with a photo that I laughed at for about five minutes.

Goodnight all.

– a.