Valentine’s D(ism)ay

I’ve been seeing myself for a little over two years now and I must say, things are going pretty well.

My relationship with self however, was recently disrupted. For the first time in years, I’d developed all the feels for a guy who on paper seemed perfect, or at least, based on the mental ideals I was projecting on to him.

I went through my mental – and, regrettably superficial – checklist and there wasn’t a single box he didn’t tick. Intellectual? Check. Good job? Check. Confident? Check. Handsome? A 6’1 Adonis, mate.

Reflective, considerate, kind? Hmm…

The last three things should be the most important. Beyond 30, you’d expect one to have the ability to show some maturity; to consider how their behaviour may affect others and not prance around like some pompous peacock.

Clearly, I have a type.

I was shocked to experience all the feelings I hadn’t since my first crush: butterflies, nervousness and a borderline obsessive-infatuation. I couldn’t believe that at the wise old age of 27, I was experiencing bouts of love sickness. It was pathetic.

I became fully in tune with my own biochemistry. Whenever he’d say hello or ask a question, I’d begin heating up and have to switch on the air-con: it was winter. I’d hear my heart beating fast in my ears, as if I’d done a treadmill marathon and hopped off; you know, that feeling where you try to walk properly after a run and it feels like you’re walking on the moon? I lost like half a stone in two weeks because the butterflies in my stomach were so ferocious I was scared I might throw up. Despite my panic, it was a reminder that I’m very much alive; that the right person becomes catalyst to a vast opening of reintroduced, uncontrollable feelings.

The wrong person, too.

Initially I was sure the attraction was mutual because his “gestures” showed that he liked me. He sought a way to connect, he seemed sweet and earnest. Unlucky for me, every effort he put into knowing me better I would close up. It wasn’t a case of “boys love the chase”, I just felt too goddam nervous.

For some unknown reason, I reverted back to a childlike state. I would end up being rude, asking what he wants, doing that whole school girl thing where you hit the guy you like because you haven’t quite mastered maturity. I once called my mum crying, insisting that I’d ruined my chances by uttering the dreaded words: “Good morning”.

So, what was up with me? Had my previous encounters of love left me so cold I’d become an ice-cream? Were  these familiar feelings of longing and desire making my head melt; turning my body to jelly?

I could certainly do with a tub of Haagen Dazs right now.

All’s well and ends well, for he proved to be what I feared he would be: a bog-standard human being. My so-called Adonis; unfairly placed on a golden pedestal for fairytales and disillusion, crashing down before me into a sea of mere mortals.

He managed to belittle me on two occasions, the first being fair game because 1. I had successfully sabotaged every effort to reveal my true feelings and 2. Had also accidentally compared him to Lieutenant Worf in Star Trek (yeah, long story).

As a result, I was told that I would be looked down on and ignored at every future opportunity, to which I held my head high right before bursting into tears.

Later that week, I was in a bar with some friends when suddenly, the god of all gods walked in: clouds of smoke and lightning bolts. At this point I’d already had two glasses of wine, so safe to say I was on my way. He didn’t acknowledge me, nor I him, as usual. Twenty minutes later, now a little tipsy and therefore brave enough to say “Hey, how you doing?” he asked why I was “speaking to him like a retard” and that it wasn’t his fault I had “social anxiety”. Which for the record, I don’t.

If ever there was a quicker way to make my vagina dry out like the Sahara Desert, I guess that would be it.

There were two things Adonis said which made his fall from grace a mighty one:

Firstly, how can somebody remotely educated slam a word like “retard”? If used to expel or suggest indignity, the word is extremely upsetting. It’s possible I was slurring due to being a little tipsy but still, he wanted to shut me down and I hadn’t even tried to provoke him.

Secondly, what was the social anxiety remark about? To tell someone who you suspect might have social anxiety, that their social anxiety isn’t your problem, is something only a douchebag would say. I guess I did have social anxiety around him in a way, but only cause I fancied him so much. I’m not sure why in hindsight.

Anyway, it’s not right to expect Adonis to straddle up on his horse and ride me off into the sunset; he belongs to Greek Mythology. Besides, do we ever really know what’s in another persons mind? We only really know our own intentions, feelings and desires. For all you know, I could have totally overthought the whole thing. Maybe he was just trying to be funny. Maybe I was being too sensitive. Maybe.

As cynical as it sounds, I’ve learned it’s wiser to keep love interests at arms length until they prove themselves worthy. The good news is, my prince-not-so-charming woke a writers block spell just in time for Valentines. As a thank you gesture, I’ve decided to send him a giant bunch of thorny roses; leftover fragments from my tired, aching heart…

…Or maybe not, but the sentiment’s still there in Land of Make Believe.

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