Bandaid Soaker

**PSA: If you think this is about you, it’s not.

The four most dreaded words in the English language: “We need to talk.” Texted to me by the boy I’d been seeing for the preceding four months under a picture I’d sent of baba ganoush in reference to an inside joke that now makes me look like an idiot.

It had been a week since we’d seen each other. A week without someone, especially someone with whom your relationship is so undefined, may seem like a blip. Place yourself in the middle of a world wide pandemic, when this undefined person is the only one you’ve been able to see, and suddenly the modest fuck buddy becomes an essential worker.

And here he was, my one excuse to leave the house, ripping the bandaid off the affair we both knew could never last.

Bickering had become pretty habitual for us, it was surprising to make it through one visit without a fight of sorts honestly. When I’d imagined casual dating, fighting had not been part of the picture. Maybe this hostility was a major red flag for a relationship still in its prenatal phase, or perhaps it’s unavoidable for two people with respectably sized egos and equally matched levels of stubbornness. Perhaps the latter does not excuse the former. Whatever the ruling, the sex was damn good and I was willing to pay the price of admission.

We’d been making it work, gotten a routine down despite our differences. Our last rendezvous had been pretty standard: dinner, anal, argument about what exactly an umlaut is, and an escorted walk home the next morning. Wash, rinse, repeat.

So when I received a text, that I knew could only signify the end of our courtship, I panicked. Was it the right decision to stop seeing each other? Probably. Was it the decision I would have made, knowing that it was most likely the right decision? No.

What is it about someone pulling away that makes you want them so much more?

This wasn’t the first time I’d been in this situation.

I’ve noticed this pattern in the romantic relationships in my life; hanging on, when maybe it’s time to let go. When the fights start increasing, the pauses in conversations extend themselves, you find yourself lonely in their company, and the feeling you’re left with after visits gradually worsens. Some may dip out at this point, but not this trooper, no sir, I’ve always been one to weather the storm.

I’m just frugal, like to get the most bang for my buck, so it makes sense to get my value out of relationships too, squeeze every last morsel of toothpaste out of the tube. I tell myself this dedication just proves the extent of what I’ll put up with to get laid, but it’s probably a marker of something more depressing like fearing that I may never find another person who wants me or something. Or maybe I’m just really horny. Probably the second. But maybe--ANYWAYS!

Maybe I’m just an optimist and like seeing the potential in people where others may see faults. Telling myself a connection isn’t necessarily wrong but just needs a little finicking. Some may call this “anxious attachment style” or “co-dependency” but I like to call it “this person’s already in my bubble, and mama’s got to eat”.

The truth is sometimes relationships just aren’t the right fit. Like wearing shoes a half size too small. For a year and a half. And they can be great shoes! Shoes you may have almost thrown out three times because you knew they didn’t fit, but just couldn’t because they were perfectly good! And when you finally did part ways with the shoes you knew how happy they were going to make someone else. As you stare down at your bare callused feet covered in corns and wonder what shoes could ever accept you for how you are, like that old pair did. And you’ll eventually get new shoes, maybe even a beautiful pair of Manolo’s that everyone’s jealous of! You know truthfully they aren’t really your style, but they look so good and you kind of can’t believe you actually have them, so you can’t just get rid of them! Then you find out that other people are wearing your shoes too, which you’re not really comfortable with, and now you’re stressed that you might catch a fungus or something--are we still talking about shoes?

I know it’s not working.

I know this person isn’t my person.

But...

Maybe, just maybe.

Maybe he’ll change! Maybe I’ll be the one to change him!

Maybe next time I see him we’ll just click, y’know?

It hasn’t all been bad!

But...

I don’t even think he likes me. I don’t even know that I like him!

But...

Surely this is better than nothing? And if I burn this bridge who knows if I’ll ever even find someone again!

I think with more time, left alone, it might naturally get better?

How do we get caught in these relationships? The kind of relationships you look back on and think “How did I get caught in that?” These relationships that may have at one point served us, but no longer do.

Can you long for somebody who doesn’t exist? Miss someone who never was? Fall in love with the idea of someone versus who the person actually is?

Then we go and use new people to bandage the same old wounds.

I know it’s going to end...just not yet. Soon, of course, but...well I’m not going to be the one to do it!

I’ve never been one to rip the bandaid off. My style is more light some candles, throw in a bath bomb and let it soak. It’ll fall off when it’s ready to.

The bandaid is peeling, the edges which have collected a fair amount of lint at this point are curling, and the best thing for this wound, whose surrounding skin has lost pigment from lack of oxygen, would be to get some air.

Is this analogy dead yet?

Don’t text him back. It’s over.