A few months ago, I met a boy.  He was handsome, kind and completely infatuated with me.  A surplus of free time and unwise spending habits ensconced us in a romantic shell of speculative dreams.  My unfettered joy for life is intoxicating thing to be around and I’m very aware of it.  I often reminded him that his feelings are temporary and I have no plans to be anyone’s girlfriend.  Not dissuaded, he continued to spend time with me as often as possible and make overtures to our future happiness.  

After a few weeks, my ambient stress level started to go up.  The fear of unemployment and destitution is a real concern for me.  I manage to live my life without letting the fear gain control but that doesn’t mean it ever really goes away.  I used to be someone that complained about everything every chance I got.  Now, I don’t bother venting my angst unless someone asks.  I keep more friends that way.  It’s easier to stay happy when I’m not constantly reminding myself what’s wrong.

When I started to gently pull away from my enamored would-be boyfriend I didn’t expect much resistance.  I needed to spend more time focused on my own needs and made no secret about my priorities.  After all, the path I’m on was set a long time ago.  Instead of a mature amount of distance, the boy reacted like a jealous girlfriend (gender stereotype intended).  He tempted me out for activities and dates when I tried to spend a night out on my own.  He kept me hostage in my own apartment, delaying departures until 2 and 3 am.

Whenever I’d protest with unequivocal statements like, “You need to go home.  I want to go to bed,” I’d get rebuffed.  Either he’d claim to be too tipsy to drive – an excuse I rarely believe but am unwilling to refute – or he’d laugh me off as playing a joke.  I wasn’t mean about it because I don’t like being unkind but in retrospect anger might have been a more effective form of communication.  This kind of exchange happened so I often I began to dread inviting him in to my apartment.

In an attempt to encourage diversity, I suggested he make some dates with other women.  I have no desire for monogamy, so it makes sense that he look for a more traditional woman to indulge his girlfriend urges.  He plaintively avers that he doesn’t want to date anyone else and there’s no one that can compare to me.  My ego appreciated his faith but I am certain I won’t give him all he is looking for.  So he made some dates and I got a week of breathing room.

Here’s where my tune changes and I have to eat my words, right?  He goes on dates and loses interest in me.  I wish.  He reports back a lack of interest in everyone he meets.  I encourage him to be open minded and proceed to turn attention toward my own needs.  This is when I met a good friend of mine that inspired me to check out the CSPC.  The impact that discovery has had on my psyche is well documented in previous posts but it caused a change in would-be boyfriend’s psyche too.

Suddenly, his interest in other women spiked dramatically.  Dates he’d described as lackluster suddenly had sparks flying.  Learning that I was openly exploring my sexuality seemed to loosen his own libido, as well as his standard of loyalty.  Without notice, I went from valued friend that he wants to spend time with to an inconsiderate person that doesn’t contribute enough effort to the relationship.  A drastic shift considering almost nothing about me changed.  The power of perspective, am I right?

The only time I’ve really needed a friend in the past few months is last week when my cat died.  This boy, despite any flaws I’ve reflected in this story, is the only person I wanted by my side to shoulder that pain.  Due to bad timing and false assumptions, he did not make time when I asked.  I faced the emotional burden on my own and spent the last week reeling from the consequences.  When I confessed my pain, his apologies could fill a novella.  In reality, nothing can change the past.

Moral of the story, words are meaningless – actions define what kind of person you are.