The lesbian dating pool is a pool. Heterosexual people have this giant fucking ocean, but then it’s like there are only a handful of lesbians in the world. Even smaller is the amount of women-loving-women (WLW) who would even give you the time of day.
When I went out with men — let’s ignore the reasons — relationships formed more out of practicality — because we got on well and could procreate if we needed to, I guess. It didn’t always matter if the guys liked me or not. I mean, obviously they did, I just…didn’t share those feelings.
I guess that’s what dating is like for the cold-hearted WLW who are just into it for the games, to play around. They claim they hate drama, and then they create their own — or maybe they don’t, they just want everything to be about them. They get bored of you and lose interest fast, flake out on meeting by just not making any fucking plans to see you, and you’re like…why is this worse than men??
Because it hurts more. There’s more sting involved. Women feel on a deeper level; we’re connected to each other more, or some celestial bullshit like that, and it’s a wonder they ever had girlfriends at all because they’re such players.
Why is it that I have to be the one who tries to beat her at her own game? Why must I jump through hoops to prove my fucking worth if I’m treated like crap again and again? She’s not Sleeping Beauty or Cinderella or Rapunzel or anyone from the patriarchal fairy tales about how love should be for young girls and grown women.
And then you fucking get mosted, defined by journalist Tracy Moore to the Huffington Post as “when someone goes overboard on the fluff job and then just vanishes. It’s not just someone being complimentary and flattering; it’s someone faking being totally smitten when they aren’t. It’s the worst of the love crimes in many ways, because a lot of people can act charming just for sex, but only a certain breed of total phony will cry love. Mosting is ghosting, but where before you ghost, you completely love bomb the person with praise, compliments and faux perfect soulmate-type stuff.”
They’re the type who say they keep their heart on their sleeve, and maybe you lie and say you don’t because you’re stubborn like that, but at the end of the day…you were both the liars. How can someone who would reduce a human’s worth by ignoring their existence/feelings actually wear their heart on their sleeve?
Straight ladies say they’ll give up men because men are difficult, but women are worse. We know we all have our own cray, but then you run into WLW who don’t want to put up with cray — even though they have their own, they expect you to just…exist without it, without any baggage, without the core pieces that make you yourself?
Because, again, WE ALL HAVE OUR OWN CRAY.
Why is there such a fear of intimacy? WOMEN ARE EMOTIONAL BEINGS, hardwired to develop SOME KIND OF EMOTIONAL CONNECTION to someone.
If you’re scared to commit or don’t actually want intimacy with someone, maybe stay off the fucking dating sites. Don’t put that you’re looking for a monogamous relationship in your profile. Don’t invite new people into your life until you figure out who you are — until you define yourself.
Because the moment you invite a woman into your life, she’s in it. It doesn’t matter HOW, doesn’t matter the label — she. is. in. your. LIFE. And even if you never intended to hurt anyone in this process, you already have.
If you wanted a heartless connection, you shouldn’t have sought out a hearty one.
Something magical happens when you learn who you are, what you like, how you want to be and where you want to go in life: You recognize you’re better than the person who mosts you, or ghosts you. You’ve the maturity to engage in difficult conversations with people. You do not hurt people in the wake of trying to figure out who you are.
Most importantly, even though it hurts, you know how to take care of yourself — eat ice cream, cry, drink more water than usual, focus on a newish project, express your emotions creatively — so you can continue being who you are, with all the uniqueness that follows, and better yourself for when the next prospective girlfriend enters your life. Or friend. Whomever.
‘Tis been about a month since that shit went down, a lil’ over, for me, and I’m doing good. 😌