Things become habitual for me fairly easily. Sometimes, a bit against my will. For the last three years, I've been repeating self defeating actions while simultaneously telling myself to fucking stop, because I hate how the actions make me feel. And over the last eight months, I've slowly but surely stopped doing these things. For a combination of reasons, but mostly because of My Fellow, really.
After a breakup, especially one you didn't want, it's hard to see value in yourself. At least for me. I struggled to find my worth for a long, long time. I tried to find it in poisonous things, with awful people, and while fucking my way through misery helped a bit, I found most of the important stuff I'd been missing in making new friends and indulging my hobbies with people that wanted to do them, too. Which is how I met My Fellow. And now we have habits, and they're nice. Saturdays are lazy nights, and we either make dinner together or go out, we'll watch a movie, and that's that. Sunday morning I make pancakes, we'll lay in bed for an hour or two after breakfast, and then we go for an adventure with our cameras, or we hang out with our friends. I've grown very accustomed to this, and I'm very slowly realizing how much I hate that I don't get to do this until the middle of next month, because the army is demanding and field exercises are fucking dumb.
I've spent all day thinking about how the last year has been, and I had an epiphany. Everything clicked together. I finally had the conversation with Dan that I've needed to have for months, and it fucking locked everything in.
While My Fellow and I will not be together much longer, I'm very much going to enjoy the rest of our time together. He's excited to go visit my family with me in September, and I'm excited for him to do so. I still know I am incapable of giving him what he wants and needs from me, but I've explained myself to him, I've been honest about the issues I've had with Dan, and he's still here. The least I can do is be present. I've made small steps, and I've made concessions, which is how I wound up as a girlfriend again in the first place. I didn't want to be, but it's not so bad. I was very clear about not wanting to relinquish my sexual freedom, but knowing I don't have a leash has mostly stilled the itch. He lets me be me, with no expectations. I can just be, and god damn is that freeing. He loves me anyway. I don't really know how to process that, but I'm trying, and I think it'll be easier now.
Perhaps I was wrong, and My Fellow isn't too needy at all. Perhaps I've just been broken for a little bit. Maybe I'll be more receptive to his vulnerability and ability to be human with me. Then again, maybe not.
Our relationship only has a couple more months at most, and I'm not really upset about it. This is probably for the better, even though My Fellow is undeniably the best boyfriend I've ever had. I've had a small, but delightful hiccup for the last two days, but that's for a different blog on a different day. Probably tomorrow. For now, I'm thirty years old, officially, and I'm tired.
Goodbye, twenties! And with you, goodbye emotional hangups. I won't miss either of you, honestly.
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