Two years ago I met a guy who to me was utterly
intriguing. In high school, I dated a boy who worshipped me and fulfilled most
16 year olds fantasies of being treated like a princess. However the constant
attention soon grew boring and I moved on with my life and into adulthood
without so much a glance backwards at my prince. This guy however was a
complete enigma, so cool and careless, yet simultaneously clumsy and at times
awkward. Two years my senior, his popularity within our friendship circle drew
me in even more and before I knew it I was like a moth flitting towards a
bright light, half aware I was going to get zapped but so ridiculously
attracted I didn’t care. Our relationship soon blossomed into a series of
secretive nights spent, talking into
the unhealthy hours of the morning. Sleep deprived, we would walk like zombies
through campus offering each other shy smiles when we thought no one was
watching, the excitement of our secret sleepovers causing my stomach to churn. Unlike
my high school prince, this boy liked to challenge me. Often, he would ignore
me for days only to turn up at 1am with strawberries and Nutella and insist we
spend the next two hours in one another’s arms. His bizarre non-interest in me
was like a drug and I began relishing the time he spent making an effort with
me, however little that was. I could feel myself being pulled into a toxic pool
of unfulfilled promises and never ending let downs, but I was fast becoming
addicted, always looking for my next hit and soon, devastated if I was
deprived. On the outside I was the easy-going girlfriend but inside my heart
felt as though it was being torn slowly from my chest and eventually thrown at
full force against a wall. Time passed and I decided I couldn’t do it anymore. I was scared that if I stayed with him I
would lose myself completely and never quite recover. I can tell you now that I
came quite close to drowning in a permanent state of heart break, simply
devastated by the year of emotional torment. Our relationship had dissolved
into a shamble of miscommunication driven partly by his disregard for feelings
other than his own, and his inability to express that he loved me, in his own
weird, twisted way.
So following this heartbreak I did what any one would do and swore off boys and relationships in general. I vowed to avoid potential hurt until I was 30, a sensible
age at which I could ignore the
formalities of dating and start looking for someone who would make me
truly happy. Of course as soon as you stop looking, someone stupidly perfect
comes along and suddenly you’re struggling to remember why you gave up on the
love game at all. The scary part is when this new boy, the perfect boy, is
doing everything right and yet your stomach is tugging at you screaming “RUN
AWAY!”. When faced with this fork
in the road what on earth is a girl to do? I had my reasons for deciding that boys
weren’t worth my time. But now new boy is teasing me, tempting me with what could be. As
he stood in my kitchen the other morning, the sleeves of his crisp white shirt rolled
up as he made me crepes he was a vision of what every girl wants. Attentive,
sexy, intelligent, kind and just sarcastic enough to keep me on my toes (plus
he was making me crepes… I mean come on). And yet, this crippling sense of hesitation churns in the pit
of my stomach, creeping upward into my throat every time he does something
nice. Is this my gut warning me to escape before I’m in crying in bed again
watching back-to-back O.C? Or is this residual scarring that will mend and fade
in time?
This cute little meme I found on Pinterest (my second addiction to trashy television) reminded me that I was once a princess, and that should be allowed to feel like one again. They do say you have to kiss many frogs before you find your prince.
xo
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