text: (iii) The one I struggle to understand. I spent 2019 mostly trying to recover. I dated on occasion, if for no other reason than to shake the rust off. Most of the dates I had were due to friends of friends; the *Stacie, I think you’d like this person, so I’m sending them your way* sort of dates. They were fun and lighthearted, but not longstanding by any means. I came out to my family on April 7th, 2019. In a way, it felt like a second birthday. It was a relief in a lot of ways. I took a girl on a date to the movies. We saw *Pet Sematary*. Not that it matters, but you can skip it. I wasn’t remotely scared. She was, on the other hand, terrified. She seemed annoyed that I wasn’t more moved by it. She ghosted me a few days later. Maybe for that reason. Maybe because of other reasons. I have no way of knowing, but I wasn’t upset about it, looking back. A little later in the year, I met up with a girl who seemed cool. We had a date at a local arcade. We didn’t have too much in common, but she seemed interesting. Our conversations were easy-going and she talked about herself openly. We agreed to meet up for a second date to get barbecue. We had a nice meal. She asked if I wanted to meet up again and I agreed; she had never been to a baseball game and there was one coming up that she asked me about. She ghosted me after I bought the tickets. I was slightly upset, but only because I spent $40 on tickets to a baseball game that I’d have to attend alone. (I ended up giving the tickets to my sister and brother-in-law.) Toward the end of the year, right around the end of October, I met a girl at the market around the corner from my then-employer. I saw here there often and we exchanged pleasantries. Sometimes, we ate together if I had time. I asked if she’d be open to having lunch and she agreed. She seemed nice, at least at first. She was rude to our server, though, and it killed any attraction I could have potentially felt. Somehow, we ended up ghosting each other, something I’m thankful for. After that, I took a pause again. I determined that I wasn’t quite ready for the fickleness of others, at least not then. I spent the remainder of 2019 alone, fifth-wheeling and continuing to mend the parts of myself that I felt needed it the most. I dabbled on dating apps, but strictly to find friends. I talked to a lot of interesting people; I kept conversations high-level, though. It seemed to work well for me. I found I wasn’t looking at other women romantically for the most part. Every now and then, I would see a pretty lady and feel some level of attraction, but it wasn’t quite the same. There were times I wondered if I’d ever get back to where I’d been before. 2020 quickly approached. The winter is my least favorite of all the seasons, thought it wasn’t particularly harsh this year. Valentine’s Day is never something I look forward to, mostly because I haven’t ever had a reason. This year was no different. No cheesy cards or “I love you’s” for me. Still, it’s nice to see love have a day of its own. I did my best to practice optimism and practice self-love. I made a list of all the things I like about myself and kept it handy with me throughout the day. I read it at different points in the day. It helped raise my spirits a bit. Right around this time, I started a new workout regiment. There was a bike-a-thon that was set to take place in the summer that I wanted to participate in. I had planned on honoring my grandpa and a former coworker who both lost their lives to cancer. The ride itself was a bit grueling, and it required a lot of stamina. It took up a lot of my time, and frankly, helped my self-esteem quite a bit. Shortly after, I began feeling ill quite a bit of the time. I figured maybe I had been working myself too hard; I had gotten a promotion, started a new workout regiment, and started eyeing school all in a short timeframe. It was a lot to handle. I had to drop something from my plate at some point. School had to wait a bit longer, I figured. I never deleted my dating apps. They stayed inactive, buried on the back-pages of my home screen. Occasionally, I would get a notification, but I rarely checked up on it. I felt I was in a good place mentally, and the thought of getting hurt again was daunting for me. In all honesty, as I look back, I had been wrestling with unresolved feelings. I didn’t want to pass that pain on to someone else. Around March, my employer began furloughing workers. I expected to be one of them, but I’m pleased to say I wasn’t. A few of my friends were affected, though. (Don’t worry - they all found work.) I had two options: To continue working in the office, or to work from home. Mostly everyone exercised the option of working from home. I wasn’t particularly excited about it. I am a textbook introvert in the sense that I simply need my own space to recharge. The thought of not being around people is not something I’ve handled well. I found I was in the minority with those feelings. I moved my entire office space into the guest bedroom of my parents’ house. I had a new office buddy: My cat - now my parents’ cat - Porschia. She could often be seen on my Zoom calls, even with clients. They thought it was charming, thankfully. Still, I missed the interaction I previously had with others. I headed back to the dating apps to see if I could find new pen pals. As it turned out, a lot of people had the same intention, so it wasn’t hard. It didn’t necessarily make conversation easier. People are people, and that includes people being shallow. I will admit I’m an average-looking person. Brown hair, blue eyes, short, a little chubby. I’ve been told a time or two I have a nice smile. Nothing about me necessarily stands out; any form of interaction I get on dating apps, I assume, is because of my personality. Still, I did my best to be confident. I struck up a conversation with a girl who lived about an hour south of me. We didn’t have a ton in common, but we had the same sense of humor. We shared similar political views, too. She considered herself strictly a cat person, which was disappointing when I told her I wanted to one day own a farm of Golden Retrievers. It was something she said she could overlook. She had a nice smile, which I liked. I will be honest - I didn’t feel an immediate spark when I talked to her, but at the very least, we could have easily been friends. We talked for a couple of days and exchanged numbers. She asked me almost immediately what it was I was looking for. And, in my typical fashion, I was honest: I had no clue. I didn’t explain to her anything involving my dating history. It seemed a bit premature for that discussion. I felt it was best not to lead us both to something where our hopes would be dashed if feelings weren’t mutual. She had a similar answer. It was a relief. We both quarantined for a few weeks. Because I lived with my parents, I didn’t have to worry about leaving the house much. I would, on occasion, leave to get groceries, but I never left for long. I’ve always been a stickler for washing my hands anyway, so I didn’t have a huge concern about getting sick. Still, I was careful. She had a similar situation. It was because of our caution that we agreed to a socially distanced meet-up just a few weeks in. We used the masks. We did the six-foot thing, at least I think it was six feet. We walked through the park and chatted. We ate lunch with our windows open in our own cars. We talked about music. I discovered, disappointingly, she didn’t know many of the songs I played. They were new to her, but I didn’t mind showing her if she would be interested. We didn’t agree to another meet-up at the conclusion of our first one. It was new for me, but I didn’t want to get my hopes up or pressure myself into something I may have not been ready for, either. Instead, we continued chatting. She brought it up eventually and asked if I’d be open to it. I had to think about it for a bit, but I eventually agreed. The meet-up was in similar fashion, and we spent most of the time just chatting and getting to know each other. Most of our communication was virtual for the first couple of months. We FaceTimed quite a bit. We talked on the phone often. She started getting into the habit of calling me on my lunch break. She let “babe” slip more than once. I have no problem with pet names; I just prefer there be *some* talk of relationship status. I felt awkward having to tell her, but she seemed understanding of that request. A day or so later, she told me she liked me. I wasn’t expecting it. The comment came out of left field. We had been talking about something completely unrelated, in fact. She interrupted my thought to tell me. “Hey, shut up for a second,” she said. That...sort of surprised me. “I like you.” I nodded. “OK,” I replied. I waited for something else. It seemed like there could have been something else, but there wasn’t. I didn’t know how I felt. I found I wasn’t prepared for the conversation to take place this way. I settled on more neutral phrasing. “I think you’re cool,” I said. She noted my hesitation to say too much. “It’s okay if you’re not ready,” she added. “Just tell me when you are.” Maybe I don’t know women, but she seemed to take it better than I expected. Things began to blossom from there, albeit slowly. We had virtual date nights. She began asking me more about myself, and I slowly began to open up. I told her whatever I felt comfortable sharing. Though I don’t find myself to be much of an interesting person, I took it in pieces. I wanted to know more about her, too, so I asked questions as they came up. She began getting a little bolder with her questions. She asked about my dating history on more than one occasion. I glossed over the subject. It didn’t seem fair to her to discuss that sort of thing, even if she did ask. I simply chalked it up to not being completely inexperienced, but also not having a great deal of experience. She told me she had been in love with her last girlfriend and they had only been broken up a few months. It seemed soon to me, but everyone dials at different speeds. It was only fair to her to let her determine how ready she was to move on, so I didn’t question it. Eventually, we decided to meet for a non-socially distanced date. We took abundant precautions beforehand. We agreed I would go to her place the first time. She lived alone during the time. She sounded really excited to be able to cook dinner for me, and there was a lot of effort on her end to make sure I liked what she made. This was...normal, I thought. You know, minus the global pandemic. I arrived on a Friday evening. I decided that a dress shirt, tie, khakis, and dress shoes were fitting. My hairdresser was closed, so I had to get creative with my hair. I think I managed to make it work. I knocked on her door and before I knew it, she wrapped me up in a big hug. She kissed me on the cheek and led me inside. Her house was clean and organized, about what I expected. I always have anxieties any time I’m invited to someone else’s home. As kids, my parents always made sure that my sister and I were exceedingly polite in other people’s homes. This usually included taking shoes off at the door, offering to help set the table if food was served, and helping around the kitchen. But it was all done for me this time. I felt slightly awkward. She must have been able to tell - she asked more than once if I was okay. We sat down to a candlelit dinner. There was wine. I’m not much of a wine drinker, or a drinker period. I powered through it, though the thought of drinking on a first date, for whatever reason, makes me uncomfortable. She had prepared homemade bread, chicken fettucine alfredo, and a salad. We chatted over dinner and watched some of the wildlife that surrounded her house. We eventually cleaned up and headed to the living room. An intense game of Jenga awaited us. Turns out, I’m not that great at Jenga, either. I swear a lot more when unstable wooden blocks are involved. Thankfully, she found this funny. She slid close to me and kissed my cheek. I felt myself get a little nervous. *Gotta be the wine talking,* I thought. She mumbled something a little saucy in my ear; I immediately suggested watching a television show. My nerves were a little jumbled. Some prime comedy television was surely in order. We watched about an hour of *Parks and Rec* before, out of nowhere, she sat up and grabbed me by the face. She kissed me. Hard. It took me a few moments to relax into it, but I did. I eventually pried myself from her and smiled. I wasn’t sure what else to do. My hands stayed glued at my sides. She guided my hand to the strap of her shirt and slid it down her shoulder. “Oh, boy,” I remember saying. I thought I left it as internal dialogue, but judging by her laugh, that was not the case. She started kissing my neck, somewhat more aggressively. Not that it matters to anyone that might be reading this but...not an area of focus, at least for me. I backed away. “Can we, like, not do this right now?” I asked. She seemed slightly offended. “Don’t you want to?” She was genuinely confused. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to. I had serious doubts that she was completely sure herself. I slid her strap back on her shoulder and gave it a gentle (nervous) pat. “I was hoping maybe we could just cuddle and watch something on TV,” I remember saying. The topic of physical closeness had yet to be discussed by this point. She seemed deflated. This was new to me. I hadn’t ever rejected a woman’s (physical) advances before, but I hadn’t had a reason to. She eventually conceded to the idea of a blanket and television, although I could tell she wanted more. We talked for a little bit longer. She took the opportunity to tell me of her physical needs at some point during the conversation. I either struggle with being direct or I’m *too* direct; there is rarely any sort of balance for me. This time, it was the former. I didn’t want to tell her I wasn’t quite ready. She eventually took the hint and didn’t bring it up for the remainder of the evening. We made our way to bed at some point. She snuggled in beside me and rested my arm over her. I didn’t end up sleeping for most of the night; she snored like a freight train going 70 in a 30. Still, it was nice to be close to someone. Her cat decided I made a good pillow, or at least my legs did. I found myself sleeping next to a gal who was sawing logs in her sleep with a cat who may or may have not been trying to slowly immobilize me. Still, I can’t say it was the weirdest experience I’ve ever had. I woke up the next morning to a hand being pushed through my hair. I’ve never been a morning person; I don’t necessarily have any problems with sleeping in past 10:00 AM. “What time is it?” I mumbled. She shooed her cat off the bed and rolled me on my back. She straddled me and took her shirt off. She was really not good at being subtle at this point. I swallowed hard. She kissed my neck again. Too tired to protest, I sort of...let it happen. She whispered more saucy things into my ear, and I found myself mostly not responsive. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She was sober now, so it seemed she really *did* want to follow through with it. Me, on the other hand? I was still unsure. She took me hands and guided them where she wanted them. I found myself struggling to maintain eye contact nearly the whole time. The experience isn’t what I’d call unhinged; uncontrolled, arrhythmic, maybe. Again, not that it matters, but it didn’t align with my style. It didn’t last too long. She got up and showered immediately after. I lay in her bed realizing that a woman had invited me to her house for dinner and Netflix. I partially blamed myself. What was I expecting to happen? I got dressed and headed to her kitchen. I thought I’d forget about the previous encounter, or try to, by making breakfast. I was used to cooking for one by this point, and it looked like she was, too. She would have to live with my waffles, eggs, and turkey bacon. I decided to surprise her when she got out of the shower. I arranged a breakfast tray and delivered it to her room where she was getting finished preparing herself for the day. She thanked me with a kiss on the cheek. We didn’t talk much about the morning’s events. I found myself changing the subject whenever she brought it up. It was a beautiful day that day; I suggested a picnic in the park and maybe a small hike. She was only interested in one of those things, which I was able to live with. We spent most of the day together before I had to leave. It was *mostly* uneventful, and barring certain encounters, would have been a great day. Despite this, we continued to see each other. I signed my lease for my apartment in early May. I began boxing most of my life away. Thankfully, I didn’t have many personal items. It was mostly clothes, books, a television, and some new household items. She helped me pack and seemed interested in my high school life. We looked at some of my yearbooks. During those years, I wore my hair long. I didn’t wear my glasses regularly - I was stubborn in that way. I was a shy, quiet teenager, which surprised her. I’m not sure why. I eventually moved into my apartment, which is small. But it worked perfectly for me. She seemed surprised by that fact; I felt the judgment, but only a little bit. She helped me unpack and we looked at more photo albums. But something was different on move-in day. She was unusually snappy with me. I asked if she wanted to eat pizza with me while I unpacked. She seemed annoyed by that. “You didn’t plan a meal?” I remember her asking. It didn’t seem totally crazy to have pizza after moving my life into a new apartment. I assumed the question was rhetorical. “I guess we can. But you invited me over. I thought you may have had something special planned,” she said. I felt a little bad. After all, she did cook dinner for me when I went to her house. “Next week?” I asked. “When I get everything unpacked and get to the grocery store. I can make spaghetti and meatballs or something.” That seemed to placate her. The truth is, I hadn’t been feeling completely well or like myself. I was more tired than usual. A little sore, even. But I didn’t find it significant enough to share with her. My job was terribly stressful at the time. I had just moved out on my own. I figured I was also maybe feeling a bit depressed or homesick. It was hard to pin down my emotions. I didn’t want to unload them on her; she had stuff of her own to deal with, too. She asked if she could stay all night, and I agreed it would be fine. I woke up the next day to a hot bath drawn for me and McDonald’s breakfast. I hadn’t even heard her leave that morning, though I am sometimes a bit of a hard sleeper. “What’s this for?” I asked. “You don’t have food here,” she said immediately. It felt a little passive-aggressive. I felt bad again. I tried to gloss over it with a joke. “Yeah, I guess I should probably go to the store,” I said. She seemed annoyed again. “Guess you have to be an adult sometime,” she said. That comment sort of stung. I asked if everything was okay. This specific behavior was a little new to me, but it felt like she was looking for reasons to be upset. “I’m fine,” she said eventually. “Just tired.” I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. She left a little later that day after helping me unpack some more. She called later that night to talk about her parents. I put her on speaker phone and puttered around the house. Nothing seemed out of place on my end, besides her previous bad mood. I had to know why she was in such a crap mood, but the other part of me told me not to dig. She hit me with an unexpected question. “Do you think you could ever see yourself falling for me?” It was a loaded question, as well as unexpected. I wasn’t sure if I was ready to answer it. It wasn’t totally improbable that I could fall for her. Though, as I write this now, I realize I knew the answer all along. “It’s definitely a possibility,” I said. It seemed like a safe answer. There was a long pause. “Good,” she said. It was a bizarre ending to our conversation. “I have to get going. Talk to you later.” We exchanged “goodnights” before she hung up. I went to bed wondering if I had just walked into some sort of weird trap. My anxiety wasn’t in overdrive, so I went with that. I slept in a little later than normal the following day. My whole body was sore. I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. I also had to report to work in my new apartment/office, something I wasn’t looking forward to much. I got up, gave a little stretch, took a hot shower, contemplated my life choices, ate some toast. You know, the usual. I hadn’t checked my phone that morning, something that was a little odd for me. I shuffled into my office space and started my day. Judging by the way my client called and yelled at me for ten minutes straight, I could tell it was going to be a weird day. I played some music to get the juices going. The Eagles are always a prime choice, and my neighbors probably now know how much I like the song “Hotel California.” They probably also know I’m a shit singer. Frankly, I’m okay with both. During my lunch break, I decided to check my phone. Six texts from my girlfriend. T*hat’s gotta be bad*, I thought. I opened them, expecting something, but not a breakup. Not after our last conversation. Among other things, she mentioned I needed therapy. This comment was particularly hurtful; I had finally opened up to her and told her I had been to therapy off and on during my late-teen years. She seemed understanding at the time. I never expected for her to use it against me. She told me I was a bad kisser. That one didn’t hurt quite so bad, but I was rusty when we met. If I was ever bad with anyone else, they had enough tact not to tell me. And finally - perhaps the most confusing statement - she called me desperate and needy. I was shocked. And hurt. If I’m being honest, I still am. The thought of getting close to another human daunted me for a while. It stopped me from pursuing anything remotely resembling a relationship, for the most part. I hadn’t shared that with her, though. Maybe she could tell, maybe it was just a lucky guess. In a way, it felt like she looked for ways to hurt me. I tried calling. Straight to voicemail. I asked if we could meet up. She was “busy.” She only wanted to talk by text. I spent most of the afternoon in tears. I guess, looking back, I should have seen it coming. It wouldn’t be the first time I missed completely obvious signs. Sometime before I met her, though, I realized not every experience would look the same. At least that’s what I told myself. This felt hauntingly familiar in some ways; the biggest difference was that it felt like she meant to hurt me. I can’t say the same for those that were before her. I eventually worked up the courage to ask if I’d done something wrong. She didn’t answer with a response to my question. Instead, she suggested we talk later that evening. It was mostly just rehashing her texts. She wanted a break for a while and I gave it to her. I found myself more hurt by the circumstances of the breakup more than the breakup itself. It was a little new to me. I was angry with her. I still am, at least in some ways. I don’t get angry often. It’s a useful emotion sometimes, though. It offers clarity under certain circumstances. We haven’t talked much in the past few months. I have written unsent letters to her that I’ve erased. The words struggle to come to mind. It’s probably because I didn’t love her. I don’t think I could. Completely improbable? I suppose not. Something was just...missing. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but the warmth that I need wasn’t there. She was genuine in a lot of ways, but completely unsure of herself in others. There was a bit of an age difference between us, but not extraordinary. I came with a bit more life experience; we struggled to relate on backgrounds and shared experiences. Looking back, the holes were probably too big to fill. The story is still somewhat fresh. It feels I could write new pages every day. I have contemplated reaching out to her more than once, but I’ve struggled to follow through. A person I spent a lot of time talking to, sharing mundane details of my life with, is practically a stranger. She texts me occasionally. She’s shown up uninvited to my house. She’s sent me birthday greetings. But it all feels very superficial. She told me she feels guilty for what she did. I’m not a perfect person. I can admit that maybe I want her to feel a little guilty. She knows I didn’t deserve for it to end the way it did. But on the other hand, I’m a flawed person myself. I recognize that sometimes, people do things they think might be best and act in ways that don’t always align with their character. Love teaches a lot of lessons. But then again, so do things that might resemble love. Things that might have potential to be love but never quite make it. Things that turn into love but never get the space they need to grow. I genuinely have no clue what this experience was meant for me to learn. I do my best to be a positive person. In some way, I hope, I’ll have the lesson figured out soon enough.