When things get hard, I bail. I’m a bailer. That’s what I do. Before I commit to something, I am always ready with an exit strategy, a rough plan of how to get out. Cynical I know… But you have to be prepared right. Don’t get me wrong. I definitely hope for the best. But I’m also prepared for the worst. And an exit strategy is definitely the worst case scenario. Call it what you want; Chicken Shit. Pussy. Yellow Bellied. Wimp. Commitment-phobic. Coward. I call it self-preservation.
It’s usually not that hard. Being an emotional nomad, I’m built for this stuff. It’s a simple code to follow (Dexter reference much?!?). All you need to do is go in and don’t get attached. Do what you need to do so that they think you’re in it for life, but really you know better… You put on a smile and do the little dances. You’re funny but not hilarious. You’re likeable but not irresistible. You’re memorable but not unforgettable. You make people like you just enough… just enough for them to feel sad when you go, but not so much that they can’t let you go…
So what happens when you stray this code? What happens when you get attached?
What happens is that you get hurt. That’s what.
I got hurt recently. I went in, with every intention of following the code but somewhere in the earlier part of the relationship, the code got harder and harder to adhere to. So I threw the code out the door and lay my heart on the table. I got attached… deeply attached. So when I smiled, it wasn’t a mask anymore. And when I danced, it was for him.
Then shit hit the fan, and now it’s over. I left. But I also left a big chunk of my heart. What do I do now? How do I deal? Where do I go?
It’s Friday, and I’m sleeping at my house. I’ve only done that maybe 2 times in the last 9 months – sleeping at home on a Friday night. And I’m having a hard time adjusting to it. I can’t sleep. Fuck.
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