Brace yourselves, this is going to come as a shock to all of you, but in today's blog I am going to bitch and moan about romantic relationships. I know this is a stretch from my normal blog topics, but try and adjust accordingly. What I will continue to do, though, is use the best grammar possible because at the end of the day capitalizing the letter "I" is important. So is knowing this difference between a period and an ellipsis...just saying.
As I am sure I have made perfectly clear time and time again, I am not very happy with how my most recent relationship ended. As more time passes I am making every effort to let go of the hurt and disappointment that came from that particular breakup. But the further I step away from my frustration with the Charlie debacle (that reference is for you, Zach) the more frustrated I become with all my past relationships as a whole. I don't want to be so bitter and cynical at the age of 24, but a combination of bad boyfriends and too many broken hearts to count, I am wondering if my blind optimism in finding a "soul mate" has left me very misguided about relationships.
The hardest part of letting go of my Charlie feelings is that I was truly convinced for a very long time, still kind of am, that he was one of the good ones. One of the guys who knew better than to breakup with someone on Easter through a text message. Up until just yesterday I still found myself defending him as a good person to everyone that would feed me the generic "you can do better - he doesn't deserve you" comfort words. No. Not my Charlie - he's one of the good ones. I don't know if I believed this because he had truly convinced me that he was, or if I had settled him into my head as "the one" enough to put him up on a pedestal so high above everyone else. Either way in slowly accepting that he is not what I once believed him to be, I am questioning my own ability to know the good from the bad. Or in the very least the ability to become aware of it sooner that 8 months later when my heart is in too many pieces to count and I feel like I've been tricked into loving a person I should've never fallen for in the first place.
I don't want to give up on love. I have a poster of Ewan McGregor kissing Nicole Kidman from 'Moulin Rouge' hung above my bed. And every night before I tuck myself in, I wonder how much longer I will have to wait to have my love song compilation dance on top of the moon swinging from star to star. I want nothing more from life than my own Patrick Dempsey who makes my heart melt over and over again, and is unwavering in his love for me. But with my track record of 10+ years of dating, I'm starting to believe I am standing in the way of that happening for myself in expecting it to happen at all.
It would be nice, for once, to fall for someone but remain holding the cards. To be the one that says "hey, you aren't so awesome, I am going to pack up my bags and peace out before this turns into something that will make me lose sleep and cry every night for 3 months." But I so desperately want to fall in love, that I am constantly making excuses for every douche bag that comes along and gives me even the smallest amount of attention. Maybe my snap judgements will be wrong. Maybe he won't use me and then turn around and tumble about how having sex with me was like "raping himself". Probably not though.
I can't figure out whether or not I need to raise my expectations for men to ensure I don't constantly end up broken-hearted over guys not deserving of my time. Or if I need to lower my expectations for love, so I don't fall helplessly over and over again just for that one chance at finding something real and true that will be everything I dream it to be and last forever. All I do know, is that I am exhausted from all of it. I am tired of fighting for and with love. So the poster may have to come off the wall, and I might have to remove the Celine Dion discography from my ipod for a while. Because no matter what the reason, I am most certainly doing it wrong.
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