Caring: How to Stop

We spend so much of our lives worrying about what other people think.  I know I make myself physically sick sometimes worrying how other people perceive me, or thinking that I did something unpleasing to those I care about.  I worry about what the world thinks; I worry about rejection, sometimes so much so that the anxiety is overwhelming.  

I worry when my hair is not in place, and I don’t leave the house without makeup on.  I squeeze into Spanx everyday to make my curvaceous figure more appealing.  I worry that the number of men I have slept with is too high, and I also worry that no one will ever want to sleep with me again.  I worry that every time a boy kisses me, I am going to be added to his list of mistakes - the fat girl who he is ashamed he hooked up with.   

I worry about hurting my loved ones’ feelings, or being unable to please them.  I am a people-pleaser, so when someone rejects me, I look at it like I am unpleasing, I didn’t do what I am supposed to do.  As a Southern woman I feel that it is my job to make everyone feel welcomed, comfortable, and happy.  I want to be well-liked.  Not really out of ego, but out of anxiety.

Part of me has started to realize that I can’t please everyone.  I am human, and I make mistakes.  In trying to please the world, I have forgotten to please myself.  I am not saying I won’t take responsibility for my actions; I will apologize when I misbehave.  I just can not dwell on things I can’t change after an apology has been made.    

There is this movie that Anna and I are obsessed with caled “Bachelorette”.  (Spoilers to follow, kind of) It is a dark comedy starring Kirsten Dunst, Rebel Wilson, Isla Fisher, and Lizzy Caplan.  I have found my current life motto from this film.  If you know anything about the movie you might be like, “Really?”  Once you get past the cocaine, strippers, and outwardly fucked-up friendships/relationships, there is something deeper.  Really, it is the friendship between Kirsten Dunst’s character Regan and Rebel Wilson’s character Becky that brings about my new motto.  

At first, you think that Regan hates Becky, and you don’t realize why she is her maid of honor.  Becky (Rebel Wilson) is a heavier woman, and she is getting married to a smoking hot man.  It is obvious that Regan tries to be perfect, and her attempts come off as a cold hearted bitch, or maybe she is a cold hearted bitch.  She feels like she is the one who should be getting married, for several reasons that are not relevant here.  Then there is this moment when Becky catches Regan trying to purge because of stress, and you realize Becky and Regan share something much deeper.  They have a history.  In high school, Becky covered up for Regan’s bulimia and got upset when people spread rumors that it was her who was bulimic.  Regan had told her to “Fuck Everyone” and that was what Becky was telling her to do now.      

Right before Becky is about to walk down the aisle, she freaks out and says she can’t go through with it.  She looks at Regan and says, “Everyone thinks I am too fat to marry him.”  Regan grabs her by the shoulders, looked her dead in the eyes, and says “Fuck Everyone!”  

That’s it.  That is the key to finding my comfort and happiness - Fuck everyone!  Fuck the stupid jackass who, after weeks of flirting with me, told me he didn’t find me physically attractive.  Fuck the people at the state society picnic who looked at me like a leopard because I have put on 20 pounds since college.  Fuck D and the cloud of darkness he brought to my life for a year and a half.  Fuck the supposed friends who have alienated me, leaving me to feel unwanted and inadequate.  I have struggled with when to stop fighting to keep them and when to walk away.  Now is that time.  Too many people do want me in this world to focus on the ones who don’t.  Fuck the people who have or will ever call me fat.  I have spent too much time caring what the world thinks.  Too much time letting everyones’ opinions of me dictate who I am going to be.  Now is the time to worry about me - my wants, my needs, and what makes me happy!  Because I deserve to be happy.  I have not always thought that I did, but I know now I really do.                    

The Run In

Just because I have chosen to forget D doesn’t mean he doesn’t exist (unfortunately).  For the first time since I walked away from him, for the first time since April 23rd, I saw him.  My heart stopped.  It didn’t flutter like it used to; it just paused, waiting for my brain to tell it how to proceed.  

My first thought was that his hair was too shaggy.  Then I averted my eyes.  I didn’t let myself take him in, study his appearance.  I couldn’t let myself look long enough to feel the attraction that I know still lingers.  Even though I tried not to look at him, I could feel his presence.  I didn’t want him there.  The bar was not big enough for both of us, but I wouldn’t leave just because he was there.  I could feel his eyes on me, something I used to crave, but now this attention angers me.  He isn’t allowed to make me feel anxious anymore, he isn’t supposed to unnerve me.      

I was having fun before he walked in.  I was flirting with Bama, laughing with Anna, Hadley, and Katie.  I couldn’t let him faze me.  I wouldn’t let him get in my head because I am done with his games.  I wanted to make him jealous?  No, jealous isn’t the right word, jealousy requires feelings.  I wanted him to see me happy, not so he would want me, but so he would know that I am happy without him.  I wanted him to know he did not wreck me, not completely.  

I used it as an excuse to flirt with Bama.  I recruited him for the mission and we gave D something to watch.  If he was going to stare, the least we could do was give him a show.  We took too many shots, I told Bama I had a crush on him, and I don’t remember what he said back.  I remember the feeling of his touch though.  His hands lingering on my sides, mine on his chest.  They were feelings, moments that I wish I could have had without the pretenses of D.    

Maybe D still affects me more than I am willing to admit, but as long as he didn’t realize it, that is all that mattered that night.  I really don’t want him anymore, and really don’t want him to want me.  I get sad when I think of all the time I wasted chasing him, chasing a shell of a man that only brought me darkness.  I never realized how heavy my feelings for him weighed on my heart until they finally went away.  

No, I didn’t like being in a room with him.  Yes, it made me anxious and uncomfortable.  But then who is ever really comfortable when they are in a room with someone who broke their heart?

Bye Bye Bama

Two weeks.  All I have is two weeks to get Bama to kiss me.  He is leaving, moving back to Alabama.  My crush smothered just as it was beginning.  I had thought about what it would be like to flirt with him all summer.  To dance with him on some hot dance floor in the wee hours of a summer morning.  To splash around in a pool fully aware of when our bare skin would touch.  To kiss on my rooftop under the summer stars.  

Now if I do any of those things, it will be with someone that right now is nameless and faceless.  It won’t be with Bama, the boy whose crystal blue eyes have been haunting my fantasies since the day we met.  How do you say goodbye when you have barely finished saying hello?  

More so, I am sad for Hadley, who is losing one of her best friends.  It is so sudden.  Two weeks is all anyone gets.  It’s not even enough time to throw a party.  Goodbye parties aren’t really for the people they are thrown for.  The are for the friends of the person leaving, so they can make one last memory and smother their feelings with booze and cake.  Cake can solve just about anything, and if cake can’t solve it, surely booze can.  

One of the worst parts about living in DC is the fact that 50% of the people you meet won’t stay here.  Washington, for many people, is a pit stop necessary to the life they want somewhere else.  People come for a few years and get tired of the cutthroat mentality, so they head back to wherever home is.  Sometimes when people leave, you see it coming, and other times the news is like a sucker punch to the gut.  I consider myself a lifer.  When I look into the future, I don’t see myself anywhere else.  That is why it is hard for me to understand why some people choose to go back home because this is my home now.  

Now, I need to figure out my plan, come up with a strategy.  I only have two weeks before Bama heads back to the south, back to the world where only old people find me attractive.  I hate the idea of not being able to get what I want, and I want Bama.  I want to run my fingers through his hair and my hands along his muscular back.  I don’t want to have to imagine what kind of kisser he is; I want to know.  So, I need a plan.  Really, I just need to get myself in a room with him. I like to think that I have enough game that I can make moves, or hope that if in a room with me, he might want to make some moves of his own.   

It is funny how things change so quickly.  Just last week Bama was a symbol for possibility, and now he is bringing out desperation.  Possibility now has limits, a time restraint, a ticking clock slowly diminishing the free feeling of hope.  In the end, adding Bama to the long list of crushes that never reached their potential.

Crush or be Crushed

A crush can be one of the most exciting and most terrifying things in the whole world.  A simple look from someone you are crushing on can make your whole world light up.  They also can disappoint you more than anyone else.  We often build pedestals to place our crushes on.  The higher we place them, the harder they can fall, taking our expectations crashing down with them.  

My friend Anna and I are in two very different stages of crush, but both are relevant.  I am in the giddy new crush phase.  You know, you can’t get the boy out of your head, and you try to orchestrate ways to run into him, all while looking your best.  Let’s call this new boy Bamma for now because his crystal blue eyes derive from the great state of Alabama.  I could swoon just thinking about his slightly shaggy dark hair that looks so touchable that I can’t help but want to run my fingers through it.  

Bamma is trouble.  He is all pearly whites, witty remarks, and a southern drawl that could melt butter.  He is trouble because he is so swoon worthy.  Did I mention he gives the best hugs?  The long, tight bear hug kind in which every part of you is touching - a true embrace.  I think, just maybe, he might kind of like me too.  I could be wrong.  He is probably just a flirt, but I prefer to be optimistic.  See, that is the thing about a crush before they crush you, they are the definition of possibility.  

Anna on the other hand is recovering from the fall, the crushing realization that your cute boy of choice is a complete ass.  This happens in all different ways: their undisclosed girlfriend comes into the picture; they say something really terrible to you; they turn out to be a bad kisser/ bad in bed; or in Anna’s case they are both bad in bed and a complete ass wipe.  Long story short (since it is not my story to tell), Anna had been flirting for weeks with the very cute boy in the outer circle of our circle of friends.  Finally, Friday night he made a move, and, with my encouragement, (I literally jumped up and down clapping in the bathroom) she decided to see if her crush was all he was cracked up to be.  

It wasn’t the glorious, romantic encounter that we all think about having with our crush.  It wasn’t hot, steamy, and dirty either.  He was lazy, unengaged, and didn’t stay the night.  He was the definition of a douche bag.  We had all taken his quiet demeanor as him being shy, when really he just was too much of a tool to have anything to talk about.  

So, as I am riding my euphoric high of crushing hard, Anna is dealing with the aftermath of disappointment.  The thing is, I know I am probably setting myself up for the same thing Anna is going through, yet I am excited about Bamma anyway.  I have been crushed by the disappointment of many cute boys in my day, but I still let myself get giddy and excited.  Some people say it isn’t worth the risk, but I have to disagree.  I would rather continue to be open, because one of these days, one of these boys, is going to work out.  When that day comes it will all be worth it.  Is that boy Bamma?  Who knows!?! Maybe, maybe not.  All I know is I am willing to take the risk.