Amongst Friends

Yes, it has been a good long while since I have blogged. It makes me happy to say that I have been busy with many wonderful things and needed to take a writing-break while playing catch up. I am so sorry, my dear readers. Please know that you are not the only ones. While experiencing this large personal transition, I have had to put many more of my normal activities on hold. One thing I struggle with is the lack of time with some of my nearest and dearest friends. I have reached out to a few to catch up on life and give my apologies for my absence. Most have been warm and happy to hear from me. Some appear to have given me the brush off. This is my letter to them...

Dearest friends (especially my shenanigan and beer drinking friends), I am sorry for my absence of late. Please do not think that I have forsaken or forgotten you. Quite the contrary. 

I imagine a dialogue amongst some of you that may go something like this: 

Friend 1: Hey! Have you seen C lately? What's she been up to? I haven't seen her around here stumbling drunk with half a pint of IPA in her hand. 
Friend 2: Nope. She got a new man so she ditched us. She will be back when the relationship falls face first into shit. 

Sure, I have been spending a good portion of my free time with The Beast. I have no problem admitting that much. But here's the thing. He isn't the only person I would love to spend my time with. He just so happens to be one of the only people willing to accompany me on activities prudent to my personal growth.

As this blog itself is evident, this has been a long period of self-reflection and self-improvement. I have had some highs and lows (actually, mostly lows) this year, for all of which I take full responsibility. And in the last couple of months I have realized something big. I spent most of my Twenties (and probably most of my life) wanting in vain to be loved and to have companions who want to spend time with me. I'm not talking about romantic companions, I'm talking about all of you. For years, I would go to concerts and festivals that I loved, but couldn't afford. I would drink like a fish for the social companionship, even though I felt like death the next day. I would eat dinner out with the rest of the group, while healthy and affordable food waiting for me at home. I made my well being a non-priority and did all these things instead, to make you love me. I didn't want to be left behind. 

Now, something has flipped in me. I am slowly maturing enough to not only know what I need to do to improve my life, but to also act on it. So yeah, I haven't been drinking with y'all lately. I have missed some of your birthday celebrations. I opted out of concerts and festivals this summer. And in exchange, I have finally started to see the person I am and how I best thrive.  

For that, I make no apologies. 

I am growing in a way that makes me proud. And those of you closest to me, who know of the demons I have inside, would be proud too. I cherish all of you, my lovely friends. I miss you all terribly. I miss our lengthy slurred conversations in the beer garden. How about we continue some of those chats on a trail? Or in my kitchen? Or after a yoga class? Either way, please know I haven't come to love any of you any less. I just love myself more. 

xo
C

The Rat's Ass

Well hello there...

Here's a brief re-cap as to what I've been up to the last few weeks since writing.

• Hiking
• Cabin-Vacationing
• Therapy
• Cooking
• Volleyball
• Friends
• Family 
• Work Insanity
• Yoga
• Love 

Yep, The Beast and I have officially moved way beyond platonic-hiking-buddy status. Shortly before my last post, I invited The Beast to get beers with me and friend visiting from out of town. After the happy hour, we all went back to my apartment where I cooked up an ambitious dinner for my guests. After my friend left, The Beast lingered just a little longer and he kissed me. We have continued to be each others' regular hiking partner. We just also go on non-hike dates as well.

Almost two weeks ago, I went on my annual summer trip to the family cabin. It was a relaxing and lovely time full of people and dogs I love. Kayaking, fishing, cooking, endless nights of drinking beer and playing poker... It couldn't get any better... until it did. What made this trip particularly awesome is toward the end of my vacation, The Beast got a ride up to the cabin with my aunt's boyfriend. The next morning, we backpacked through a mountain range to get back to town. Yes, I hiked home from my family's cabin with a 30 lb pack on my back and My Boy harnessed to my waist. The trip had been in the works long before The Beast and I became "an item" and it was something I had wanted to do for years, so I was rewarded with a great sense of accomplishment and contentment when we celebrated with a beer on the home-front.

Busy is a grave understatement when it comes to my work. If anything, I have been dramatically overwhelmed. But I welcome the reprieve from boredom or any time for depression-provoking over-thinking. Seeing as I have struggled to make a regular yoga practice this year, I am slowly building myself into a 1-hour-per-day commitment. I am now between 20 minutes to 1 hour, but I find I am steadily increasing the time I set aside for it and it feels good to finally be nourishing something that means so much to me. I have also started playing volleyball again. It was my athletic interest of choice my entire childhood and into my early twenties. Getting back on the sand and in front of the net seems to have ignited a long lost spark.

Lastly, I have finally made the big step of seeking professional therapy. I have my third appointment later today. Obviously, my treatment is in the very early stages and I am not sure I have established a connection with my therapist just yet. I have however, begun to notice a little improvement. Mostly in my acceptance of the stage my life is in. My whole psyche, shit, even the posts in this blog seem to be an attempt to "fix" where I am in life. But what if there is nothing that needs fixing? What if I am exactly where I am supposed to be? I have a very hard time "not giving a shit" as I have always viewed that mindset as lazy irresponsible. Yet, in the last month I have stopped "giving so much of a shit" and I have noticed my level of happiness has increased. With this added boost of optimism, I also find I am more productive. A productivity that leads to attaining the goals that recently seemed in vain.

Funny how that works.

WWBBD?

Living in the culture I do, it is (unfortunately) not uncommon to hear of injuries and sometimes even deaths occurring during outdoor adventures. It seems that at least a couple of times a year, the community is affected by a hiker who disappeared, a skier caught in an avalanche, or a climber who fell to their deaths. It is a sad fact of life, but it never occurred to me that the subject of one of those headlines could be one of my people. Until it was.

Shortly after I turned twenty-one, I became a regular at my local mico-brewery. I still am. Over the last eight to nine years, I have developed many wonderful and cherished friendships through this tight-knit establishment. Only a few as bonded as my friendship with Big Bro. Big Bro was quite a few years my senior and had already experienced much of this world. He was married to a beautiful wife and a new dad to a bright little girl. He was a professional inventor, author, photographer, climbing instructor, traveler, and all around bad-ass. He was so much wiser to the world and always so happy and in love with his life. I very much looked up to him as a big brother I never had. I gained insight and life lessons from him over many IPA's and even took his rock climbing courses for my college Phys Ed credits.

On one particular three-day climbing trip, we scaled a massive and long route. Being the only girl (and smallest in stature) amongst our group of seven, I was determined to not be the weakest. But the climb up was never really the scary part for me. Sure, my skills are always at a beginner level, but the grunt part of a climb was never fearful. It is always the rappel. I have always found it mentally challenging to let myself walk backwards off the side of a mountain. (Imagine that?) After the long climb up and anchoring in at the top, Big Bro knew I would struggle and encouraged the others to go ahead. He was right. I was paralyzed. I saw this rap from down below and I knew it was a large over-hang. No wall to allow my feet to steadily slow my drop. It would be a free fall. On top of the fear, I was exhausted. The climb up had left me bloody from the stabs of jagged quartz crystals into my knees, thighs, and shoulders. My knuckles were in a sad state of their own.

As I hyperventilated while sitting next to Big Bro in the strong wind, I prepared my harness for rappel and tried to prepare my mind. I "practiced" several times. I walked the few feet to the ledge, turned back to face my instructor and crouched down. But I couldn't let go. Each time I crawled back up, with tears in my eyes and took my seat next to Big Bro. He was patient with each attempt but when it got to the point I was only psyching myself out even more, he looked at me and said "Well, you can't stay stuck here forever. You can go back through the pain of the way you came. Or you can push through the fear and go forward." I looked down at my wounds, now a swirl of blood, dirt, and sweat. I walked back to ledge, crouched down and this time, I let go. I wasn't just thinking too much into Big Bro's micro-lecture. He knew exactly what he was saying to me. As my friend, he knew of my struggles and the way I let myself get in my own way of accomplishing my goals. I will never, ever forget those words.

On today's date, three years ago, I got the call. I was busy packing up for a week-long vacation to my family's cabin. When I answered my phone in a cheery "Hey girl!", my friend broke down in sobs. She knew from the sound of my voice, that she would have to be the one to deliver me the crushing news. Big Bro had been on a mountaineering trip up North. He was on lead when a large chunk of ice fell out from beneath and took his life with it. I dropped the phone and screamed a noise unrecognizable as being human. Hours later, I zombie-walked to our micro-brewery to exchange the embraces and camaraderie of being shattered. Our friend, teacher, mentor was gone. Most devastatingly, there was now a young family left without their loving husband and father.

Oddly enough, the last time I can remember being truly at peace in my life was during the first year after Big Bro's death. Though the pain was crippling at first, it was fresh. It was always on my mind. Just as he had been a big brother to look up to, I wanted to be a little sister he could be proud of. I didn't have any demons to distract me. I focused on my work and my health. I set and attained many little goals. I continued to climb, while picking up new hobbies. I was happy, healthy, and comfortable in my skin. If I ever was stuck in a difficult situation, I would ask "What would Big Bro do?" and I would feel guided into making the best decisions for myself.

If Big Bro were here today to have observed the last couple of years, he would look at me with his zen-like expression and tell me to pull my head out of my ass. I have let myself once again get stuck on an exposed ledge. I down climb a ways into the painful route behind me, then back up to where I can be temporarily comfortable. Until recently, I haven't been moving forward. He would likely be glad to see me making some progress and evolving. He would likely encourage me to keep the forward momentum. To not let fear or insecurity determine my actions. To enjoy each morning like it is my last. To love the ones I love like I might not see them again. To spread the joy and compassion to every creature around me.

That is precisely what Big Bro would do. 

Progress?

Perhaps.

During the beginning of my self induced hiatus, I had a four day weekend from work. I originally requested vacation time to attend a trip out of state to celebrate a friend's birthday. Unfortunately, that was the first of many sacrifices I made when deciding to distance myself from my current spending and consumption habits. I did conclude however, that four days away from my regular responsibilities might do me some good so I decided to not retract my time-off request. However, the first half of my stay-cation went catastrophically out of plan.

That Friday, I somehow managed to get myself stuck with babysitting a relative's two kids. All fucking day. For free. By the time Sister came to relieve me of my duties, all of my friends were already out and about. And at one point, I felt down-right, intentionally excluded from the opening party of a friends' restaurant. I moped around my apartment, alone and feeling quite sorry for myself, yet looking forward to the early morning hike I had planned with a friend. Unfortunately, that friend just didn't show. I had gear packed and ready, a picnic prepared, fresh gas in the car, and sat outside. Waiting. And waiting. Finally, an hour after our agreed upon meeting time, I resorted to taking My Boy on an angry walk around my neighborhood.

Two full days of sitting on my ass, alone to wallow in my self-destructive brain was not how I wanted to spend the first half of my time off work. I knew that would be a dangerous place to be. I sat around thinking how I wish my life were different. What pieces of shit my friends can be. How if I made more money at my job, I'd be out having a blast with them. How I work too hard for such little money. How due to how hard I work, how precious and minimal my time off is. I began to panic. My life was slipping out of my hands, wasted, just as my four day weekend was. Over the course of a few hours, my thoughts became more cryptic and dark. I had a Mental. Fucking. Breakdown. At some point, while laying in the fetal position on my living room floor, I managed to push one speed dial button on my cell. After the voice on the other end answered, it took a few moments to catch my breath between sobs before I said the words "Dad. I need help. Please."

I have called my Dad crying many times in my years. He still, is sometimes the only person that can brush off my scraped knee and help me get back up. But something about the desperation he heard in me was different this time. He knew it was serious. This wasn't just a "I've had a bad day and the world is unfair" type of phone call. He knew what I knew. My depression has come to an ugly head and I can no longer fix this on my own. He agreed to help me get the professional help I need. Luckily, Dad has also been calling and emailing me to check in on a more consistent basis. I am ever grateful for this. I can feel abandoned by everything else in the world. But so long as I have his support and have him to stand behind me, I know everything is going to be okay.

Day Three of my four day weekend, I woke with a bit of a brighter outlook. At dawn, I took My Boy on a very long and slow walk all over our town. That evening, I met up with my neighbors to host a home cooked meal. The meditative state of cooking, the companionship of friends, and the sharing of delicious food helped bring my spirit back to life. By Day Four, I pushed my physical abilities on a strenuous alpine hike. As My Boy ran free in the tundra, my heart found a freedom of its own. I found myself laughing and acting silly with companions as we soaked in the UV rays of high altitude.

That hike brought on another interesting positive twist. I have started to develop a great friendship with one of my hiking partners from that day. I have known The Beast for a few years as a casual acquaintance among mutual friends. While I have always enjoyed our sporadic conversations and friendly banter, we hadn't known each other all that well. In the last few weeks, we have become great hiking companions. I am comfortable in my head while I am in the presence of The Beast. As we spend longer and more challenging days in the woods together, our conversations are filled with substance. I have opened up to him about my "Turning Thirty and Wasted Twenties" anxiety. Turns out - he's been through the exact same thing. When The Beast reached this pivotal point in his life, he too retreated into a walkabout to find himself. He simply "gets" that there are just some things in our hearts that can only be healed from being in the mountains. In turn, I have found hope in knowing that though I may feel abandoned by some of my closest friends, I am building a bond with a new friend who not only knows what I am going through, but also supports me without judgement.

Of course, whenever two people of the opposite sex spend time together, the Gossip Wolves get hungry. And while I may be in a dark place and have zero business getting romantically attached to someone, I would be lying through my sad teeth to say there are no flirtations exchanged between us. He is kind, funny, smart, ambitious, healthy, smoking hot, and most of all - happy. Our hikes have slowly started to be followed by beers (in moderation) and dinners at my house. The time on the clock when he heads home gets a little later each time. If the nature of our friendship continues to evolve, I would welcome the advancement. Yet at present, I am most happy to have a consistent and reliable friend to share my tundra with.

In recent days, my smile has become little less forced and my eyes have regained some of their twinkle. It could be the increasingly regular time spent with The Beast. It could be the lack of drinking, binging, and frivolous spending. It could be the quiet in my heart that is found from removing the things that hurt. It could be a combination of it all. Today, at this moment, it is good.

On Being Grounded

My family very much values strength and a certain level of toughness. All of life's problems are made out to be simple with very simple solutions:

• You just had your heart broken? Meet someone else.
• You're depressed? Get over it.
• You're broke? Work harder. Make more money.
• The dog's sick? Shoot it.

Hell, even when I had a miscarriage years ago - While sitting on my bathroom floor, losing so much blood I thought I'd need a transfusion, I called my Dad first. He told me to NOT go to the hospital. That it would be a waste of money. Issues or problems in my family are simply considered a weakness. We are able to fix everything ourselves, so to acknowledge any different is pointless.

I don't really know how to ask for help. And I feel that all the times I have, help has been rejected. Which is precisely why I talk to myself, write on this blog, and neurotically lean on my friends to help me sort things out. There is one thing that I have been so ashamed of that I have kept it buried for over a decade. No one knows about it. Not Sister. Not Bodhi. Not Robo. Not Trinity. And definitely none of the demons. I have a binge eating disorder. It started, as pretty much all of my other issues did, after the accident. For the last thirteen years I have dealt with my paranoia, depression, loneliness, and anxiety by stuffing my face with whatever bad-for-me food I can find. I will literally clean out my refrigerator in one night. And if I don't have what I am craving to satisfy the binge, I will get in my car at 3am to go find it. Two nights ago, I ate two (whole) frozen pizzas, three large bars of expensive chocolate, and twelve slices of Kraft singles, finished with four ice cream drumsticks. In the time it took to watch two hours of Ted Talks.

But I don't purge after a binge. I punish. When I am finally so full, I cannot fit anything more down my throat, I go weigh myself on my bathroom scale. Then I lay in bed, telling myself how fat, ugly, and undeserving of love I am. I then proceed to "counter" the calories consumed during the binge by starving myself for a day or more. I will get to the point I am so weak, I cannot get out of bed until I either binge again out of hunger, or attempt to drown my emotions with beer. (Which of course, leads to getting black out drunk from drinking on an empty stomach). These "episodes" usually occur a couple of times a year. Depending on my mental state at the time, they can be a one-off misstep that happens one time and I get over it. Or, it can be a cycle that goes on for a month or two. This time, the cycle started somewhere around the time I lost My Girl. For a few months, I had been losing weight at a steady and healthy rate (as well as staving off any binges), through closely monitoring my diet and exercise. I was regularly finding myself in the hills, hiking with consistent partners, and my spirits were high. Then, life just happened and the spiral down to binging followed.

As I have said before, the beauty I am finding in this blog project is I am forced to face the ugly and horrible truths I keep buried and hidden from view. By posting these intimate details to the universe, I have to acknowledge that it is real. I also have to release it and let the burden start to slowly leave me. Life is not happy for me because I don't let it be. Face it, my life is a cluster fuck right now. I have so much negativity inside of me, there is little room left for happiness, joy, or love. I have less than five months left in my twenties and if I am going to begin my thirtieth year with a more stable foundation as I set out to do, I have to get to work. Professional help may be out of my reach, so the only person I can count on to fix me, is me.

I recognize that at this moment in my life, my biggest depressor (and instability trigger) is my lack of financial stability and what it is doing to my social life. My friends and loved ones work very hard to afford their luxuries and should rightfully enjoy them. But while they are attending concerts, music festivals, mini-vacations, movies, brewery crawls, yoga workshops, dinners out... I am alone. I work very hard too, and in a fair and perfect world, I would be joining them. But as we all know, the world is not perfect, and certainly not fair. Often times, friends will offer to spot me. But this generally makes me feel even worse about my situation. Pride is something I have little of, but shame is something I am have in excess. I find that I generally have two choices: Have a social life and go broke, or save money and be lonely. I almost always choose the former. I now realize I will never reach my goals continuing on this path.

I have to buckle down for a little while, perhaps even a few months, just to build some better habits within myself. I have to get my eating disorder under control. The emotional toll is becoming worrisome. The hurtful things I tell myself become more brutal the longer it goes on. I have also got to get my finances in order. Sure, I don't make the salary I should or deserve, but I have to figure out how to live comfortably and securely with what I have. I have re-enlisted in my diet and exercise plan and I have started to track my daily spending. So far, my research has proven I can look forward to missing out on most (if not all) of the "extra" activities with my loved ones. I just hope that when I come out the other side, they will not have forgotten who I am.

Cavities

 Sweetness has given me a toothache. And not by acting the kind of sweet that I want to go brag to my girlfriends about. Instead, he has acted needy, clingy, and insecure. By simply trying too hard, I am completely annoyed and turned off. I know that letting him down after a whoppin' three times of hanging out is going to be difficult for him so I have thus far taken the wuss road and simply avoided him. But I know he deserves something so I will eventually woman-up and call him this weekend.

The first time we made plans, it wasn't even an official date. In my mind, it was a playdate for our dogs and catching up with an old friend. The playdate turned into beers for the humans, dinner at one of the local restaurants, then back to my apartment. During dinner that night he mentioned that he wanted a relationship with me. I should have taken that as a red flag, as no one in their right mind would proposition something like that a measly five hours into getting to know a person. But upon sensing my shock, he apologized for his boldness and I just laughed it off, assuming the sun and beer had gotten to his head. I politely explained that while I was interested in getting to re-know him, I would not be anyone's girlfriend right away. I suggested that until we are both comfortable moving forward, we remain "interested friends". He assured me this was satisfactory for him.

This Tuesday, we had a real date scheduled. He met me at my place to take me to dinner. He showed up with a large bouquet of flowers which I thought was a little much for a First Actual Date, for Indian food nonetheless. Aside from him ordering his beverage and meal only fter receiving my approval, dinner was actually pretty fun. So I tried to brush aside the "trying too hard" bit.

But then came the hike. I had plans with group of friends to celebrate the holiday with a hike. Upon hearing of this, Sweetness asked if he could come and I obliged. The day was miserable. My time in the mountains with my friends and my dog was filled with anxiety and obligation to coddle this man shadowing my every move. He insisted on stopping at a certain scenic waterfall, which was certainly beautiful but didn't beckon a picnic in front of it. I knew, just knew, he was going to be all cheesy like and seize this as a super romantic place to try and make out with me so I hightailed it out of there. After that, he refused to stop to sip water from the bottle buried in his backpack because he didn't want to make me wait. Dude! We are fucking hiking at elevation. If you die or get altitude sickness from dehydration, you aren't doing me any favors. Grow a fucking pair and drink water when you're thirsty, dumbass!

Shit like that materialized through the whole day. During apre-hike beers and lunch, he would refuse to make a decision on his choices until I had made mine. In the car he said something so lovey-dovey and gross, it was nearly vomit inducing. And he said it while some of my friends were in the car, which made it embarrassing as well. That afternoon, after having some ice cream in front of my swamp cooler, I was so exhausted I literally fell asleep on my couch in an upright position. Apparently because I wasn't all over him, he got up and said he was leaving. He then came back into my apartment, stood above me as I slept and nearly started crying saying he doesn't think I care about him. It's been four whole fucking days! Too much. Way too much. Who does this? I reminded him that from the get go I expressed that I was not about to rush into a relationship and he needed to cool his jets. He left feeling a little better.

But the more and more I think about it, the more I realize just how utterly turned off I am. If I once had hope that we might work out as a couple, that hope has been smothered to death twice over. So now I have to put on my big girl panties and break the heart of a boy who really never left high school. In many ways though, I am proud of myself. Yeah, it is a shitty thing that someone else has to suffer for me to realize my self-growth. But in my younger years, I definitely would have settled for dating him because I liked the attention. Now, I refuse to put up with it. And for him, he is a nice guy. I have no doubt his heart is in the right place and he still, has a genuine kindness about him. He just needs to be looking for a woman who will appreciate his over the top antics, rather than gagging from them.

Old School

This weekend provided quite the unexpected turn of events.

A little over a week ago, while joining my friends for our usual Sunday afternoon beers, I ran into my old high school boyfriend. Yes, that high school boyfriend. The one who had rushed to the emergency room in his homecoming suit to see his girlfriend with blood clumped in her blonde hair. We went to a small charter school with a graduating of class of just over thirty students. For the most part, we all keep in touch via Facebook. Seeing as I live in my hometown, it is not unusual to run into former classmates. I can't quite say there was anything super dramatic about running into him at the beer garden. Only that "The Accident" has been weighing on my mind lately, and seeing someone from that time seemed conincidental.

None the less, the following day, I posted the courtesy "Nice to run into you. Hope all is well!" note on his Facebook wall. Within fifteen minutes, he had sent me a private message asking for my phone number as well as inquiring if I would like to get together. We made plans for this last Saturday to have a play-date for our dogs and grab a beer. I had a slight feeling that he was maybe hoping for more than just a friendly interaction, but I put those thoughts away for the most part. It had been eleven years, after all. Like me, he still lived in the area and he has had all this time to reconnect with me, so why now?

The morning of the non-date, Bodhi and I went to an outdoor yoga class. On the drive there, I was sort of thinking out loud and reminiscing about what type of guy I remembered my old boyfriend to be. I have nothing but fond memories of him. As a teenager, he was kind, selfless, generous, honest, and giving. To put it simply, he exuded Sweetness. But again, we were kids way back then. There was certainly no guarantee that he was interested in anything more than catching up with an old friend. And even so, there was no guarantee that life and heartache hadn't jaded him into Douchebag Supreme. Still, I was excited and the morning was filled with a mysterious wonder as to where his intentions might lie.

I met Sweetness at our predetermined time and location. The first thing I noticed was how cute he looked with his slightly crooked smile and now grown up beard. The second thing I noticed was how beautiful his dog was. Even My Boy was smitten with the duo. He loved having another dog to romp around with and he overcame his usual anxiety to immediately let Sweetness give him attention. After hours of the dogs cooling off in the river and running themselves exhausted, we decided it was time for some human fun and headed to the nearest dog-friendly patio for some adult libations. Our laughter and imbibing went on for the rest of the day, well into the night. We eventually retreated to my apartment where I not so slyly suggested that he shouldn't drive home. He told my I was beautiful. Told me he thinks of me every day. And even way jumped the gun by telling me he wanted to see me all the time and wants to pursue a relationship with me. He also swept my chimney (thank god!).

I had a wonderful time with him and we have made plans to have dinner tomorrow. I am excited, optimistic, happy, and freaked the fuck out all at once. The seriousness and emotionally openness of his words have taken me aback. He did seem a little hurt when at the mention of a "relationship", I retreated a little. But, come on! How can one know they want to be committed to another person after only eight hours spent with one another? Sure, I want to see him more. But I am simply unable to make that kind of decision at this stage. Then again, his only problem is that he doesn't have any problems. Sweetness is still the sweetest man I have ever met. He still is kind and honest. I have spent all of my adult life with emotionally unavailable men, so engaging with one like him should be a relief.

How is it that all I have ever thought I wanted in a partner is someone who is kind and genuine with me, yet when he presents himself, he's not enough of a douche to make me want to seal the deal. I even recently put into words my perfect man and here, Sweetness has manifested but I refuse to get on board. Could it be that I am not as ready to commit as I thought I was? Perhaps I attracted assholes because somewhere in my sub-conscious, I knew they wouldn't work out and I wouldn't have to commit? Am I a perpetuation of the old stereo-type of "Nice guys finish last?" How sick is that? Last night I gave Trinity a recap of my weekend and she flat out said "I refuse to listen to you bitch about having the perfect guy in your life. I refuse!"

What the fuck is wrong with me?