Adeline Geller / The (Secret) Diary of a Love Addict
I’m lying in bed at 8:30 on a Wednesday morning. I taught my very first workshop last night, and it was awesome. I mean it went really, surprisingly well. And yet I am alone, having just been “broken up with” (or whatever) by Rob — Rob who I had to half convince myself to sleep with the first time, who I sometimes found awkward and unattractive. Why broken up?
It started…well, I don’t know when it started for him. I was focused on my workshop all day yesterday and all was cool. I dropped a hint about spending last night with him and he seemed keen.
We got back here and got into bed and he was just lying there, so I took my towel off and kissed him and he didn’t really kiss me back. Said he was tired. Fell asleep.
And I was like, No. Not this. Not now.
This morning, I screw up all my courage and say something about how, in my last 2 relationships, sex became an issue and both guys withheld a lot and so what happened last night kind of triggered me.
And that’s when he says it:
“I’m worried you’re getting too attached.”
I look at him.
I do not say, But you said you wanted a relationship. I do not say, But what about all the time you wanted to spend with me over the last month?
Instead, I say, I don’t want to play this game. I don’t want to watch my every move. I did not sign up for this. (I didn’t say that last part).
I say, Well then, I think it’s best to end this now.
He did not argue.
“Can we still be friends?” he asked, as he gathered his stuff.
I said we never really were friends.
He said he’d miss me. And I’ll miss him, too.
And I know it’s too early to see the truths, but I was reading that book about Love Addiction again two nights ago.
Part of me is angry at myself for having let that happen with someone whom I wasn’t even really that into. And part of me is afraid that I am just a walking allergy to men: as soon as they get close, they feel my tentacles and they bail. Even him.
But another part of me is like, Sister, you went for an emotionally stunted man. Again. You did nothing wrong. Expecting someone is going to want to shag you rotten on your second night together is NORMAL. He is obviously commitment-phobic and avoidant etc. etc. and you can sniff those dudes out a mile off even though he, like Luke, like Darrio, painted a pretty picture of how caring and nurturing he was.
Except he also made sexist jokes.
And talked about yoga too much.
And you knew he wasn’t for you.
But that is not the point. The point is that the first time we slept together he acted like he wanted a white picket fence, but when given an iota of that, someone who simply thought it might be nice to fuck on a Tuesday, he’s out of the door like a shot.
Or maybe he didn’t like my small boobs/cellulite/aging skin.
At least I was honest. At least I stood my ground and respected my boundaries, and wasn’t all “nooo I won’t get attached to you, emotionally stunted Dutchboy,” and then spent the next 3 weeks quietly obsessing until this inevitable thing happened anyway. Why do I do this? Why do I latch onto guys I don’t really like that much? Aside from Darrio I mean, whom I fucking married so that’s kind of different?
Because my sweet girl.
Because you’re a love addict.
And 4 months of being single, even though 75% of them were spent studying with a fucking meditation teacher, is not enough to shake that.
“You will be alone forever,” I hear the Mothervoice say. “A lifetime isn’t enough to shake that. You are irrevocably fucked up.”
I really, really, really don’t want to go in a spiral of self-hate today.
I am awesome. And I need to believe that without the presence of a man. And I knew that this was getting in the way of that.
The only way out of this, the ONLY way, Geller, is to not hate yourself. Is to love yourself, love addiction and all.
Oh god, I am so sad.
“This is what you get,” the Mothervoice sneers. “You DID get too attached. You thought about him all the time.”
But I miss him. (Idiot.) I liked him. (Sort of.) I wanted to feel sexy. (Truth.) I feel like old, washed up, expired goods. No one is ever, ever going to love me as I am, not even a balding gangly sexist Dutch guy. I just want to shut off and feel nothing. (Dramatic.) I want to cut my heart out with a chopping knife and leave it somewhere. (Did I mention dramatic?)
Remember that quote from my very own workshop, from the Bloggess?
“You should just accept who you are, flaws and all, because if you try to be someone you aren’t, then eventually some turkey is going to shit all over your well-crafted façade, so you might as well save yourself the effort and enjoy your zombie books.”
Did I actually like him at all? Or did I just like how he made me feel? Desirable? Interesting? Sexual? I never thought I’d feel sexual again, after Luke. Can someone tell you “I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time” and “has anyone told you how ravishing you look tonight” and then, three days later, “I’m worried you’re getting to get too attached”?
Adeline is a writer, entrepreneur, meditator, volunteer and enthusiastic digital nomad. She’s written for international publications and television networks. She believes in the power of community, compassion and carbohydrates.
Adeline Geller is a pseudonym.