"Don't give so much of yourself away" she says to me. And, looking back over my recent history with guys, that's pretty much what I have been doing.
It's tough to feel like I am in college again again-turning myself into a virtual pretzel for any guy I think isn't a hopeless jerk. Or addict. Or swinger. Or felon.
Not overtly--I mean, I don't have boot marks on my legs from letting them walk over me.
It's more subtle, and at times, perhaps unintended. The email revelations that somehow never find their way into coffeehouse dialogue. The disdainful and sometimes rude responses in a telephone conversation that really should have ended ten minutes ago, when I started to intuit the edge that he can't quite hide. The realization that if he can't be honest with you, it's a pretty good guess that he's lying to himself.
I need to be done with this kind of, excuse the word, crap. If the alternative means no more romantic relationships, (gulp), I'll have to face into that. Or if I need to adjust my expectations, perhaps I should seriously consider that, too.
But for a woman my age to play these kinds of games is ridiculous, frankly. Its possible that what I'm looking for in them, lies within myself. Or that there are other places I can get that kind of sustenance.
As much as I want a healthy, interdependent relationship, I know it isn't supposed to "hurt so good." Maybe when I was young and stupid.
What's my excuse now?
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