Not to have but to hold
I am really good at getting almost everything I want. I, without fail, find boys right after a major heartbreak. Heartbreak like they just lost the girl they thought they were going to marry. I’m a magnet for boys who want me to lay in their bed so they can whisper sweet nothings to me. These boys want to be loved rather than love others. But it’s not really me they’re talking to. It’s their ex, of course.
The boys always have a piece of their past lover still hanging on their bedroom walls—perhaps a photo or a hand-written valentine. I feel a sense of closeness and camaraderie with those girls. After all, they watched over me while I assumed false intimacy with their exes, like a Saint watches over her Loyal Patrons. Do you think there is a Saint for temporary women? But I think faux connection is an act of willing permanence onto myself.
Waking up from these sleepovers feels like color and sight and sound become dull, as an early 2000’s badly animated, magical movie wave washes over me at 7:30am. I’m either too hot or too cold. I did not sleep well. And everything feels too real, too sensitive to touch, like I’m watching myself through a screen. Liminal space and liminal emotion.
I always sneak out before their roommates know I was there. If the roommates even know I exist, that’s a miracle. I am always aware of the male voyeur who lives in my head, and maybe that’s why I keep going back. As dehumanizing and embarrassing as being the ‘in-between girl’ is, she is the only person I know how to be. I just take what I can get.
The last time I saw my therapist I asked her, “What is wrong with me that these men keep finding me?” She made me reframe the question, “Why do you keep accepting these men?”
I told a friend that I’m a good judge of character and intent when it’s not my own life. He told me sometimes you have to go through a few to realize what you’re worth. I don’t know when I’ll finally have enough of being the woman they hold but never have. But, I think, one day, I’ll be able to choose better boys.
Maybe this is defensive, a sorry attempt at softening the final blow to my ego death, but I’m thankful my great sin is finding the good in others, loving them, and giving them grace, even if they don’t deserve it.
I am so thankful I have never had an original experience; it brings me comfort to know someone else has gotten through my little struggles. I don’t feel so far behind. I read this SubStack article at work. Give it a read, if you want.
