The Cycle of Suffering: Dating Edition

The Neurotic Dater
Jul 27, 2017 · 3 min read

It’s an experience I relive over and over again. Online dating. Why do we do it? I’m pretty sure the 2017 edition of Dante’s Inferno would include a circle of hell made up entirely of an infinite stream of bad dates.

A few superficial strings of conversation established to make sure the other person isn’t totally wackadoo, I exchange numbers with a total stranger and we agree to meet at a bar to put ourselves through a couple hours of either: (a) torture via boredom, (2) torture via dashed expectations, or (3), the most rare, mutual attraction and a nice time. Still getting over my most recent rejection, liking someone is both the best and worst thing that could possibly happen. Best in that it would stoke the dying embers of hope in my heart. Worst because I have only so much of that hope left inside me before it goes kaput, and I can’t take another rejection.

Is it too late to cancel and stay home? It’s so hard to resist the siren call of Netflix and Chipotle, but somehow I slap on some makeup and force myself out the door, fighting against the seemingly paradoxical waves of anxiety and apathy.

Argh not another bad date!

I meet him and he’s a bit cuter than I expected. Okay, this isn’t so bad. We start chatting. He’s smart and fun to talk to. I’m glad I didn’t cancel on him. The air starts to sparkle, yes sparkle, with excitement, good conversation, and sexy vibes. The night ends on a lovely note and we make plans to see each other again. If it’s really good, we kiss.

And it’s on.

The second or third date rolls around and I’ve already decided that this is the perfect guy to date. I’m so attracted to him. My friends and family would love him. Images of farmers markets and evenings watching old movies on his couch flood my brain as we chat.

And then I get nervous. Because I’ve learned by now what my pattern is: when I really like someone, it usually doesn’t work out.

What if he doesn’t want to see me again? Be cool. He’s saying something, but I didn’t quite hear him through the din of the bar and my own frantic thoughts, so I laugh awkwardly instead. He talks about his favorite poem, one that he memorized, and asks me what I think it means. My mind gets blanker the more I search for something smart and meaningful to say. I get mad at myself for being dumb even though I know I’m not. I notice myself talking in a weird way that I think is meant to sound confident and smooth, but I feel fake and boring and I think he knows.

The harder I try, the more I seem to fail. I’m no longer enjoying the moment, but rather caught up in the me, me, me. My panic, my insecurities, my past failures.

He’s trying to flirt with me, but I feel uncomfortable. Is he looking for a hook up? Because I’m not about that. I don’t want him to get any ideas. He suggests we watch a movie at his place next time. I nod halfheartedly, unsure if I want to have sex with him so early on, because what else could that mean?

The date ends and I go home alone. Or I go to his place. Maybe we have sex, maybe we don’t. Maybe I’ll see him a couple more times. Either way, I know, deep down, it’s not going to work out.

One day passes after our last date, two days, three. Sometimes I follow up, sometimes not. Either way, I don’t hear from him again. I spend the next couples days stressing out, wondering why it’s so hard for me, what my defect is. But eventually the pain lessens.

And then I pull out my phone and start swiping.

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