Photo by Juergen Teller
Am I a “relationship person”? Ewww! I don’t want to be! You know the kind I mean–those people who are always with someone, most likely because they can’t handle being alone. I hate those people, but I recently realized that I’m pretty sure I am one of those people. So depressing.
I got my first boyfriend when I was fifteen. We dated for a year and lost our virginities together, but I dumped him because I liked someone else, who soon became my next boyfriend. The new boyfriend was two years younger than me, tall, deathly pale and as skinny as a stringbean. When my mother first met him she told me she’d “seen him around town and thought he was a special needs person.” I was so overwhelmingly attracted to him. I’m pretty sure the way he looked defined what “my type” would be for years to come. Anyway, we dated for a year and a half, at which point I moved away to attend college in London. We had talked about trying to keep things going while I was away, however during my first week at college I met Blaine, my new obsessive love, and ended things with the stringbean. Blaine and I dated for four and a half years. Holy shit, that is a long time. It’s weird to think that he was my boyfriend when I started this blog. He makes a few appearances in posts way back at the beginning, but he didn’t like being written about very much, so I tried to refrain when possible. We no longer speak, sadly. I would have liked to stay friends, but the split was not too amicable. Let’s just say it was the sort of break up where people’s clothes get thrown into rivers and psychotherapy is required afterward.
After it ended with Blaine I immediately–like within two days–started dating this music label guy who I stayed with for about three months. It was during that time that I met Bunny. Long term readers of this blog will know who Bunny is (there are about 500 posts written about him, which you can find by putting his name into the search bar), but for those of you who don’t, he is my non-sexual/sexually-ambiguous best friend, and we never dated, per se, although upon meeting we immediately became inseparable and moved into the same bedroom and shared a bed and wore the same clothes, and let’s be honest, I was basically in love with him. We weren’t “dating” but we also weren’t not dating, if that makes sense? And we weren’t really sleeping together–except for those few times, on K, during those orgies–but he wasn’t sleeping with anyone else, and I would only sleep with other people very rarely, while blacked-out, so it sort of felt like we were a real life, monogamous couple.
At the tail end of the Bunny love affair, when we had faded out of the obsessive same-bed zone and moved into the friend zone, there were a few months where I can legitimately say that I was single. Woo hoo! Party! However, that’s when I moved to New York, and after being in NYC for literally only four days I slept with Hamilton, who then became my boyfriend of two and a half years. When that ended, last winter, I had already begun sleeping with Lessa. I wasn’t cheating, though, because Hamilton had repeatedly told me that he “didn’t care if I slept with girls” because “women have no souls,” or whatever. That was part of our deal–we would have threesomes with girls together, and I could be a solo lesbian if I so desired. But the point is, when he and I split, Lessa and I were already fucking, and then we just kept fucking until somehow we were dating, and now it’s nine months later and we’re still dating, and the moral of the story is that I’ve essentially been in a relationship since I was fifteen. Minus three months. That is fucked.
What’s also sort of terrifying is how I’ve managed to sleep with so many people, given that I haven’t been single in twelve years. Whoops.
Sorry about that drawn-out relationship history rant, I didn’t expect it to be so long. But the point is, I don’t want to be a needy “relationship person.” I want to be independent, like Destiny’s Child. A couple weeks ago my friend Andrew Richardson refereed to me as “the classic, love addict type.” I found that really offensive. Afterward I argued endlessly, claiming that I’m actually really aloof and never care about anyone. No one believed me.
One of my main problems with relationships is that they just eat up so much time. If I was single I’d be way more productive, and I’d certainly be writing a lot more blog posts. Time just vanishes when you’re hanging out with the person you’re dating–you can be doing nothing, but you’re doing nothing with someone, which constitutes as something. I remember back to those three months when I was single–I suddenly had so much free time! I was amazed by how many hours there were in a day. Where did they all come from? It was almost offensive.
And the fighting. GOD, the fighting. It never ends. It’s so emotionally and physically exhausting to be arguing with someone and crying all the time. Are all relationships like this, or is it just me? Today I was upstate at my parent’s house and I was in my room, yelling and arguing on the phone with my gf (we were fighting about the fact that I had said I’d gone jogging at 9pm, but she thought I’d actually gone at 8pm and lied about the time–important), and afterward my mom was like “What are you always yelling about in your room?” and I was like, “What, today?” and she was like, “No, I mean all the time, consistently, since you were in high school.”
The problem with being single, though, is that sex isn’t just handed to you, so you end up going out and looking for it, which usually involves lots of time, energy and money. And, likely, the consumption of alcohol, which is never the best idea.
There is no right answer.