Preservation in the Midst of Disposal.

     I love hard. Anyone who knows me well enough to know that my go-to hangover food is a bag of puffy Cheetohs can tell you that I love hard. The minute I feel comfortable, I become an open book and give my all. And no, it’s not just with relationships.  My best friend has witnessed me become pseudo-BFFs with all kinds of girls throughout different stages of my life, and although she warns me against many, the excitement of new friendships with seemingly wonderful people gives me something like a high. In this book I’m currently reading, Captivating, I read that women thirst for a type of love and companionship that neither a husband nor children can provide. Women need friendships with other women, and as much as we’d like to pretend that this is a fallacy, it’s true. So I’ve wandered through life, embracing friendships, a few of which have been toxic. And like all toxic relationships, the end is inevitable. I always sit and beat myself up about ending a friendship, forgetting what both the Bible and my mother tell me constantly: Everything has its season. But still I fight, believing that I’ve done myself a disservice by ending something that was so unedifying and draining. How silly of me? But because women are wired to desire companionship, and need that companionship from other women, I begin to feel as if I’m missing out on a really good friend. I begin to feel like I’m missing out on a good friend, although I know from experience that they aren’t. What a cruel little trick my mind plays on me?

     I’ve lived in New York City for a year and 9 months, and with all of the transitioning, the “good” friends I’ve been in search of while swapping people in and out of my life have been the one constant, even when a boyfriend hasn’t. Quite frankly, dating creeps me out. You go out, get approached by a random guy, exchange numbers, and begin conversations that I can only assume consist of false proclamations about occupations and their alma mater. You have absolutely no one to vouch for them, so you just trust that he’s honestly in med school and not a sociopath who’ll be slipping a date-rape drug in the ginger ale you ordered at dinner because you didn’t want him to see you drunk just yet. Needless to say, I’d just rather not be bothered by it at this point in my life. And looking at my previous relationships, there’s clearly a trend that I follow when it comes to men, and I must figure out how to break it before I pursue another relationship. But this isn’t about my relationships with questionable men; it’s about long distance relationships. I’m able to debunk the idea that they don’t work. I believe it’s all about whom you enter into these relationships with. Now I’ll admit, I’ve been in 3 unsuccessful long distance relationships with men, and even still, I’m a believer that they can work. Why? Well mainly because although I’ve relinquished the idea of entertaining anything long-distance with a man, I have been able to maintain strong, fulfilling, fruitful long-distance relationships…with the women in my life.