I just finished writing a piece inspired by a fella I had met months ago, when I decided to reveal myself in public and walk to the store. I had worked tirelessly all day on this piece, and as I saved my final draft for a new writing venture, I realized I looked like a gigantic, dishevled, purple Oompa Loompa. It took me about fifteen minutes to convince myself I’d go unnoticed. So, I walked.
Who drives by, as if epically timed by the twisted and vengeful Gods, themselves? Said fella and past crush, completely frozen with the look of terror plastered on his face. No wave. No glance. Just terror, full-speed ahead.
Yup. Only me.
I don’t know how I do it, but I sometimes feel as if I have this psycho vibe nailed, or so these men would make it seem. I mean the art of sabotaging every single potential relationship before it even begins, has become a true art. I’m like Picasso’s nutty cousin; the one no one mentions.
So, I came home flustered and truth be told, kind of heart sick. I mean, I didn’t write about the man because of superficial reasons … because I thought he was attractive or because we shared one, brilliant hour together. I don’t put my heart and soul into my work unless I’m deeply inspired and I feel it’s worth sharing. Moments like the ones we shared are rare. And they went on for months, not hours. On top of that it was reciprocal.
From the moment we met, I knew he’d hurt like a bitch. And here I am, sifting through a long list of past nightmares, dripping with humiliation and regret, that leave a familiar ache within the core of my heart. I was one step away from throwing in the towel for another 8 years, admitting to myself that the problem was mine and mine alone, becoming an isolated hermit and shutting out men for the rest of my days.
This was no longer about the man in question, or any of them for that matter; this was about my warped view of myself and the fact that not one man, with the exception of two, for over a decade, has come forth with balls in-hand to tell me what it was that turned them away.
I was one step away, until I realized that maybe I’m just too much for them. And that’s a tough pill to swallow when I know I’ve honed in on the art of the selective reveal. To some, I guess it is too much, too soon, but what blows my mind is that what I typically reveal in the beginning stages of any relationship or friendship, is nothing but the tip of the iceberg.
There’s so much more that lies under the surface, but rarely do they stick around to find out what that is. Maybe I said too much? On the flipside, it’s been a long-held philosophy of mine to share the things you see in someone, because I know that’s rare and I know how I feel when I am finally told how someone truly feels, good or bad. It’s constructive, usually. And it’s important in encouraging us to become the best version of ourselves.
So, it begs to question the quality of men I go after. If they cannot handle the tip, how on earth will they handle the rest of me? I’m a very complex person and I have so many interests; many of which showcase some talent. I’m not lying when I say I’m a writer, an artist, a poet, adventurous and happen to have a ‘slight’ obsession for musicians. It’s truth. But I believe the men in question were used to simpler minds and hearts that don’t feed on passion and zest for the ups and downs of a fulfilling and inspired life.
Sure, I’ve had my epic fails that were actually my issue, but beyond my control. I live with Bipolar One, what do you expect? But, there have been plenty that have just disappeared without so much as a phone call or text to say goodbye while I was completely stable.
Are we deluding ourselves when we ask the question, “Are we just too much to handle?” That seems just ridiculous to ask myself, but if you’re someone who wonders why you’re being ghosted a bit too often, I’d encourage you to dig deeper and ask the same. Some are, in fact, intimidated by the uncertainty of complex souls. “Too much of something? Too intense, too romantic, too intellectual, too spontaneous, too adventuorus, too sweet, too attractive, too dangerous, too sassy, too timid, or too talented?” Maybe they are afraid of being destroyed.
I spent my entire life shedding false beliefs about who I was and building myself into what I am now and I’m proud of that. Sure, I don’t have a lot of money and I’m not where I want to be professionally, but it’s not about material things and status to me. This is about character, personality and self-respect. This is about becoming someone you can admire, someone you can fall in love with, someone you would look for yourself. This is about loving the whole of you – as flawsome as you are in this moment. No excuses or apologies. As is.
I think it’s healthy to hold yourself in high esteem. We are taught to build ourselves up all throughout life, until society says, “Ok, stop … not like that.” Fuck society. If you know who you are and what you want, you reserve the right to shine and go out and get it. You deserve the same in return and don’t let anyone make you feel differently. You deserve the love you’d give, plus some.
Take this below, and memorize it, as I am doing tonight. Don’t settle for less than a King because you, My Dear Woman, are a Goddamn Queen. Until then, carry on and do you!
Sometimes you’ll just be too much woman.
Too much of something that makes a man feel like less of a man,
Which will make you feel like you have to be less of a woman.
The biggest mistake you can make
Is removing jewels from your crown
To make it easier for a man to carry.
When this happens, I need you to understand
You do not need a smaller crown —
You need a man with bigger hands.”
~ Michael Reid