What makes him the Mr. Wrong in all the right ways? Here’s the telltale list:
- Everything about him is yummylicious, he has no flaws. His hair, his chiseled bod, his cute cute smile when he looks at you, and most of all his playfulness in which you already know deep down there’s an expiration date on this relationship you have with this manchild. If he has no flaws, you’re clearly at a stage where you’re blinded by his twinkling Edward Cullen skin and thousand watt smile. It’s okay to notice flaws and accept them. But if you’re telling all your gal pals at brunch that this dude is 100% flawless… check yourself before you wreck yourself. At one point, he’ll fall off the pedestal and you’ll be hurt by how much you were blinded.
- You want the limited supply. You know you really shouldn’t like him because he rarely ever replies back and when he does, he just seems aloof- all the more reasons for you to want him more, right? We never want the surplus of resources now do we? We’re always coveting something when it’s “limited.” It’s crazy how much we analyze a mere text. Ask him, “hang out later?” and he replies, “Yeah hit me up.” Cue the mind going bonkers with: “No smiley face… is he not interested?!” Or “Okay, he replied back in less than 10 minutes, he must be into me” or “Does he really mean for me to call him? Should I wait until he calls?”
- Making plans and flaking. Errr, red alert! If a true man, (not a fuckboy) made plans to see you, he’d follow through. I get the personal emergencies that could arise but if he’s making plans with you and flaking more than a few times, you know you’re not a priority. I don’t care how adorable those dimples are! You deserve someone who would put you in the priority you deserve. If you’re blocking out your schedule to spend time with him, then he should be doing the same. Don’t be an option!
- The Chameleon Paradigm. Do not forget the person you are. I’m sure we’ve all done this at one point in our lives. I’ll be frank, there was once a crush I wanted to impress so bad, I even added Facebook likes to something he’d be into as well. (Lame, I know, but at least I’m woman enough to admit it) Just because he loves loves loves watching basketball, does not mean you should be studying up on J.R. Smith’s draft history. He should like you for the differences that make you unique. So if he admires Game of Thrones, it doesn’t mean you should watch the first 6 seasons in one week so you two have something to talk about. He’ll have his friends for that. If you find yourself changing your spots to make him like you better… you’ve already fallen prey to what I call the Chameleon Paradigm.
- The shoe just doesn’t seem to fit. No matter what, there’s always a question in your mind whether to trust him or whether he’s right for you. The allure in the mystery is what keeps you interested, but is that really what you want? Stop trying to piece something together if there’s always a missing piece. Fact of the matter is, the pieces you hold won’t fit because he’s not the right puzzle.
If you can relate- pump the brakes. Look at yourself in the rear view mirror and just stop. Stop freaking out. Stop overanalyzing. If it feels so frustrating now, are you sure this is what you want to continue on with? When it’s right, and trust me, this is going to take time and age, you’ll be less anxious and more happy.
I was trying to explain to her what she could not grasp.
I wasn’t unhappy in my relationship by any means, maybe just stuck in a conundrum.
“It’s like there’s a bottle and a cap, and no matter how I try to screw on the cap, it doesn’t seem to fit perfectly –
It still functions as a bottle in that the cap screws on and nothing will spill out nor would anything fall in. The bottle still works, but some part of it will always not feel right.”
That was the best way for me to explain my conundrum.
He leaves a thorn in my sides as each passing day goes by that we are together.
Toxic relationships grow and grow. The thorns prick my skin one by one; day by day until there’s no surface left to puncture me. He’s taken all of me.
So when the time finally comes, and I’ve mustered enough bravery to leave and let it all go, it takes one day at a time to pluck out each thorn he’s left in me.
The recovery is painful, they say. The recovery is hard.
And as each day I pull with might, I feel the twinge of throbbing memories being yanked out. The petals glisten and cheer.
The buds start to say, it’s one step closer to leaving it behind. Thorns no longer impaling my emptiness but piling up on the ground where I left the rest of that darkness.
6am is my favorite time of the day. The world actually comes to a halt. Flurries of emails haven’t stormed my phone. Streets haven’t been stacked with cars armed for swerving battles. The day is open and quiet. My mind has a small snippet of tranquility.
The timer on my coffee machine sets off and gorgeous brewing amber races for my mug. The scent fogs my living room while the sun barely peeks out yawning and stretching its sunshine through the clouds.
My keyboard readies itself to create symphonies. The flickering line in an open doc waiting for today’s rhythm to start. I lightly place my fingers above and start to type; spilling feelings, rage, characters with unimaginable valor, and pasts with wounded scars.
My mind is clear and hopeful that for the next 24 hours maybe just maybe… my life and the stories I create have a chance of something new, something great, and something memorable.
6am is my favorite time of day.
It haunts me all the time, thinking back to the day I strolled down 3rd Street Promenade. Was I the only one who noticed? The poor bruised child scared out of her wits? The heavy tall robust man clutching her arms as they briskly walked past me?
Often times, people say we have this bystander effect where we believe that though there are misfortunes and tragedies in this world someone else will lend out a hand rather than ourselves helping out the unfortunate. It’s a social psychological phenomenon, it’s a mistake, and it’s what I’ll have to carry with me as a burden because I swear what I saw that chilling afternoon wasn’t just a regular day on the promenade.
I so want to believe that there is an altruistic good left in our world. I so want to hope that with all the human cruelty that persists from day to day, there is still a small pool of decency left in us. A spark that barely flickers in our tainted hearts. I regret that afternoon. I know it wouldn’t be my business and I, myself, could have been put in danger of the man with blood thirst eyes but I could have saved a young girl from her suffering.
To paint a better picture, here is what I remember from that day-
I was strolling down past a few pedestrian shoppers near 3rd St Promenade when I saw a young girl with a face that had looked like it’d been brutally assaulted. The inflammation of her most recent bruising stuck out like a tumor near her cheeks. Different shades of purple were displayed across her face that trailed up to her eyes. The moment we crossed paths felt as though a lifetime of pain was shot into my eyes as I saw her sorrows manifest the air. In those brief few seconds I noticed her raggedy clothes, her sniffling nose and sounds of a whimper as if she were choking back tears. She was dragged along by a man tightly gripping her arms. He looked like a menace. I so badly wanted to halt, turn around and question her distress, but what were they doing in broad daylight? If she was being tortured or even raped, would the kidnapper really bring her out in public? Biting my tongue, I shook away the crippling chills that pricked at my spine and turned the other cheek.
There is no happy ending to my passage down memory lane. In fact, there isn’t even an ending at all. But I do linger with the question…
If you were to brush past the two, would you have the humanity to stop them? Or would you have surrendered to bystander’s apathy… the way I had and am now disturbed by my own lack of action?
I was an optimistic fool each time I fell in love with you…thinking this time now that we’re older, it’ll be different.
Telling myself, this time I’m not just a convenience. You’re back in my life again because you wanted us back together.
Tricking my mind to believing this time you’ll actually stay.
Optimistic fool was right because when I blinked, you were gone again.
An excerpt I had jotted down a couple years back..
I’ve had no motivation to write.
It started to hurt so I used words as remedy,
Then the pain just went away…the grip I had on my pen loosened.
All my tears had dried.
Rain came, then hurricane.
I finally woke up and understood that happiness doesn’t come with others- it starts with the self.
I’ve said this before but writing has really become a great channel to alleviate any kind of pain you’re going through. Though time heals most wounds is the usual manta, I find that spilling words onto pages can bring this sense of lightness into your soul. It helps you pour your feels out and creates this realm of where you can keep it to yourself or share it with others without verbally needing to speak of it. Sure, there are moments I find tears welling but for the most part, it’s become much easier to translate my pain into the written word than the spoken suffering. Your throat tightens, your eyes get hot, and your chest starts to implode with fear you’ll start crying again. When that happens, remember to write: write about something happy- describe it in the most colorful of words or write about your pain in order to sort out why you are upset. Leave the anger there, and realize you’ll never get the next 60 seconds back, so would you rather spend it angry or happy?