journal entry vol. 2: moving on/overcoming fear
It’s time to stop running from my fears. (more dramatic journal entries)
“Sometimes I think you travel as a way to collect stories you can tell others rather than having to tell people about your feelings. You use it as an escape from reality,” said my best friend Abbie as she took a sip of cheap wine.
I remember, one night during my senior year at Belmont University, sitting with my best friend and roommate, Abbie, having a heart to heart. I told her how she needs therapy and she told me the same thing. Now, here I am, two years later, not having gone to therapy, and finally just understanding what Abbie meant when she said I use travel as a way to escape my feelings.
Since moving from my hometown in New York to London this past September, I’ve been on my Hinge game. I’ve gone on almost 16 dates in seven months, spending the majority of my weekend nights listening to some average 20-something year old guy ask me about the differences between the U.K. and U.S., followed by him trying to go home with me then ghosting me when I say no.
Honestly, it’s been fine. I love meeting new people and there’s no better way to get to know others than being stuck at drinks with them for 2–4 hours. Despite some torturous dates, I don’t regret spending my Friday nights going out with guys I matched with just a couple days before.
Tonight, however, after coming back from another Hinge date, I’m regretting my decision. Not because there was anything wrong with my date, instead it feels like there’s something wrong with me. Lately dating doesn’t excite me, it fills me with dread.
Eventually having to let someone get to know me on a deeper level scares me. The last, and only, time I ever did it backfired on me. That three and a half month “situationship,” which ended quite dramatically, damaged my desire to be vulnerable with anyone else again.
I suppose, for most people, the general thought of starting a new relationship can be scary.
I’m scared to make new memories with someone, even in small ways, like listening to a song we both love then deeming it “our song.” What if a song that was once my favorite becomes tainted with memories of someone who hurt me, again?
I’m scared to let someone in, to show them my favorite coffee shops and beaches, drive them around the town I grew up in and introduce them to the people who raised me. What if I end up in a position, again, where I can’t sleep in my childhood bedroom because all I can think of is the nights he spent with me there?
I don’t want to experience that same sense of loss all over again.
The last time I felt such a loss, I applied to grad school thousands of miles away from my home as a way to escape the memories we had scattered all across Smithtown. I thought starting afresh in a place where no such memories existed would help me move on completely. Turns out I thought wrong.
The memories we had together of London were hypothetical. London only got brought up in conversations had back in his Stony Brook dorm room where he spoke of what we’d do when I visited his hometown of Crowborough. Or when he would talk about us going on a date to his favorite Wetherspoons in Central London, that should’ve been my first red flag.
In an attempt to unconsciously further alienate my emotions, I spent a couple of months seeing someone I could not stand. He’s a fine person, but his pretentiousness and ignorance got in the way of his otherwise okay personality. He would tell me how much he liked me, and I would just reply “Thanks.” Avoiding saying anything too deep that may lead him on.
Although I may not have been able to stand him as a person, seeing him was so easy. Because, at the end of the day, I didn’t really care about him.
I know that sounds heartless, but the more we hung out the more I began to realize that if he were to randomly end things, or if I were to find out that he had another girl, I wouldn’t be bothered.
I wouldn’t go home and cry for days on end, or stare at my phone longing for a message from him. I wouldn’t reminisce on our time spent together, or mourn the future we could’ve had.
Instead, I would just carry on with my life because I never really liked him that much anyway.
And when things ended, that’s exactly what I did.
I’ve spent the better part of the past year not only with someone I could care less about but also pining over a guy currently in a relationship. Yes, the man in a relationship is my perfect type, but sometimes I think I only want him because I know there’s no chance of me ever having him. Cliche, I know.
Having had that super brief fling of indifference, and being stuck loving someone I’ll never be able to have, I’m longing again for someone (single) I actually care to spend time with.
I guess this is all a part of moving on; relearning how to trust others, taking off my steel armor, and going back into the world with an open heart. As I began delving back into the dating world last year, I unexpectedly found one of the best pieces of advice in a random YouTube video. “You can’t make the next person pay for what the person before did.”
My fears and insecurities that developed in response to the hurt of my last relationship will take time to go away, but I can’t automatically assume the next person will commit the same crimes.
It’s time I acknowledge the pain and heartbreak as a part of my past but not as something that will dictate my future. Besides, where’s the fun in life and love if there’s no risk of disaster?
