Originally, I set out to write this blog about grief and all of the emotions that came with that. This lead me to bitch about my ex for a while and describe every detail of my misery in depth. Thank you for your patience and kind words, as writing about my misery, believe it or not, really helped. I’ve came to realise that this blog is more of an online journal, one which I am happy for the world to read. It’s true, I can see people in Japan reading my writing. So in conclusion, I have decided to write about more. I’m not 100 percent certain in regards to what or in what manner. Probably just the same, the bitter ramblings of a single girl in her mid twenties… what else would my online journal be about? My favourite fruit are lemons, or did you not know?
This leads me to my next entry. Of course it’s about one of my favourite topics as of late, bitching about men. I haven’t wrote about this in a little while. I’m writing this in hope it will help me put a lot of things to bed. This one is a blast from the past, quite literally.
When I was 17 I met a man, he was older than me but you never would of thought it. I found this endearing. I was young, I was naive and he was 6″4 and completely emotionally unavailable, of course I was attracted. This is me after all. I remember I waited for months to be something more to him and I spent months putting myself in his path. I wanted nothing else but to share more than just his bedside table. I chased that man for month’s. I was there for him whenever he wanted. I was completely and irrevocably infatuated with him. Until one day, months later, it was all over. I never heard from him again and that was NOT okay until eventually, it was.
Fast forward seven years, and of course it would happen eventually, I run into the same 6″4 man and to make matters worse, I’m drunk. To make matters even worse, I’m heartbroken. I wish I could say I refused his advances, I wish I could say we just made polite conversation. What I am proud of though, is how I handled myself the morning after. I realised that after seven years, I wasn’t the same person anymore. It didn’t bother me whether or not he needed me. It felt like a mistake and that night wasn’t one of my best moments. I was glad to close the door on him.
Fast forward three months, and of course the same 6″4 man popped back up into my life again out of the blue. I couldn’t decide if it was romantic or creepy, looking back I should of definitely went with creepy but of course, this is me we are talking about and I chose romantic. This time he seemed changed. He made promises and acted as though he was finally ready for more even when I wasn’t so sure if I was. I allowed myself to be hopeful, I allowed myself to wonder if he was finally emotionally available. Long story short, he was capable of one thing, making me feel young and naive all over again.
Fast forward a small amount of time later, and of course, there he was again. This time though, I was prepared. I had convinced myself to be ready. To use him as much as he had used me, time and time again. It was fun for a little while, or so I thought. As it turns out, I learnt something new about myself, I deserve better. I deserve better than a 6″4, emotionally unavailable, older man. I mean, the height is great. I definitely deserve no less than 6″2. The shoulders are still great, even all of these years later. But, there will be more shoulders.
I tried convincing myself that “if you can’t beat ’em, join ’em”, it just so happens that I’m not built for that sort of thing and that’s okay. The moral of the story? Sometimes, some things are best left in the past. Where they belong.