You Give Love A Bad Name

That's right Bon Jovi, I do. To say that I'm bad at relationships is an understatement. I know that it's all psychosomatic, but I've always hung out with guys who are allergic to paying for dinner or don't want to be with me exclusively or don't know my correct name (i.e. Sapphire Jordan). I'm not sure that I've figured out what I'm looking for, but I figure that I'll just know when I find it, that we'll fit like puzzle pieces.
I recently thought that I had found my missing puzzle piece in Graham. I had known Graham since college, although not super well. He was in a fraternity and I was in a sorority, but I spent most of my time hooking up with losers in other fraternities. My friend Kristy invited me to a local bar for an 80's style New Years Eve with Graham, but as much as I love champagne and kissing strangers at midnight, I have never liked this holiday so I stayed home. Thank you for keeping me company, Andy Cohen and Real Housewives.
I met up with a hungover Graham and Kristy the next day for brunch. Remembering that Graham also worked out at 24 Hour Fitness, I got his number and because health comes way after partying, we made plans to work out like a month later. We had fun working out together on the elyptical machines until his back gave out, and then we went and had dinner at Sushi of Naples.
Hanging out with Graham was effortless. He was funny, sweet, romantic, kind…he was the perfect boyfriend. So naturally I messed it up. I got scared and pushed away. I partied like I was Andy Dick. I did everything that Kate Hudson did in 10 Ways to Lose A Guy only he didn’t come back after we broke up.
I want to invent the Heartbreak Clock. It will be bigger than Billy the Big Mouth Bass, and will revolutionize the way we look at heartbreak. It will look like one of those countdown clocks mounted on the wall of a dive bar that says “10 days, 14 hours, 5 minutes until St. Patrick’s Day.” And when you finally stop waking up with that dull pain in your chest, then you can stop the clock and see officially how long it took you to get over the heartbreak.
They say that your heart takes half as long as the relationship lasted to heal. Since my relationships are often short-lived, it takes me 100 – 150% of the time to heal from a breakup because you don’t mourn so much as you speculate as to what could have been. Your significant other hasn’t had time to leave the toilet seat up innumerable times and get on your nerves. I missed Graham every day; he was my bud and I adored him. I used to hyperventilate when he wanted to spend so much time with me because I couldn’t figure out why anyone would want to be around me for that long. I don’t even like being around me for that long.
The best thing about having a boyfriend is that you are finally able to graduate from the kids table. I felt like I was able to do more, and instead of getting to know what a great guy Graham was, I showed him off like a Westminster show pony.
I began to feel manic after that breakup. I knew that I was the reason that my relationships were insubstantial, and I didn’t want to grow up to be (or look like) Dorothy from the Golden Girls. I didn’t like being around or hearing about couples. I would cry at night a lot. I worked out in the hopes that if I looked like a supermodel then I would have better relationships…only to gain 6 pounds. I finally decided to see a therapist that I went to right after college. Being the child of divorce, my mother trounced me around like a Westminster show pony from therapist to therapist when I was in high school. If I rearranged my closet, I was “depressed.” If I stayed home on a Friday night, I was “depressed.” I had been on Prozac and Xanax , and Beer and wine coolers, and nothing fixed the problem. I would watch Intervention, and think that my parents should be throwing me a ticker tape parade because I wasn’t that messed up…after all, I was functional. I called the therapist that I hadn’t seen in twelve years. Not only did she say that she remembered me (what kind of fucked up shit could I have told her that she remembered me more than a decade later?!?!), but she scheduled an appointment for the following evening.
I went into her office. It looked just like I remembered, only older. She came to the door, and we exchanged pleasantries, and she asked for my check right away. Back in the day, my insurance covered a bulk of my therapy and the co-payments were like $8. I now had to pay full price, and the payments were close to $100. We sat down and she started asking questions. When we talked about substance abuse, she asked if I could give up drinking while we worked together. She asked this like she would ask me to take out the garbage. This was of course after she made the mistake of saying, “You drink alcohol like I eat ice cream.” I remember staring at her, and realizing that in that moment, I was sitting across from my mother. I was not going back to see her again. What makes me feel good is church, working out, and writing. I think as long as I stick to those things, the heartbreak clock doesn't have anything on me.