Go, Means — Go.

"Letting go doesn't mean giving up, but rather accepting that there are things that cannot be ..."

On the 19th of March, the moon was as close to the Earth as it has or will be for the next 18 years. A feat that most assuredly comes with cosmic strings attached. An astronomer predicted that the onset of this would cause the universe, or Lady Earth, as we know her to revolt.  And she did.

A few years ago after browsing engagement rings with Straight Eye for The Queer Guy,  a man I was very much in love with, announced to me  “Sometimes I don’t know whether I like boys … or girls.” Meaning that if a penis or a vagina fell over board on a cruise ship five days in a row — some days he might save the penis, and others — the vagina. As you can imagine, things didn’t go the way I’d hoped after that exchange as he was/is a lot bit gay. Though it was super thoughtful of him to give me a heads up — especially with the possibility of us taking things to the next level which Psssttt … was NEVER going to happen because Pssstttt he had … you guessed it, “the straight eye, for the queer guy.” Hence the name, but I digress … That was over three years and several favorite mistakes ago. 

Being in love … falling in love and being torn from it or out of it, for me is like having one of your limbs trapped under a boulder in the deep of the Amazon and freeing yourself with a dull butter knife. Deliberately painful and yet, absolutely necessary in order to save your life. I’m grateful and humbled the experience didn’t melt my heart to stone.  A testament to the spirit of love, in that I’m not angry with this person. And Hope, in that I believe I will be able to fully love again — someday.  While it didn’t destroy me,  it did however leave me with a mild to severe case of PTTD, or Post-Traumatic Trust Disorder as the kids call it. And by kids, I mean I just made that up right now.

Post-Traumatic trust disorder is a type of romantical anxiety disorder. It can occur after you’ve experienced a traumatic break-up that involved your heart being mauled by rapid dingos unexpectedly, as you lie there bleeding helplessly before your closest friends and family. And the guy at the Piggly Wiggly who refers to you as “Cherry’s Garcia” every Friday night. An example of this would be finding out that you’ve spent the last year of your life falling in love with a man who likes other men. And by likes them, I mean inside of him. And by inside of him, I mean he’s a power bottom.  And yes, power bottom is a real term. Google it.

There are several symptoms of PTTD, however main symptom is anxiety brought on by an unexpected breach of trust. Symptoms are generally dormant until they’re awakened by the onset of an episode or event that violates trust. An example of this might be that you continuously fall for men that are sayyyyy emotionally unavailable — to you. For instance, if it were your birthday and you’d planned a fabtastic dinner party and you wanted someone you cared about to be there — and then they text you and said … “Hey, I can’t make dinner because I’m breast feeding a groundhog that lost its mother about 10 years ago — the ground hog is a friend of a friend, and I feel obligated to help.” Or you know something random like that — it’s late. The best way to avoid PTTD is to focus on one’s work and avoid dealings with members of the opposite sex you might want to pound it out with. 

I’d been in remission and seemingly immune to the pitfalls of PTTD since July of 2010 when I parted ways with Hollywood.  In my head and heart I’d been playing it safe around power lines like Louie — those of you born in the late 70s/early 80s will appreciate that reference. That is until last weekend when the new moon ushered in a harsh reminder of why I’m always reluctant to be anything more than “a couple of humans.”

A few months ago I became unreluctant thanks to a chance meeting with NsSa,  Not so-Starving-Artist. NsSA helped me to remember what it felt like to indulge your senses and open yourself to the possibility of something. Forgetting that sometimes, something isn’t always a good thing. Or perhaps, the best thing. More like, knowing that everytime you put yourself out there, you could be laying on a grenade.

On the evening of March 19, I found myself on the outskirts of a series of unfortunate events — most of which I’m not really at liberty to share, as some of it is not my story to tell. I’m also not clear enough on the details to articulate it in a way that doesn’t sound “cold and calous.” Its interesting where the mind takes you … For me, I was briefly transported to 2007 to the conversation that had bludgeoned me and yet re-birthed me at the same time. There are few times in life when The Great I AM pulls back the curtain and allows us to see how the movie ends. Things are often not what they seem …  Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear … Stop.Look.Listen. Doubt,  means Don’t.

For me this unexpected whirlwind that I’d experienced with Ns-SA, a man I’ve been “just a couple of humans” with since a chance encounter in November, wasn’t real. It was a good story, about two people that liked the idea of each other, but it wasn’t real. What are you saying? I’m saying sometimes life, is stranger than fiction and my dealings with Ns-SA were just that. “Run {dramatic pause} run” he said. “This is your out … you should return to the Lonestar State and forget about me.” Hmmmm … How does one respond to this? “This is your out” he said. This is your out.

I sat there quietly, absorbing his words, each one killing me softly. Succinct. Definite. Absolute. In an instant, the plans I never knew I had for us began to dissipate into the thick Southern air. It couldn’t have been easy for him to say these things to me — Could it? Had he been choreographing exit strategies the entire evening? All day? From the beginning? Was it ever real? Yes … no … probably, not.

Ironically, minutes earlier we’d just parted ways with Hollywood, my most recent ex, who took it upon himself to have a five-minute conversation about nothing with Ns-SA. The two of them, perfect candidates for an odd couple mash-up. And yet, my heart smiled because in that moment I felt like I could touch something that was real. Ns-SA is real. And this, this thing — whatever I’m feeling for him in this moment, it’s real. How often is it that we’re afforded the opportunity to see our past, present and possible future within arms reach? And yet, there I was potentially looking at mine. Or so I thought.

As I sat there, listening to Ns-SA’s spoiler alert, I could feel the energy shifting and wondered how we ended up here — in this space — on this night — under this moon. This crazy PTTD moon, with this man who thought it noble to separate himself from me. “I don’t want to sell you a dream” he said. I didn’t realize I was buying one, but in that moment it didn’t matter. I didn’t want a dream … I wanted him.

I’m not “Cool Girl.” I’ve never been the woman who could date four different men at the same time. I hate playing “the game.” I don’t believe in three-day rules … or waiting a year to say I love you or even I like you. I believe in the here and now. I believe if you don’t latch on to the moment, that moment will pass you by. For me, lightening doesn’t strike twice. I believe in making the effort and being present. The worst thing you can do is not show up. Action is character.  If someone tells you “take the out”– take the out. It’s not code for stay around. It means go. Go, means — Go. RUN!

That’s the thing about being “a couple of humans” with someone. There is the freedom to reside in the space between. Opting out can and is always an option — fairy tales are not included. There is the idea of “Sixteen Candles” moments and the reality of the nothingness that comes from being something else. Either way the movie ends just-like-this, you don’t end up together. #RollCredits.


About The.Pretty.One

"I will never be the woman with the perfect hair, who can wear white and not spill on it.” - Carry Bradshaw The Pretty One is the youngest daughter of a former 70s pageant queen and her first husband, a wealthy financier. A former debutante and southern belle, this Steel Magnolia is anything but. A visionary, she is the owner and creative mind behind a successful boutique communications and event firm. But what I really want to do is dance ... and blog.
This entry was posted in 80s Nostalgia, Astrology, Being Single, Fate, File Under Awkward Moments, Film, free advice, Gays, Humor, Love, Marriage, Men, Notes To Self, Pisces, Proposals, Pseudo Friendship, random rants, Relationships, Religion, Sexy Time, Text Message, Uncategorized, Who Like Boys, Why You Have No Boyfriend, Why You're Single, Women, WTF and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

1 Response to Go, Means — Go.

  1. sara says:

    This post is like the National Geographic of manuvering the social landscape. With my beautiful dark twisted fantasy as the soundtrack. You might wanna check and see if perhaps you are just being adjusted. ie…The Adjustment Bureau.

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