Well, it's been almost a year since I've posted anything. I don't think I quite understand the concept of the 'blog' yet, at least not in the context of how I should be approaching it. I re-read my post from last October and vaguely stupid; it seems odd for me that I wrote about my personal depression, not in a very reflective or meaningful way but a factual way, on a blog that is very public. I don't think it gets really any traffic, but the notion that I'm just putting all of this out there is slightly jarring to me all of a sudden. As I've gotten older I've come to view social media and the internet in new ways. I used to post too-speficic statuses on facebook about personal problems, but that no longer seems appropriate to me. I'm worndering, then, why posting such things in a blog feels safer? I know that I could privatize it if I wished to...but I haven't, at least not yet. I just want to figure out why (not).
Okay, so a year later. I definitely feel in better spirits than I was this time last year. To quote Charlie Brown (or really, Charles Schultz): "Nothing ruins the taste of peanut butter like unrequited love." And while peanut butter is among my very favorite foods, I know that last fall, it tasted very bland. I'd been stuck on a one-way street for too long, and I didn't know how to get off of it. I was slowly making my way off that road, but it was taking too long for comfort. By the time it was New Years, i felt empowered. I had high hopes for the coming year. I felt independent, capable, and confident. I had lost some weight, and I flirted fearlessly, and frequently. At midnight at New Year's I even kissd a stranger-a first for me! I wish I had just left it at that, a perfect midnight kiss with a stranger...but instead, I went on a date with him. At the very beginning of our first and only date, he told me 1. that he was an MMA fighter who wished to be a painter, 2. that he had heard voices as a child, 3. that he and his friends were sharks but I was a dolphin, 4. that he had the eyes of a killer, and 5. that he had a trust list, consisting of only his grandmother, himself, and marijuana, but that I was a new contender. ....Needless to say, I don't plan on kissing a stranger again any time soon. In February, I went out one night and met a guy who seemed perfect. He was funny and he had nice teeth/ he loved the The Road by Cormac McCarthy. He loved Ben Folds. Within three hours, I was convinced that we should be dating. I was so overenthusastic and ridiculous that I can only imagine that I severely turned him off; he fake-numbered me. I felt stupid, embarrassed, and, again, lonely. I decided to go out the next night, too. And on that second night, I met my current boyfriend.
This is where my current dilemma begins.
You see, he is wonderful. He is sweet, intelligent, fun, creative, responsible, and he has a good sense of humor. I felt very comfortable around him, and I was absolutely taken aback by how much he liked me. I wasn't sure I even knew what it felt like to have someone truly like you, even love you, exactly as you are. I fell in love with his love. And I am in love with him, still. But as time goes on, I see my novelty fading in his eyes. He is becoming bored of me; things that he once thought adorable now seem tired, predictable, and old. I think I am already hitting my expiration date of being exciting and lovable, after just 8 months together. Seeing this beginning to happen is having the worst possible effect: it is making me clingier. I can feel myself annoying him, crowding him. The more he (oh-so-sweetly) tries to gently back away, the more I wrap my arms around him. It is terrifying. I had become so independent; in the beginning, I was annoyed by his enthusiasm. I wanted space, I wanted a break. I don't know exactly how or when the tides turned, but I feel at a loss as how to balance them back. And meanwhile, I feel as though my life is simply treading water.
All around me, my peers are graduating, moving on to grad school, finding careers, studying abroad. I am in the same small town working at the same small bar with the same crew and the same wardrobe I had last year. I am 22 and I feel as though I'm living the life of a divorced 52 year old cat lady. I think I unintentionally invested to much hope and happiness into my relationship too early, and what can I say?
...I feel like a fool.
Anyway, this entry is more whining and pointless than those before it, but it feels vaguely theraputic to type it all out...so I guess I'll leave it as is.
~K
