I’m sorry. I can’t take it slow any longer. I only have a month and a half left before I leave this city for good and I’m planning on taking your heart with me. It’s only fair that we trade.
I always fucking do this. I go on a date with a moderately attractive/funny/intelligent/nice guy and I fall head-over-heels in love with him. It’s not the usual kind of infatuation that comes from a successful first date- the twisting-tumbling feeling in your gut, the silly grin that you can’t wipe off your face, the desire to gush to everyone in your contact list. No, it’s much more obsessive and psychotic than that. I wonder whether or not he’s thinking about me on the way back to his apartment. I worry that the goodbye kiss we shared wasn’t enough to make him want to see me again. I start imagining my life with him; I start putting my first name before his last, just to see how compatible they sound together. I’m not even allowed to get legally married, and I’m already picking out centerpieces in my head. I start thinking about whether or not his friends, his family, his goddamn dog will like me. All after only four or five hours of having met him. Every second I spend not having received a text or a phone call or a Facebook message is a tiny little dagger being thrust into my heart, eliciting so much pain and uncertainty and paranoia that I end up wishing I had never even gone on the date to begin with. And all just in the span of twenty fucking minutes. Why can’t I just relax and go with the flow? There has to be something fundamentally defective inside my brain, making me so thirsty- no, parched- for the possibility of affection and romance that I turn into some insane, obsessive-compulsive lunatic the minute the opportunity seems to present itself. I don’t know what to do. I’m so tired of sabotaging myself- no one likes a clingy freak, especially not after just a single date. And no one likes a clingy freak who see what they’re doing and does nothing to stop it.
Whenever I go on 5+ dates with a guy and he still hasn’t made a move on me beyond kissing, I literally want to yell “Sex, motherfucker! Do you have it?!”
I don’t think I’m cut out for dating. I can never live in the moment- I’m always too busy keeping my eye out for a potential destination instead of enjoying the ride. I guess it’s because before the start ever even begins, I always see the same inevitable end. I think I’m gonna take my sister’s advice: “You don’t have to justify your actions to anyone. Fuck everything in sight.”
Before last night, I’d never understood how sex could be used as a weapon, and then I saw the longing, devastated look on his face when I pulled back from our kiss and turned my head away. A part of me was repulsed, thinking: “No one should have this kind of power over another person. It’s torturous.” I’m ashamed to say, however, that a slightly bigger part of me reveled in that ability to place such a hold over someone else, wondering how far I could ultimately take it. I’m afraid, for my sake and his, what will happen if I decide to find out.
