Hard truths to swallow

If you would have asked me a few years ago, I would have said that my taste in men is impeccable. I have always had a very particular type and you could not sway me in a different direction. Had a few mishaps where I had a fleeing crush on someone outside of my comfort zone but for the most part, I would say I had a type.

If you would have asked me a few days ago, I would have said that previously, my taste in men was shit compared to what I have now. Completely outside of everything I have ever known.

And then, I got hit with a question that has been on my mind since: Was my taste in men shit because of my own insecurities?

If you would have asked me a few years ago, I would have told you that I am entirely confident. That I am hot and light up a room when I walk into it. My own high horse.

If you would have asked me last year around this time, I would have said that I am merely a girl trying to find myself in the midst of all of my failed relationships. I was hurt. I had just ended something with someone who was definitely my type.

If you were to ask me now, I guess I have a lot of thoughts on the topic that I want to break through. Everyone who has ever known me, knows that I am a hopeless romantic. I love gestures and little things and I would split the world in half if it meant that I could see a smile on the face of the one I love. I put heart into everything I do and especially if it is for the one I love. I guess I have always wanted someone to reciprocate exactly what I am giving.

I was pretty innocent to love and relationships until my 20's. No particular reason why, just rather innocent. My first love was a weird combination of a situation that should not have progressed any further if I would have had any idea of what a relationship was supposed to be and feel like. In the moment, I felt extraordinary because I was given the love I anticipated in the form of sweet words and gifts, but it was wrapped up in thorns. Missed calls gone to voicemail, disappearing for the night while out with the boys. Being called "my friend" in public while still deliberately holding my hand. And yet, I treated the situation like a project. Something that needed to be fixed. Gaslighting turned me to put the blame on myself.. perhaps I wasn't trying hard enough. Perhaps I wasn't deserving of more.

I had never particularly been someone who needed to be jealous. I would like to think that I know my self-worth and don't need to check in on anyone to see if they're being unfaithful. And yet, the insecurities were slowly being built within me. To be frank, I never quite admitted that. I have always worn a very "hot girl summer" armour to disguise my fragile self-doubt. I would never cry in public but god knows how many tears my pillow has soaked up.

Eventually it ends and perhaps I stayed longer that I should have. I fought to try to fix something that would have never worked out and I knew it too in my heart of hearts. But I was naive and wanted to think that love is forever and I shouldn't walk away when things get too hard.

And then, with every relationship that follows, I found myself in similar situations. Not exact, but similar. At one point I questioned if the idea that I had in my head about love was simply that... an idea. Perhaps things are never easy and perhaps this is what every couple goes through. Maybe I don't have it as bad as I think I do. I ride the wave and come out stronger, or so I thought.

It got to a point, where last year right around this time, I was torn to pieces. I didn't quite understand dating anymore. I don't think I ever quite admitted any of this to myself. It wasn't that I was insecure... I just didn't know any better. I never had a love so good that it builds you up and teaches you to walk away from anything less than. I never understood what it was like to have someone say they loved me and mean it.

I guess I thought I was living through something I perceived to be normal. Frankly, most of my friends were in similar, pretty shitty relationships so it's not like I was able to see what extraordinary feels like.

This isn't meant to be a cry for help or a boo hoo my life sucks. No, I guess it's just a matter of self-discovery that I suppose I have been putting off for a while. It's harder to admit when something is shitty when shitty is all you've ever known.