Rotten fish

I’m home. I should have stayed home last night but I didn’t.

So, the deal is this. I’ve been seeing someone the last few weeks but I’m always fragile about things I think could work. So, I don’t talk about them. For the purpose of this post, we’ll call him Victor.

The meet-cute:

I was taking a walk. I hardly ever do it. My agoraphobia gets the better of me and I hide inside. There’s a bar across the street from my apartments. I don’t go there a lot and never by myself. Loads of folks from work go there and I try not to get embroiled their drama. So… I’m walking past the bar to the store and I tripped. It’s what I do. One of the guys smoking outside the bar rushed over to help me up. First time that’s happened in a long while. I thanked him and kept walking to the store. I buy some beer and chips and head home. I could see the group heading inside. This fellow lingered and when I passed, asked if I needed help carrying my bag. I politely declined and tried to keep on walking. Then he calls after me, from the edge of the sidewalk. “I can’t keep walking with you because that’s creepy but I’d like to talk about your shirt.”

That’s where he got me. I can talk about my Always Keep Fighting shirt… just always. I told him I’d be back. I tried to be casual as I walked off and tried not to rush back but I congratulated myself on picking up on a social signal… even if it had been triggered by my tripping and a nod to my SPN-but-not-mental-health attire. When I returned, he wanted to go into the bar. I declined. I explained that I worked close by and my underlings were likely inside.

So, he smoked and I chatted about depression and anxiety and Supernatural and he listened and asked questions. He’s a year younger than me, from Brownsville and it was the first time he’d ever been to that bar. We exchanged numbers. That started a texting thing.

We got together once a week. He drove his friend to the bar and we’d go for a walk or go for some coffee. We made it past my awkwardness with intimacy and it seemed fine. We have a lot in common and most of our nerdiness is compatible. He understood when I didn’t want to have him meet my dad when Dad popped into town. Everything seemed to be going fine.

The beginning of the end:

Then came Halloween. We were supposed to go out. I wanted to introduce him to my friends but I haven’t really seen my friends much lately. Poor planning and lack of funds, mostly. Mind you, I still hadn’t mentioned him at all to anyone. ANYONE. Including people at work.

Victor was on edge. Wouldn’t talk about it. Needed some gas money for our outing. I gave him some. We hung out a bit, fooled around and I needed a mini-nap because my work hours make me horrible at late nights. I woke up, I got dressed and I waited. Then I waited. Then I texted. Then I waited. Then I gave up and changed and started drinking and watching The Guest, then Hocus Pocus, then Practical Magic. I had a marathon while telling myself I wasn’t waiting for a man to show up.

I went to work wrecked. Then found I was the only supervisor on duty. I was mightily pissed. I spent the next two days in a state of rage. Then Monday evening, I got a phone call. No apology either.

I’ve heard a lot of reasons why I’m not the person a man thought he was dating… this one was precious. My enthusiastic lovemaking is overwhelming. I had trouble wrapping my head around it.

I’m not a scratcher. I’m not a screamer. Positions are limited due to one of my legs not having full function. SO CONFUSED.

I floated into the bad place. Beyond anger. Beyond sadness. Despair is a strong word but the best one I can come up with.

So, Wednesday afternoon, I got a visitor. I agreed on an overnight visit. For the first time, we went to his place and I’m a bit dead inside but I’m always being told that I don’t give people chances so… I’m giving this guy one. To be terribly honest, I divide guys into catergories: guys I fuck and guys I date. If I’m okay jumping the sack right away, I don’t want that guy around. They’re generally dicks and the terms are clear. We fuck and we split. Never going back for seconds. The guys I date usually have to wait… A WHILE… before I’m comfortable jumping in the sack. Victor was a little bit of both.

So, I’m terrible at being in strange places overnight. I don’t sleep well. I rarely sleep well with a partner in the first place. Basically, we played house. Then we got to talking about shit. I was still, a bit, in a rage. the lower simmering kind. I laid out everything I could think of. I can’t have kids naturally, I have scary depressive episodes, I am prone to anxiety attacks, I like sex, I believe in God but not necessarily in Jesus and also do not attend church. I really wished I’d taken a picture of his face.

So, we had a talk. I busted out the laptop this morning and started writing in every moment we weren’t speaking. I got a lot of writing done but only because distress inspires me.

We learned a lot about each other and ourselves. Most importantly: We are wrong for each other. It’s totally okay that we’re wrong for each other. There are plenty of other people in the world.

I’ve learned that I give off Church-lady vibe. I’m totally judging you but not in the ways a Church-lady does. Most people seem to assume that I am a religious person, attend church regularly and that’s why I’m a kind person. The truth is that while I believe in God and am on the fence about Jesus… I absolutely want nothing to do with church-based religion. In the last decade I’ve only gone to church for weddings and funerals. My pet peeve is “Jesus loves you.” It’s not that I don’t believe Jesus loves me, it’s that people presume to know the mind and heart of a being that is utterly unknowable. For all we know, Jesus only kind of wants to be friends with. You know, how you are with that one woman from work. She’s your friend from work but is NOT your friend.

Victor learned that not all nice people believe in God. I gave him a list of Atheists who are wonderful people. I also gave him a list of God-fearing folk who were terrible people for contrast. He’s never going to forgive me for that.

I learned that some men are not aware of the biological reactions that women go through during sex. Victor, hopefully, learned that a woman who is enjoying herself, experiences a full gamut of physical reactions that she cannot control. Then i was blunt and stated that dry-fucking is terrifying and harmful. Victor’s not a monster, he’s just never fucked someone who enjoys it as much as I do.

Victor learned that nice women aren’t necessarily good cooks. I can fuck up rice. I definitely can fuck up gravy. Victor taught me how to make a good chicken broth rue.

Then a storm rolled in and my place is furthest from the bad stuff so I made him bring me home. I’m very tired. I wrote 3,763 words between talks and staring at the TV like an old married couple.¬†Compatibility has so many layers. I know it couldn’t work if he’s got to have a church-going lady who can birth some babies.

On the way home, I listened to things that were so familiar, I have ceased cringing when I hear the skipping record.

“You’d make a great friend.”

“You’re more like one of the guys.”

“You should think about some different hobbies and go out more.”

“I wish you were more honest about yourself.”

The last one made me whip my head around. I had been waiting for it but it was the first time he’d said it out loud. “I should be more honest about addressing the assumptions you made about me in your head?”

The shade of red he turned was rather satisfying. Kay, I’m mean. I admit it. Freely.

“I don’t pretend to be a nice person. I’m nice until I’m not. I’m mean. I’m vicious. I’m a bitch. All valid facets of being a person and not a card-board cut out. If you want to meet a polite, church-going, lady… meet one at church. We met outside a bar. I was wearing a shirt that proclaimed not only my nerdiness but my social issues as I was on my way to buy beer to drink alone at home.”

I get it. I do. I am… unassuming. When people meet me, they don’t see me. When they do, they are intimidated. Maybe I do need more hobbies and more mingling but people in general suck. Girls are vicious. Boys are oblivious. When strangers do pay attention to me it’s usually to go off on me. Don’t know why. They just do. I don’t speak loudly and ignorantly in the wrong places. I’m fairly quiet and reserve my best jokes for those who will appreciate them. Something about me intrigues and angers people. I wish I knew what it was.

My buddy says I have swagger. I don’t know. My onboarding manager couldn’t put into words what I exude but something along the lines of confidence. She said it’s superattractive.

I don’t know. Victor will probably call once more. Maybe twice. We’ll talk. Then we’ll stop thinking about each other altogether. The rain finally hit my neighborhood. I just want to sleep but my mind is still going.

I always come back to “I just wish you were more honest about yourself.” It’s not the first time I’ve heard it. I’m pretty up front about myself. I don’t dish everything out straight off the bat but if I’m asked a question, I’ll answer it.

“Sure, technically I’m Mexican. It’s complicated. I’m more of a Texan.”

“It’s about mental health. Tons of people struggle with anxiety and depression. It’s kind of my thing.”

“I hate clubs. I don’t like being in crowds of people.”

“I’m not picky. I’ll eat wherever we go.”

Ways that I’m allegedly not honest? Technically I’m anywhere from 50-75% Apache. My father’s mother’s father is the only actual Mexican in my family tree. My father’s father’s grandfather is from Spain and his wife was half-French and half-something that spoke English. My father’s father’s mother is from the same place as all of my mother’s family./ I’m technically undiagnosed but given the nature of my last job’s insurance reportings I couldn’t get diagnosed and keep my job. I haven’t gotten around to it since then because my current job has switched insurance twice and it sucks so bad that I’m just white-knuckling until I can figure out what I can get covered./ There are things I don’t eat but it doesn’t mean I won’t. I’m fat. I’m not going to starve to death if I only order a little something off a mention where most of it is unappealing./ I’m a nerd, just not that kind of nerd. Not liking Dr. Who does not mean I’m not a nerd. I just nerd about other things.\

Well, I’m nigh on 2000 words for this post by itself. I’m just glad to be home and done with my latest drama. I’m joining a cloister as soon as I can find one. Big sea, right?

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