And here we go again

Yet another friend has gotten engaged. Well, not really a friend, but an acquaintance.

And of course her wall is full of congratulatory wishes and hopeful sentiment. And yet...I still just can't seem to get it right.

How do I write this without sounding bitter? Am I just a big jerk for begrudging people their happiness as I wallow in my own cesspool of sadness?

(I should make it clear that when my FRIENDS get engaged or married it's a joyful time and I really am truly happy for them, but it's the casual acquaintances that get to me, for whatever reason).

I'm trying really hard to NOT let this GP thing fuck me up. I'm NOT letting this skew my ideas about love and partnership, which despite my history, lifestyle, and shenanigans are actually quite traditional at the core.

Deep down, I have always wanted to get married, but only if I found the right person, and I could never accept that my life was destined for picket fences and shuttling a Volvo full of kids to soccer practice. (Not wanting kids makes it really hard to find a husband, you know). And yet for some reason, wanting to find a stable and loving partner is viewed as "wrong," and makes you somehow "weak." We're told "you don't need a partner to complete you," and yes, I know this. I lived without one for a long, long time. And I always take a long time between relationships because I want to make sure I'm ready and can apply the lessons of past relationships to the next one. But what is "wrong" with wanting someone to hold and make love to and share meals with and experience life with?

Why is it so wrong to wish you had someone with you to celebrate life's triumphs and sorrows? Why is it a sign of "weakness" to have someone to hold your hand when you're scared? I'm so sick of this god damned "You don't need a man!" drivel that people try to feed you when you're down about a failed relationship. I mean, yeah, it's true that no one will ever love you, know you, or get you off quite as well as yourself, but it doesn't mean you don't need someone.

Maybe I don't need a man to cut the grass or change lightbulbs or kill spiders, and maybe I'm just fine on my own, patching drywall and fixing shit with my power tools. And maybe I even really like sleeping alone, especially when it's hot like it is now. I love having my own space, and I loved that GP had his own bedroom when he lived here. But you know what? Ballroom dancing lessons, scuba diving, miniature golf outings, day trips...there's only so much of that stuff you can do with friends. It's not about being lonely and needing someone to fix what's wrong in your life. It's about finding someone who can co-pilot the ship on life's journey. And my friends are great, they're happy to have me back, but...it doesn't mean I can't still miss what I never had.

I KNOW I'm living in a fantasy world now, thinking I might actually find someone in this crazy, fucked-up world who is suited to be my friend and lover and partner in crime, especially at my age and given my history, my "flaws" (really, men are just so god damned superficial), and my unwillingness to procreate or take up with anyone who has. I do sometimes regret not having kids, to be honest. But it's not so much regret for not having had them, but more that I never got myself into a place where I felt I could be a good parent. If I would have found that place, then maybe I would have felt differently. It's just that the idea of parenthood terrifies the shit out of me, and I could never imagine myself doing it.

I spent TEN YEARS (not counting James because he wasn't "real") being non-committed, footloose, fancy-free, unattached, uninhibited, and selectively lonely before GP came along. Then it was like *pow* I was in love. With someone who has made it pretty clear for the last several months that he does not love me. The same man who had fought tooth and nail for me back in September, the same man who'd told me that NO MATTER WHAT we would stay together and work it out and find a way to make it work...it was all a farce. A game. An experiment. And I knew that it had started out that way, sure, but then it was like...we actually did fall in love, for real. I could have sworn it was the real deal. The man flew 10,000 miles from tropical paradise to Buffalo, New York in the middle of winter to be with me.

So once more I am left trying to figure out what love actually IS. See, this felt unlike anything I'd ever felt before, so I was sure that it had to be it. It was familiar enough in its strength and intensity and woozy side-effects, but then there was something else that I couldn't quite define. There was a pull. There was a connection. And now...I'm just more confused than ever. I do love myself, and I am not necessarily feeling sorry for myself. It's just that I always end up with more questions than answers when this shit happens. And that makes me really fucking sad.