Some pretty f*cked up déjà vu.

“I’ll see you around,” he lied.
“Yeah for sure,” I lied right back. 

The hand that had once dragged itself lazily across my cheek clutched the metal knob of the door. Sparkling bits of dust swirled in the early morning light as the door swung shut, an air of stillness settling over my bedroom.  

I gathered my duvet closer to my body and stared blankly at the plastic stars on the ceiling. One stubborn star was freeing itself from the glue that adhered it above my bed, hanging on helplessly by a thread. 

I laid there, replaying the entire encounter in my head, flagging potential flaws in my behavior, the stupid words I must’ve said, where I must’ve ‘gone wrong’…

“I’ll see you around.”

He didn’t look into my eyes as he spoke. If it wasn’t for that small, fleeting detail, I might’ve believed him.

It was the most classic phrase in the book of “What To Say To A Girl You’re Done With.”
I might be stupid when it comes to choosing between Dominos pizza or a college-aged boy at 2 a.m., but I’m not stupid when it comes to “I’ll see you around”’s. 

I combed a hand through my messy hair and swallowed back the “oh, please do’s” and “let’s hang out again soon”’s that I’d been guilty of saying in the past— my feeble attempt of not becoming the victim of yet another one-night-stand. 

As he disappeared behind the closing door, all I could think was: “Well this is some pretty fucked up déjà vu.” 

Does it get better, or do we just get used to it?

I know what you’re thinking. How could I be so naïve? Shouldn’t I just stay away from the things that constantly seem to come crashing down around me?

Guys, guys, guys. I wish it were that easy.

People get drunk.
People hook up.
People act tough.
People smile through the pain.

It’s all very intoxicating; the thought of actually, finally ‘getting it right this time.’ In fact, the feeling is so intoxicating that even the most intelligent and thoughtful of people go mad over it. 

Just look at Romeo and Juliet. “Here’s to my love! O true apothecary,
Thy drugs are quick. Thus with a kiss I die.” (act 5, scene 3). 

Even the most relaxed of people become obsessive. 
They try to distract their hearts, doing anything and everything to prevent themselves from missing someone; from missing what could’ve been. 

It frustrates me on a daily basis, simply because I know the truth but refuse to accept it. Like I said in my last blog post, what we want hardly ever matches up with what we allow and accept. 

Here is the truth: Looking for fulfillment outside of yourself results in pain, self-hatred and exhaustion.

But, here is why it is so hard for us to grasp this… 

The feeling of warm, strong arms around you, the symphonic thud of heartbeats in unison, fluttering eyelashes against skin. For me, the intimacy aspect is what entices me to run right back into the trap every single time, like clockwork. 

The good morning texts, the bragging rights among friends (“oh, you guys wouldn’t believe his abs!”) the social media photos… the reasons behind craving a significant other are different for everyone, yet the same in principle.

It’s a feeling so intoxicating that we can’t see straight. 

It’s like the feeling of finally zipping up the pants you swore you’d never fit into ever again.
The feeling when you ace a test after weeks of studying.
The feeling of looking at your bank statement and actually having enough to buy a round of margs and not go hungry. 

Feeling like you’ve finally ‘got it right’ is a sensation that tops any other. 
When it disappears as quickly as it arrived, we feel deflated. 

For lack of a more eloquent phrase to describe the feeling: I need to chill the fuck out. I know I do. I need to distract myself. Go to the gym more. Drink some green shit. Write more. Read more. Go for a walk or two. 

I need to do anything that I can to distract myself from my powerful need for the gratification that intimacy and male attention gives me. Because up until this point, chasing the feeling of finally ‘getting it right’ and ‘getting the guy,’ has left me both utterly wrong and alone. 

That’s what happens. You let people in, and without them even knowing it, they destroy you. 

But I stride confidently into the situation every single time, almost daring them to hurt me. It’s like taunting a starving dog with a piece of meat, knowing the chance of getting your fingers nipped is high. 

I do it willingly; dangling what they want most in their face and still having the audacity to hope that they won’t just take what they want and run. 

I do it to myself, really. 

The remedy: 
Let it hurt, but then let it go. Take a shower. Wash your sheets. Go for a run. Move on.

Someday, you won’t have to do all of this. Someday, it will be right. That “Someday” just isn’t today. 
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