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In my relationship (but maybe not yours), the best medicine in the world for intra-marital conflict is for me to be by myself, preferably with some sleep time in there somewhere. In fact, I’ve uniformly rejected every piece of relationship advice that I’ve ever been given — thank GOODNESS, because relationship advice is fucking dumb. In all the relationships I’ve witnessed from the sidelines of my longterm union, this is the one rule that has never gone away, never wavered, never been disproven.
Yet when I try to tell someone who is single this rule, they genuinely never believe me.“You don’t understand.
As soon as my lips penetrated the cold glass tumbler and the cruel burn of whiskey made its way down my throat, the words fell out of this person’s mouth: break up with someone you’re not even dating, and it was happening to ME. We engage in these “seeing each other” dynamics to avoid real pain, yet they leave us on an epic, wild, emotional rollercoaster with no harness keeping us safe: You feel a thick heaviness making its way toward the center of your chest; it’s not dissimilar to heartbreak -- except it’s a type of pain that only scratches the , which is equally as unsettling as the out-of-the-blue rejection.
And tiny shards of glass began to prick the entirety of my body (wait -- this wasn’t supposed to hurt. How can someone break up with you before having had the opportunity to experience dating you?
Your head has become an ever-spinning merry-go-round with painted glass horses replaced by your twisted thoughts. This is torture for girls, and the only way in which we’re equipped to handle this sort of ambiguity is to to crawl out of.
You scan different scenarios in the darkness of your brain (was it the skin or the kiss or the stupid thing you said? You’re consumed with what the f*ck you did what turned him or her off about you. All of a sudden, it hits you like a fist in a delicate moment: It’s not your looks. It’s your reputation that sent him or her running in the opposite direction.
But occasionally, a non-attached person will ask my advice about someone that he or she is dating.
It’s enough to make you want to retire to the Catskills, resign to a life working on a farm at the Women’s Collective never to return to the modern world again.
I told them about every happy, lasting, fulfilling relationship I’ve witnessed.
The couples in those relationships all have the same “When we first started dating” story.
I’ve been in an obnoxiously happy relationship for fifteen years.
I try not to be a twat about it, so I don’t go around giving advice or writing something twatty like “Lessons I’ve Learned From Being Happily Married, Not That You Would Know You Sad, Pitiable, Single Who Will Likely Have Your Dead Face Eaten By Your Pet”.