10/11/2022
My mom asked me the other day if he was the one. The question caught me off guard. How many times have I thought “he’s the one.” How many “ones” have I had. My last three relationships which have ended up in absolute disaster were all “the ones” — or so I thought.
Each of the last three guys had kind of the same story. We meet, I fall head over heels, blindly in love with them. Blind is an understatement because with each one I either didn’t see the signs or ignored them thinking they’d change. I didn’t pay attention the the huge red flags waving in the wind slapping me in the face. I rushed into things and made irrational decisions and ideas and created impossible dreams that would never turn into anything more than that. A dream.
I met G at the end of tumultuous relationship number 3. It was a little fucked up. He was a friend of my ex and I was Introduced to him by number 3.
Little did I know G was present for what I would later realize after separating from 3. Two different affairs, one with a friend of mine and one with them mother of his child, to whom I was paying child support while she was fucking my boyfriend and I was working to pay our bills. Apparently 3 would go around showing naked pictures of her to G and other guys gloating about his backstabbing. Apparently G liked me and was not too happy by 3’s lack of discretion or judgement or compassion. When the time came that 3 left We had been hanging out at home with friends (G included). He hit the road and G swept in to comfort me and for the remaining days, months, now year, after that. I didn’t fall head over heels for him, it was more like falling from shock and how nicely he was treating me. How helpful he was and how kind. This was in November.
When I left in February, a few months later, to take a long hiatus in the states we had started to become something. More than friends. Of course I really didn’t want another “one” so I was trying to play it cool. I told him I’d completely understand if he didn’t want to remain more than friends bc I’d be thousands of miles away. Long distance never works— does it?
He insisted he’d wait for me.
((Sounds like a scam))…
I spent the next six months working and working on myself and going to therapy and trying figure out why the fuck I kept ending up with THE WORLD’S BIGGEST ASSHOLES…
While in the States I bought a return ticket to Spain … to the horror of every member of my family. They all thought I’d be back for good and still can’t understand why I don’t want to be. Do I miss them? Yes of course I fucking love my family but do I miss it? The constant pressure and criticism of everyone around me in the US to marry a rich guy, get a better job, eye rolls at what I want to do with my life and the politics. Jesus the fucking politics.
Anyway we spent those six months writing each other back and forth. Letters. Drawing, presents, smells, and air hugs and kisses. It was really old school and awesome. I was so scared to go back to Spain because I thought- what if we are just this. Just letters and ideas and fairy tales. Like every fucking other one.
On August 22 I flew back. I saw him for the first time in six months. It was weird like do we even know each other? Well we hugged for a good 7 minutes and kissed and it just kind of fell into place.
It’s now been 3 almost 4 months and it’s going well. I have to get used to the idea that someone isn’t feeding me illusions and false promises of things unachievable. I get promises of we’ll save money and travel to see my parents. Promises of I’ll take care of the kids and always cook for you and rub your feet after work. They’re promises that are attainable and won’t leave me high and dry, 4,000$ in debt and looking for an abortion for the kids we had planned on having together.
It’s something I can almost feel.
It isn’t nonsense and it isn’t too far out of reach, and for me, it’s just fine.
