After mediating to clear my mind, I sat down with pen and paper, determined to answer the question “why did I do it”? Why did I hang out with that guy all night on Saturday.
I wrote and wrote through knotted explanations, hoping that if I explored without judgement, only with curiosity, that I would get to the truth. And I did. A dirty truth that I hate to admit. One I was too scared to admit to anyone, much less on a blog for all to see.
I wanted validation. I wanted to prove that he could like me. I wanted to prove that “a guy like him” - one I put on a pedestal to be cool, just like I did with Chap - would like me. I wanted to prove I could get him, and that’s how I was with Chap. So infatuated with the idea of him that I overlooked obvious egregious crazy person violations of normal dating code.
I needed to prove myself worthy. I wanted his validation to feel worthy. Worthy of someone who I deemed better that myself. But he wasn’t . His validation doesn’t count! Chap’s validation never counted. Not him, or him, nor him my boss, or him at at the bar, not her who pretended to be a friend, nor her who claimed to be genuine but was judging the whole time. Their validation doesn’t count.
And I know this. I know this. But I forgot. Or I didn’t “know it know it” in the recesses of my heart. Because I decided to do it. Next time I hope I remember - because no matter what I do, who I date, how long it lasts, his validation doesn’t count. Mine does.
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