As is the case with most people who continuously seek out people who are not exactly good for them, I have experienced a lot of breakups. Some were civil, most were not, but all taught me the same lesson I’ve hated learning over and over and over: being single is difficult. Being single is not really my “thing,” per se, and as much as I have wanted to change that, it’s just not something that has gone away.
Throughout college, I bounced from relationship to relationship, never really stopping to catch my breath. A lot of this resulted from insecurities regarding safety, loneliness and anxiety, but it was also because I felt that if I didn’t use every opportunity I had to get to know people I liked, I would somehow miss out on the perfect relationship (because, yeah, I believed there was such a thing). I’ve always been a “people person,” and while that translated to making a lot of amazing friends, a few extremely close confidants and having a pretty decent social life, it also led me to wanting to date new people whom I found particularly fascinating.
Because of my draw towards new, fantastic romances — as well as being drawn back toward the ones I found so wonderful in the past — I wound up in a lot of long-term relationships. I wish I could explain just how ridiculously I bounced between relationships, but then I would have to use names or very specific situational details, and I’m friends with some of these fellahs (most of whom, I have a feeling, would get sassy at me if I did). Suffice to say, my single days were few and far between. This may sound like bragging, but believe me, if you saw some of the shambles these relationships were built out of, you’d realize that I am not exactly proud of continuously choosing the route I did
But it was a choice. I chose not to be single after each subsequent breakup; it wasn’t just happenstance. And sometimes, it was a choice with very bad consequences.