Not in a snarling Sammi Sweetheart kind of way, but in the most logical, rational, clear-headed and composed way possible: I’m done.
I’m done with the dating applications. I’m done with striking up the conversation with the cute person at the bar. I’m done with the setups through friends. I’m done with the, “Let’s just see how this goes.” I’m just done with it all.
I haven’t given up on the journey to love, but I’m definitely pulling over to the side of the road and taking a long nap.
Dating these days is not what it once was. Dating is no longer what it’s supposed to be. What used to be a mutual display of interest and open communication has become a game of emotional chicken, where caring and consideration have been replaced by leverage and deception.
The eternal optimist inside of me would love to believe that this is just the talk of a jaded, cynical soul going through a rough patch, but the realist inside of me is seeing the dating scene for what it is and has finally decided to put an end to it all.
The common misconception with hopeless romantics is that we are hopeless people.
The perception is that we are human beings who long to be loved and struggle to function in everyday life without someone to call our own, when the reality is that we simply have too much faith in people.
We trust too easily, and we trust too often. We give people the benefit of the doubt instead of reading the writing on the wall that says we are being played like a game of chess — methodically, meticulously planned, and perfectly executed.
Hopeless romantics are not desperate — they’re misunderstood.
I’m tired, in both the literal and figurative sense. I’m tired of expending my time and energy in people who blatantly disregard both. I’m tired of being perceived as clingy for showing any sign of interest, and I’m tired of being told someone felt led on when the intention was to prevent exactly that.
I’m tired of the emotional strain from wondering if they read that text or if they’re ignoring it. I’m tired of trying to decipher if the words coming from their lips are genuine and true, or fluff created to cushion the blow of the eventual letdown. My body feels beaten, and worn down. Truthfully, I’m fucking exhausted.
I’m tired of playing the game, so I’m taking myself out.
Almost every girl I’ve ever truly given a damn about came into my life when I wasn’t looking for her, so anything is possible. There’s still hope. The hopeless romantic is still very much inside of me, and that is something that will never change.
I don’t know how everything will work out, or when. It might take a year, or months; it could take weeks; it might only be a few days; or it could end tonight. I’ve finally come to the point where I’ve realized that I don’t need to wait around for the day everything changes.
Instead of continuing to take punches when you barely have the strength to lift your arms, maybe it’s best to wait until there’s something worth fighting for to get back in the ring.