To be fair, I know I’m being a total psychic about something, and I’m going to sound nuts. However, you’re still going to fucking laugh if you know me at all. You’re going to laugh anyway. Or cry. Or feel terror or whatever.
So yesterday, I was having a walk, and I had this epiphany of sorts. It’s not exactly the first time I’ve thought of it, but it certainly linked to something relatively new that I’ve come to realize: attachment disorders. I’ve got like NONE of that; attachment disorders, even though I have a healthy fear of rejection, I’ve got no fear of abandonment or becoming known to someone. More to the point, I fear I won’t be known; it’s easier to hate me if you don’t know me than what it is if you know me – just saying.
Attachment disorders are basically something people do when they fear fucking up a great relationship by being a disappointment of some description. Some men try to cope with it by acting really bad, sometimes from the start, so that NOBODY with a half a brain could consider themselves deceived or disappointed when they finally fuck up for one last time.
I was thinking back to this guy I fell in love with back in 1997, a bit of a drunkard he was, weekend variety, but when he drank, he was barely standing up. He’d slur his words; his eyes would barely focus, you know, that category. And I blinking loved him. Why? You know, one of those things. You don’t know why, you just do. Cute he was, of course; I’ve never loved ugly. But I kept thinking about all these stupid women who think they can change a guy, you know? “I’m that glorious reason for him to change.” Bleh. So I reasoned with myself to walk away.
Yesterday, I had a change of heart. It wasn’t wise. It was cowardly. I wish the advice I would have heard – ran into – would have been different: “If you love him, you accept him the way he is. You’ll love him regardless of what he does to himself. You accept it the same way as you accept a handicap in a loved one; you don’t take it as an insult or embarrassment to yourself; you live with him, the way he is, because you love him.” Or something to the effect. And that you tell him as much when you know for sure: “You cannot fuck this up. I’m here to stay, if you kill yourself with the booze or drugs, I’m going to have to follow you. So please don’t kill us, is all I’m asking.” His problems are not HIS problems, they are your mutual problems, but you don’t try to heal him or change him or improve him, you just accept the fact you love him because of the person he is, not for what he achieves or doesn’t achieve.
And it just felt like the truth, right? I’d do that for any of my TrEmoRs, most of whom are somewhat possibly maybe addicted, as am I. It’s just that I’ve known it my whole life and decided never to play with anything even slightly addictive and managed to develop an addiction to Coke Zero for fucks sake. Anyway.
So today, I took another walk—the usual route. On my way back, right on my path stands this guy. It’s a hot day. He’s wearing jog pants and nothing more. They’re covered with stains. A singlet over his shoulder is equally stained but with different stuff, seemingly the curry he’d just had. He is high or drunk or both. The side of his mouth has curry on it. He looks like a right mess.
Still, he’s beautiful, he’s got sharp, intelligent eyes, he’s fit, and he looks like good fun. Still, I don’t exactly want to stop talking to him, but he’s right in my way. I am quite forced to walk right into his lap basically or rudely avoid him by a mile. I’m not afraid of him or anything, so I walk right up to him, and he tells me I’m gorgeous. This is when I take my first good look at him and say he’s actually real pretty himself, as he was, well, you know, the animal part of him. The stuff his genes made. And his eyes. He protests. No, men are ugly, women are beautiful, and I have to disagree with him. “You’re not ugly,” I told him repeatedly; maybe he’s beautiful, I’m not sure, but I argued about it with him for a while.
He asks me for my name and if I have a man. I tell him “several,” which is a bit of an exaggeration to describe my relationship status, sure, and then, not. He asks me if he can be one of them. I wished I could sound certain to say never hahah, but no, I know he’s not a random guy. He is there for a reason. He’s a test of my ego. How full of shit am I, really? Would I really be ready to love someone unconditionally if I loved him at all?
Soon, he’s telling me his life story. His girlfriend just walked out on him – I figured I knew why, but it turned out she was diagnosed bipolar and that she was a compulsive liar, and you know. Like Amber Turd. Same shit. By his description, I figured also histrionic. He keeps talking, Nirvana, Linkin Park, Pearl Jam, and I find him funny – almost impossible to understand, his tongue is pierced, and he’s high or drunk, and well… I’m not a native speaker. He drops in dad jokes and tells a lot of things about himself. Former surfer – and I can totally see it still… And thankfully, he wipes his mouth one more time on his singlet.
After a good while, my lower back starts to kill me, so I tell him to come and sit down at the park bench near by, so we do, more stories, he’s going deaf in his right ear the same way I’m going deaf in my left. I sat on his left side so I could hear him better, and he told me I was on the correct side for him to hear, lol.
He’s talking about morals, philosophy, and life values. Kindness, giving. Being hurt by love and fearful of never finding it. You know the kind of stuff that these guys know of. The ones hurt by their own kindness and beauty. He’s complimenting me for being funny but I don’t remember saying anything funny. I am funny, yes, but I don’t think he had a way to know yet. 
It had been hours. It was getting cold. I gave him my phone number when he asked, and he said he’d never in his life asked a girl for a phone number – he didn’t own a phone now, either. He has never sent an email.
Cat Type Thinker. A class act in absolute chambles.
I hope he calls. 
(The image is not him, but it’s pretty close – too young and not as good-looking. ;p)
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