Making sense of solitude

10.6.08

I have not been truly single since I was about fifteen. My relationship history has been peppered with a few short, fun relationships, but most of it has been spent in perfect monogamy-induced bliss. Six months with Nick was followed shortly by two years with Justin, and then a quick turnaround to three years with Dominic.
A few weeks ago, I was talking to the guy I went to freshman dance with in high school, recounting my latest breakup to him. “Wow,” he said. “You have wasted six years of your life in relationships that have gone nowhere.”
Thanks, Alex. Exactly what I needed to hear. Well, he’s spent most of the last six years single, so what does he know?
But, to some extent, he’s right. The pathetic part is that every time, I thought I’d found someone so different than the last. I entered each new relationship with this blinding hope, instilling all faith in my significant other. Yet they all have let me down, miserably so.
I don’t know what it is about me, but men tend to view me as disposable. That’s all it really comes down to. I’m someone to edit papers or help with trigonometry homework; maybe I’m just some arm candy on Friday night. Do they look at me and not see a future?
Yet every time, I was the girlfriend who cooked romantic dinners, found thoughtful gifts for no reason at all, and went to sporting events I did not understand or enjoy. One boyfriend made me a grilled cheese in the microwave, one gave me pictures of himself for a holiday, and they all went to my tennis matches just to watch girls in short skirts.
This isn’t to say I was a saint in any of these relationships. I regularly made it clear that sitting through soccer games was akin to rubbing a cheese grater over my face. And I have been called narcissistic and high-maintenance, not without good reason. (I’ve also been called plenty of things that we cannot print in the Chimes—also, probably not without good reason.) Say what they will, but I gave each relationship my all. I tried, and I tried, and I tried to fix it and pour every ounce of energy I had into making the partnership succeed.
Maybe the problem was that there was no partnership. The effort was all mine; they sat back and enjoyed the ride. My mother says this is how men are and that I should have learned that by now. They will not pick up after themselves, they will not listen to you, and they certainly are not going to match your efforts in the relationship.
This is depressing. It makes me want to stop trying and stop believing that they next one will be different, which is what I’ve always believed was true without question.
I feel like I’m no better off than when I was fifteen, without even a driver’s license. Now, I have can vote and legally drink, but has anything really changed?