New year! New me! That's what I say! Out with the old, in with the new! I'm done living in regret and shame and I'm done wearing dirty underwear! Things are gonna change this year and that's for sure! I resolve to be resolute in my resolutions!
The timing of this entry is purely coincidental. I have no resolutions. Judging by my previous entry, you'd probably think it'd behoove me to consider getting my mental health and happiness back to be my number one priority. And while those things are up there and while I am working on them, if I pretended that that was a resolution like people pretend getting "fit" is, I'd be on the couch crying myself into a bucket of KFC again in 2 weeks just like the rest of you.
Again, I repeat, do not mistake this for a resolution. Let's just consider it an interestingly timed epiphany. And like most epiphanies in my life, I experience them time and time again. Do I ever learn from them? Well, child, that remains to be seen. But you keep reading. You still keep reading. Now that we're three paragraphs in, let me start at the beginning.
Obligations are terrible. Obligations are the death of authenticity. A slow, tortuous death at that. Unless you can find a way to creatively fight obligation and responsibility, I truly believe it just slowly kills you. Another word for obligation and responsibility is adulthood. As we become adults, we get tasked with more and more things that we need to do in order to be ... whatever. Usually that whatever is to be good at whatever or whatever. To be good at, I don't know, oh say... paying taxes. Or your job. Or paying bills. Obligations suck, and I assume that there's a trick that we can play on ourselves to pretend that what we're doing is not actually an obligation...
But the truth is, once you identify something as an obligation, you're kind of fucked, aren't you?
This happened to me the other night when I placed that word as a description on a friendship I've been maintaining but haven't really authentically wanted to maintain. I realized I was half-heartedly perpetuating a friendship I had no real desire to invest myself in.
Now that we're even further in, let's start from the real beginning. I've always struggled with the concept of friendship after a breakup. When I was dumped last year and had the rug pulled out from under me, one of the strongest memories in the blur of my relationship crashing down around me is that my ex really, terribly wanted us to remain friends. I remember angrily asserting that it had never been possible for me before and I wasn't sure how it would be now. I also remember clinging to the thought that maybe it could be the only way I'd get him back.
I spent the past year in the kind of friendship I described earlier: half-hearted, distant, and ambivalent. I missed certain things, but through this new type of relationship with this person, I couldn't find the connection I felt before - not even a watered down, friendship version. I felt numb in a lot of ways. Disinterested. And I was scared that perhaps I've been hanging on to some anger. Perhaps even anger that he could have his cake (dump me) and eat it too (befriend me after the dump).
I've been thinking a lot about the selfishness of this desire, and it's one I've encountered with everyone I've been in a serious relationship with. Ultimately, I'm dumped and my ex wants to maintain a friendship because I am "so important to" them and they "genuinely care about me." Despite the ostensible sarcasm those quotation marks imply, I believe these things to be true. Still, I can't help but be struck by the selfishness of it. After all, these are people who made the decision that I was, for whatever reason, not the correct person for them. And that hurts my feewings!
On another level, I do actually want to be friends with my ex-boyfriends - though, perhaps for similarly selfish reasons. I see other people who have created meaningful friendships and I'm impressed. I think sharing a substantial amount of time with someone intimately certainly is something to be respectful of, and I think it's a sign that you're both somewhat important to each other. So why should not having the romantic or physical aspect of that relationship render it completely useless? Especially once the attraction you felt is gone?
I don't know. In the time since that breakup, I actually have created a healthy friendship with my other ex and first boyfriend. At least I thought I had. Instead, I was totally called out on being a one-sided friend. What I mean to say is that I put little effort into the friendship. And he was exactly right. I haven't bent over backwards to make that friendship work. I've mostly enjoyed the time we'd spent together, but in terms of actual friendship - I haven't tried. I realized this was quite similar to the way I'd acted with my most recent ex. I realized that it seemed as though I considered myself to doing them both a favor by being a "friend" to them. Since that's what they stated they wanted from me.
The truth is, I think my struggle with the concept is much more than all of these things. I find it hard to be around my ex-boyfriends because I see things I didn't see before. I just see the things I was too blind to see when I was viewing everything through a romantic Valencia Instagram filter. #Nofilter kind of sucked. So, how did I spend so much time with these people? How was I so blind?
I don't consider these boys to be bad human beings. There are lots of things I still like and respect about them. The thing is - I've never been in their position. I've never been with someone that I didn't really want to be with or know I couldn't be with for long enough to dump the person and still want to maintain a friendship. Usually, I get the impression after a few weeks and so I can avoid all of that. The problem seems to be that I continually find myself in situations where I see a future with someone who doesn't see a future with me. And apparently there is a part of me that is endearing enough that although they do not want to settle down with me, they still want that cute, endearing part of me in their life.
I don't know if it's because of where I'm at in my life, or because I genuinely don't know what the fuck is going on, but I'm not here for that and most importantly - I need to be stronger than that. When I can't take a stand for myself in a relationship because I'm too blinded by infatuation (which, let's be real - is often), maybe the most I can do for myself is take a stand once it's over to be in control of what is best for me.
That being said, I've lived long enough to know that I don't always know what's best for me. But I know that when I feel the need to assert myself, I'm usually right.
I guess I just wish I'd learn to assert myself sooner.
The timing of this entry is purely coincidental. I have no resolutions. Judging by my previous entry, you'd probably think it'd behoove me to consider getting my mental health and happiness back to be my number one priority. And while those things are up there and while I am working on them, if I pretended that that was a resolution like people pretend getting "fit" is, I'd be on the couch crying myself into a bucket of KFC again in 2 weeks just like the rest of you.
Again, I repeat, do not mistake this for a resolution. Let's just consider it an interestingly timed epiphany. And like most epiphanies in my life, I experience them time and time again. Do I ever learn from them? Well, child, that remains to be seen. But you keep reading. You still keep reading. Now that we're three paragraphs in, let me start at the beginning.
Obligations are terrible. Obligations are the death of authenticity. A slow, tortuous death at that. Unless you can find a way to creatively fight obligation and responsibility, I truly believe it just slowly kills you. Another word for obligation and responsibility is adulthood. As we become adults, we get tasked with more and more things that we need to do in order to be ... whatever. Usually that whatever is to be good at whatever or whatever. To be good at, I don't know, oh say... paying taxes. Or your job. Or paying bills. Obligations suck, and I assume that there's a trick that we can play on ourselves to pretend that what we're doing is not actually an obligation...
But the truth is, once you identify something as an obligation, you're kind of fucked, aren't you?
This happened to me the other night when I placed that word as a description on a friendship I've been maintaining but haven't really authentically wanted to maintain. I realized I was half-heartedly perpetuating a friendship I had no real desire to invest myself in.
Now that we're even further in, let's start from the real beginning. I've always struggled with the concept of friendship after a breakup. When I was dumped last year and had the rug pulled out from under me, one of the strongest memories in the blur of my relationship crashing down around me is that my ex really, terribly wanted us to remain friends. I remember angrily asserting that it had never been possible for me before and I wasn't sure how it would be now. I also remember clinging to the thought that maybe it could be the only way I'd get him back.
I spent the past year in the kind of friendship I described earlier: half-hearted, distant, and ambivalent. I missed certain things, but through this new type of relationship with this person, I couldn't find the connection I felt before - not even a watered down, friendship version. I felt numb in a lot of ways. Disinterested. And I was scared that perhaps I've been hanging on to some anger. Perhaps even anger that he could have his cake (dump me) and eat it too (befriend me after the dump).
I've been thinking a lot about the selfishness of this desire, and it's one I've encountered with everyone I've been in a serious relationship with. Ultimately, I'm dumped and my ex wants to maintain a friendship because I am "so important to" them and they "genuinely care about me." Despite the ostensible sarcasm those quotation marks imply, I believe these things to be true. Still, I can't help but be struck by the selfishness of it. After all, these are people who made the decision that I was, for whatever reason, not the correct person for them. And that hurts my feewings!
On another level, I do actually want to be friends with my ex-boyfriends - though, perhaps for similarly selfish reasons. I see other people who have created meaningful friendships and I'm impressed. I think sharing a substantial amount of time with someone intimately certainly is something to be respectful of, and I think it's a sign that you're both somewhat important to each other. So why should not having the romantic or physical aspect of that relationship render it completely useless? Especially once the attraction you felt is gone?
I don't know. In the time since that breakup, I actually have created a healthy friendship with my other ex and first boyfriend. At least I thought I had. Instead, I was totally called out on being a one-sided friend. What I mean to say is that I put little effort into the friendship. And he was exactly right. I haven't bent over backwards to make that friendship work. I've mostly enjoyed the time we'd spent together, but in terms of actual friendship - I haven't tried. I realized this was quite similar to the way I'd acted with my most recent ex. I realized that it seemed as though I considered myself to doing them both a favor by being a "friend" to them. Since that's what they stated they wanted from me.
The truth is, I think my struggle with the concept is much more than all of these things. I find it hard to be around my ex-boyfriends because I see things I didn't see before. I just see the things I was too blind to see when I was viewing everything through a romantic Valencia Instagram filter. #Nofilter kind of sucked. So, how did I spend so much time with these people? How was I so blind?
I don't consider these boys to be bad human beings. There are lots of things I still like and respect about them. The thing is - I've never been in their position. I've never been with someone that I didn't really want to be with or know I couldn't be with for long enough to dump the person and still want to maintain a friendship. Usually, I get the impression after a few weeks and so I can avoid all of that. The problem seems to be that I continually find myself in situations where I see a future with someone who doesn't see a future with me. And apparently there is a part of me that is endearing enough that although they do not want to settle down with me, they still want that cute, endearing part of me in their life.
I don't know if it's because of where I'm at in my life, or because I genuinely don't know what the fuck is going on, but I'm not here for that and most importantly - I need to be stronger than that. When I can't take a stand for myself in a relationship because I'm too blinded by infatuation (which, let's be real - is often), maybe the most I can do for myself is take a stand once it's over to be in control of what is best for me.
That being said, I've lived long enough to know that I don't always know what's best for me. But I know that when I feel the need to assert myself, I'm usually right.
I guess I just wish I'd learn to assert myself sooner.
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