Finding love is often a bit like a science experiment. You put two chemicals together and look for a reaction. Sometimes it sizzles, sometimes it falls flat, sometimes it explodes, implodes leaving us wrecked in the mess we helped create. This is just the nature of things. There’s no way around it. We have to stumble through the experiments of love until we find a mixture that is right.
The following story is one woman’s adventure with the chemical reactions of ill-fated love.
Love gone terribly bad? Sure. Was it just one guy? Nope. Instead, my cynical outlook on love was shaped (warped) by many smaller incidents over the course of the last 15 years.
“E” was my drama king. I landed at my HBCU fresh from an all white school with no clue about black music, sex or alcohol. E helped familiarize me with all three. He listened to Prince, had the most amazing bedroom eyes and a voice to match. We were passion manifest and if we weren’t screaming, we were screwing and everything was SOFA KING IMPORTANT. Where an outsider might have rolled their eyes at the self absorbed 19-year-olds wasting their parents hard earned tuition money on weed and Boones Farm, I only knew the ecstasy and agony of LOVE. Ugh. After graduation, I hooked up with him occasionally on the “buddy” tip, but it was never the same. Now I understand that I was vainly trying to relive the old days when I fell hard and fast.
Another man of note was “K.” We blundered our way through four years together and my folks still ask about him. We started as friends, and then fell into a relationship without actually intending it. In fact, that’s how I rationalized cheating on him. We hadn’t officially said we were together, so we must not be. With 20/20 hindsight, I know now that I wanted to hurt him. You see, two years into it, we’d made a baby and after some civilized discussions about our futures, I decided to abort. He was “after school special” supportive, saying all the right things and offering to go with me to the clinic. But when I told him that I’d be fine and there was no need for both of us to waste the whole day there, he believed me. So I went to have an abortion and he went to a barbecue. I never forgave him for that. Hell, I’m still working on forgiving me. In any case, sometime back in the 90s I suddenly became very self sufficient and a little cold natured. Only K and I know why.
Most recently was “S.” After gaining some weight, my esteem plummeted, and I went into romantic hibernation. S was handsome, sweet, and loved music. He said the nicest things to me and made me feel beautiful again. So excited to be adored, I ignored the signs that we just weren’t right for each other. The cliff notes version of our relationship was that I was more interested in proving that someone, anyone, would wife me, rather than truly understanding what I was signing up for. S peeped it for what it was, and called it quits. My lesson? I’ve got to be honest – especially to myself.
Man that paints a bleak picture. Please know that I’ve dated many great guys, we just didn’t work out. However, your request wasn’t about “love gone almost right” was it?