Don’t Call Me, Maybe.

Newsflash: I’ve been going through some shit. Recently, I wrote about how the idea of forming more than one romantic partnership at a time is something that kind of terrifies me. I’m probably not going to swear off dating forever, though, so in the interest of transparency, I was thinking I should create a more realistic profile for whatever online tool I choose to utilize for that purpose in the future. It’s not like the write up I used previously wasn’t truthful, it was just the best possible version of me. This is a facade, and it’s only feasible to uphold for the first few meetings. If someone is interested (and maybe just oblivious) enough to seek anything beyond that, and we haven’t really broken through each other’s surface layers, then it is completely on me to inform them of my…eccentricities? Otherwise, they will be blindsided by them down the road, and then feel misled or that I was withholding information.

As much as I hate to admit it, I am a person that comes with a lot of baggage. I’m not high maintenance, actually quite the opposite, and it takes some finesse to explain that what I really want most of the time is to be left alone. People usually take this as a personal affront, as though what I want is to not spend time with them specifically. This is the ultimate “it’s not you, it’s me” — I require more than the usual amount of space. So as an exercise, a sort of thought experiment, here’s what I wish I could lay out for every new person I meet on the field of romance:

“Hello! I am a 33 year old work-a-holic, and if you try and tell me that I work too much I’ll probably tell you to go fuck yourself. Actually, if you try and tell me that I do too much or too little of anything, you’ll probably receive a very similar response!

I like to drink, I like to yell at the TV when my team is shitting the bed (are non sports fans aware of this phrase? I sure hope so…), and sometimes I like to smoke cigarettes. We should get all that out of the way right off the bat. I wake up before the sun because I’m a runner (who smokes!) but I hate people — I have to get my exercise in before the rest of humanity is alive or I won’t do it at all. If I let you spend the night, you can stay in bed while I do this. I’ll even make you coffee when I get back! Not too shabby, I’d say.

Sometimes I’m social. I’ll want to go see a death metal show, go to a fancy restaurant, or host a cocktail party. I’ll want to stay up late talking, share a bottle of wine, and ask you very personal questions about past relationships and things that scare you. I’ll mean it when I tell you nothing in my life is off the table for conversation.

Sometimes I want to hide. I’ll want to stay home by myself on a Saturday night and write or play piano. I need this time alone, and will resent you if you don’t let me have it. I will explain to you once, maybe twice, that this is a fucking necessity, that I need it to survive, and if you still pressure me into hanging out with you I’ll take that as you not listening to me or not taking my needs seriously.

My anxiety can be crippling. It can cause me to withdraw, and this isn’t me trying to withdraw from you and only you. When I feel oversocialized or worn out, it can take days to build up strength to venture out into the world again. You are a part of the world, you are not a part of me, and therefore there may be times when I can’t see you. I may not respond right away to messages. I may cancel plans. I will feel awful enough about it, you don’t need to make me feel worse, I promise.

There is a lot of trauma in my past, some recent some very distant. I’m working through it, I take medication and see a professional to help me process the events that have warped my consciousness. I have body issues, I deal with PTSD, and was diagnosed with Bipolar 1, and then changed to Bipolar 2. These are things I am very open about, and being around me means you being open to hearing about them as well. If you don’t think you can handle it, or if it will change how you see me or behave around me, then please find someone else.

I don’t want to be your “partner in crime”. I’m probably not going on a last minute European adventure with you anytime soon. If you’re after someone who loves spontaneity, who can pick up and go at any time, you’re looking for someone who isn’t me. I like planning, and I require advanced notice for pretty much everything. I recognize some might see that as boring, but I also don’t really care ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

Please, if it can be at all avoided, please don’t call me. Talking on the phone fills me with a kind of dread I usually only reserve for parades and street festivals. I get real awkward, sound annoyed (I’m not, I’m just really bad at this) and I usually hang up feeling like I’ve upset the person on the other end of the line. It is almost always more trouble than it’s worth for everyone involved. This is the future. We have the technology. Text me.

And what about you? What am I seeking? I want someone who knows how to talk. I want someone who can tell me stories, almost endlessly. Someone who doesn’t keep their feelings in. I want someone with a shithead past, someone who’s fucked up more than once and turned it around. I want someone with passion, with some kind of ambition. I want you to have something that fills you with a kind of fire that explodes from you when you talk about it. I want someone who smiles with their whole body. Someone who is just as happy screaming terrible karaoke as they are wrapped in blankets with a book.

I want someone with their own life, who is happy with (or working to change) that life, and who isn’t seeking someone to complete them. I want someone to whom sex isn’t everything. The more pressure I receive to put out the more I will push back. This has led to many arguments in the past, and I will walk the second I feel it becoming an issue.

I’m probably not going to marry you, and I am never going to have children — naturally or otherwise.

Lastly, I am a work in progress. My wants and needs are ever evolving, and I hope yours are too. Nothing in us should be permanent (except maybe my thoughts/feelings regarding children, even my ideas on marriage change every once in a while) and the more comfortable we are with this fact, the easier everything else in life becomes. And if this essay hasn’t scared you away, then perhaps there is a small chance we may find a spark somewhere in the vastness.”

Okay, so that is all well and good, but it leaves me with many questions. Why did I go for so long holding back that information? What is the point of starting any new relationship with that many secrets? All of this should come out eventually, and if the person I’m dating can’t deal with me, all of me, later on in our time together, why get into it with them in the first place? The point seems to be to have someone so enamored that they won’t mind so much when they find out that I’m a drinking, smoking, swearing sports fanatic, with a predisposition for disordered eating, armed with a couple bottles of anti-psychotics. That seems like the kind of thing I should be up front about. We are so conditioned to play this game in such a way, that if I were to just come right out with it on the first couple dates, I’d be labeled as “nuts” immediately and my prospective partner would go screaming for the hills. I can’t count how many times I’ve yelled “NOPE” at a person who put “please don’t be crazy” or “no baggage” on their profile. You want to date someone who has no baggage? Haha motherfucker, good luck with that.

As much as I wish I could be this candid right away, I need to be realistic. I can’t just tell a person I’ve met once that I’m a walking issue-factory. I really do need to build trust, to feel some kind of connection, before I let it all hang out, so to speak. I guess I could just try rendering all of this down into something simple, but poignant:

“Hi there. I’m a complicated person who likes to spend a lot of time alone. Don’t take it personally. If you’re a strong individual who has their own shit going on, and who can handle someone who’s lived a lot in her 33 years, then hit me up. Otherwise, keep swiping.”