Numb
Photo by Nazym Jumadilova on Unsplash
For the first time since bringing Minus a Plus One to life, I let multiple weeks pass by without posting. There were reasons, sure, but all were truly excuses at the end of the day.
The days after the election left me hollow and hurting and angry with my country, my home state and my own religion.
I started dating a boy and actually liked him and he consumed my thoughts for a moment and I didn’t want to share him just yet.
And then that same guy became a massive disappointment, like so many of the rest.
I began a bad habit of falling asleep to the fourth Harry Potter book – Goblet of Fire – each night instead of letting myself get lost in my thoughts – when most of my good blogging happens. (But man, does Jim Dale have a lovely, soothing voice).
For a minute, I felt stuck. And if I’m honest, for a while I went numb, not wanting to feel anything.
Simply put, this year has been a struggle for many. Maybe it’s even fair to say it’s been challenging for most. And my love life, or lack thereof, has been no exception.
So, when I matched with a guy late October who seemed different from my usual type, I was hoping for maybe my luck to change. We messaged for a while, discovering we both were editors for our respective college newspapers and loved writing and communication and words in general.
As nerdy as it sounds, I was smitten before our first date from his texts alone.
When we did finally meet, it was far from love at first sight. He tried to make small talk, but being nearly a foot taller than me and wearing a mask, it was next to impossible to hear anything he said and all the awkward feels of meeting a stranger rushed in.
But as time wore on (which really means after my first glass of wine) I realized I was enjoying his company and our date. The only word I could use to describe him was “bizarre.” His odd comments caught me off guard and made me laugh in a deep, genuine way. He was calm throughout our date and clever in his story-telling.
And I found myself liking him.
In true Katie fashion, I arranged for our second and third date before he dropped me off, and he agreed to both. And I remember walking back into my apartment feeling something I hadn’t felt in a really, really long time.
I felt potential.
And while there were things I noticed; they didn’t seem like red flags. Immaturity, sure. But he admitted it and confessed he knew he needed to grow up. There was his inclination to call me “Bro” or “Homie” which I found odd, to which he would respond, “But you’re my Bro.” And he swore enough to make me wince, and he promised to clean it up, admitting he wished he swore less.
But he was unique and funny and it felt good to laugh and all seemed like polishing more than deal-breakers. And if I’m being truly honest, he complimented me endlessly.
And it felt good.
It felt good to be seen. Appreciated. Learned.
There was a connection I longed for and with each text in the morning, or phone call after work, or date we went on, it grew stronger.
Until he threw me completely.
His behavior became erratic and then he ignored me for days. A week later he resurfaced, full of embarrassment and apologies.
Every sane, logical fiber in me said block him, move on, try again.
Back to the apps I went, swiping my way through more mundane exchanges, agreements to set up video dates, and one 32-year-old who was “just looking for a f***buddy” if he was being honest.
Meanwhile, my potential-turned-disappointment begged me to forget it ever happened, to go back to how things had been. I found myself asking for an explanation, still responding to each text. My gut suspected it wasn’t a matter of if he would disappoint again, but when.
What would the trade-off be? A month of being caught up in him, enjoying him, savoring the feeling of companionship again, only to spend the next two months trying to forget when his unexplained behavior resurfaced? What would the healing process look this time?
For a brief moment, I had felt something. And I while he continued to show me who he was, I stubbornly want to close my eyes tightly and see the guy I went on a handful of dates with and fell for. I wanted to feel something. Anything.
In a year that has left me numb and stuck, I wanted to feel. Just a little bit longer. It’s a pattern I’m recognizing the more I blog. Wanting to savor each taste as they are so few and far between.
But at what cost?
Why were these my only options when it came to dating? To be alone, to be bored, or to be disappointed?
And when would that finally change?
“I would rather
learn what it feels
like to burn than feel
nothing at all.”