So, I’ve explained that I’m twenty-five and the whole purpose of this blog is for me to share, with whoever the fuck cares, my struggles and successes in finding myself and what I have learned from my experiences.
My life isn’t that interesting because I live in a small town in Butt Fuck Nowhere, Canada. So, I’m not going to tell you about what I’ve learned from a gold toothed stripper I met one weekend in Vegas, how I fell in love with a bread maker in France, or how I took a bunch of E with some Serbs in a sketchy Belgrade nightclub and woke up naked next to a railroad track.
At this juncture in my life (okay, it’s only been for about a month now), I am focused on love. I mentioned this guy I call Steve in my last post. Fucking asshole. I only think he’s an asshole because I have a lot of trust issues and I’ve been fucked over numerous times by members of the opposite sex. I basically think all men think with their penises. I also think too much about things and most of the time my thoughts just end up getting derailed and, suddenly, I’m going off on whole other tangent. My brain is stupid. I am extremely cynical, as well. I’m not the most optimistic person, but I actually like who I am. Steve obviously doesn’t. His loss.
First of all, I do believe in love. However, I don’t believe in love at first sight.
Love is possible for everyone even if you think you’re a fucking loser and you think no one will ever fucking love you, you do have the chance. Someone will love you, eventually. Just don’t focus all of your energy on one person who you thought you would have something special with, like I did Steve. When the time is right, it will come… at least, this is what I keep telling myself.
I knew Steve since the wintertime, and talking to him helped me get over some fucktard who pussied out when he moved away. What happened was the guy left town for what was supposed to be two weeks, got fired from his work, and never came back. I found out on Facebook that he was on his way back to the city while I was away on a work trip. He never called me, he never text messaged me, or even emailed me (who am I kidding, no one emails anymore) to tell me what was up. What the fuck is up with that? Luckily, I was only with this person for about three or four months, so it didn’t sting as much as I expected. Plus, I was fixated on Steve, and naturally I felt that Steve came into my life for a reason. Turns out he was just there to help me get over a breakup. Boring!
Even though Steve lived far away from me, we kept in touch and we talked a quite a bit. I want to say Steve is stupid and that he’s a fucking idiot, but he’s really smart. He’s polite and he’s kind. He knows his shit and it’s not often you come across someone like that, considering the fact that I’m usually attracted to the fucked up, asshole type… because I’m an idiot. They don’t seem like jerks in the beginning, all right?
Steve and I spent the entire week together. Before he arrived I had worked up this whole elaborate scenario where the two of us would fall in love and the distance between us wouldn’t fucking matter, because that’s what Hollywood taught me, okay? Though I had a nice time with Steve, everything fell short of what I had originally expected. He never told me he wanted to stay with me. He never told me to come with him. We didn’t have an extravagant sad goodbye. And he didn’t fall in love with me.
I was sad when Steve had to leave, because things obviously didn’t turn out the way I had envisioned they would. I cried, but then that didn’t actually fix anything, so I just stopped. He barely contacted me after, and whenever I try to start a conversation it never really goes anywhere, or I feel like I’m bothering him. I think about Steve a lot. He’s usually the first person who pops into my head when I wake up, and that’s probably really unhealthy. But I guess Steve got what he really wanted from me: he got to fuck me.
Tonight I got fucking friendzoned. I don’t know what I did or didn’t do to make Steve not like me. I expressed how I felt and he told me he enjoyed our friendship. I wanted to take out the bitch guns and ask him if fucking me was the best part of our friendship he enjoyed.
Sometimes I feel like a consolation prize. I’m not the best, but I could be up there. Somewhere in the mix I just fall short. I feel like I’m that chick before the girlfriend. Either that, or I’m becoming the girl guys just want to fuck.
In the back of my mind, I secretly want him to come running to me. I want him to tell me that I’m fucking amazing and I want him to fall in love with me. I know it will never happen, but the thought of it is nice.
One of the shittiest feelings at twenty-five is when you learn that someone doesn’t share the same feelings you have for them. It feels the way it felt when you were eighteen, except you’re more mature now.