“You trying to be friends outside of this work shit?” was the question asked by my co-worker — my manager to be exact, but that’s neither here nor there. I could say that I was offended by that question, knowing what he meant by it. But I wasn’t. If anything, I was shocked. But I was also intrigued.
Angling his proposition, I responded with curiosity, “What you mean by friends outside of work?” I asked with a knowing smile. He smacked his lips as he exhaled the Black-and-Mild-rolled blunt smoke, “You know what I’m talking about.” And I did. I just wanted him to say it. After a few exchanged looks — coated in immediate attraction but disguised as innocent flirtation — the conversation progressed and ended with a mutual understanding between one another: we both wanted sex.
I knew that starting a sexual relationship with him was unethical and unprofessional, but caring about shit like that wasn’t a priority for me back then. Besides, the company and job description didn’t necessarily exude professionalism. Plus, I was fresh off the heels of a relationship, heartbroken, and willing to do what I needed to do to move on. I knew that, the old saying “Getting under someone to get over someone,” was the remedy for 24-year-old me.
We spent the entire summer together. We drank, we ate, had great sex, and traveled together. It was perfect for where I was at that moment in my life. However, what I didn’t prepare for was the unexpected, yet surprisingly settling, feelings that started to develop between us. Granted, because we had enjoyed one another’s company thus far, we didn’t bother to break something that didn’t need any fixing (which now, looking back, I know was a bit of a mistake). I’m not sure how it got to that point, but I remember when I realized that something more deeper than rap was happening.
Going into the situation with this person, I told myself that I wouldn’t take it seriously. Protecting my heart was all I cared about. As long as I remained selfish, I wouldn’t get hurt. What I had been through before this person was anything short of traumatic. I had my reasons for my self-inflicted boundaries when it came to men. I was determined to stick to the rules I set for approaching this specific relationship, no matter where it took me. After all, this was a fun fling in my eyes. I didn’t care to hold the traditional prompts of a romantic relationship on a pedestal. But the relationship snowballed into full-blown dating just a few short few weeks later, and it didn’t take long for me to realize that I had done precisely what I swore I would not do: fall for another man. Unbeknownst to him, he managed to sooth my jaded heart and bruised ego and fill it back up with the confidence that I had lost in my last love let down.
Things progressed between him and me. Essentially, I was back in a relationship. Whether this had been verbally established or not, we both knew it. I trusted him, though. A feeling that wasn’t ideal for someone who had just got their heart broken or someone with my history. It wasn’t a trust that was backed by fidelity or loyalty this time though. I didn’t want to give him that long of a rope. I trusted his word and his honesty that he guaranteed to always give me, which was all I required. Promises are meant to be broken, and although he wasn’t exempt from my hesitance when it came to trusting him, he was given a pass to show me something that I had yet to be proven wrong about. Something that I had lost along the way when it came to dating and love.
I don’t think that I began to notice the self-destruction that I was doing to myself until the fun stopped between us. And even then, I was so committed to me that I failed to consider him, or us for that matter. I began to project my insecurities when it came tomen and dating onto him. Although I told myself that I had my feelings under control, I didn’t. Mentally and emotionally, I wasn’t ready to jump into anything new, but I did, in hopes of healing the way I thought was constructive. Holding on tight to keep the promise I made with myself when we first met.
It wasn’t until the bad days between us that I saw him for who he was at that time in his own life. He was fresh off of heartbreak and loss, just like I was. He was going through a time in his life that required selfishness, just like me. That realization for both of us only brought on angst and a sense of urgency. We were both two emotionally unavailable people that skipped the healing process for the sake of moving forward.
Because we neglected ourselves, we both regressed and fell further into self-destruction. The leftover unattended pain that was caused before us began to seep out like poison ivy. And after a few months in comfort with one another, we both jumped back into bad habits. Sabotaging and self-serving our own needs in the name of survival of the fittest, with disappointment being the most feared result.
Disappointment breeds hurt, and that was something we both didn’t sign up for. Our commitment that we made with ourselves — shielding our hearts and keeping our guards up — prevented us from the possibilities and the healing that we both needed. I know now that during our time together, I didn’t practice self-love or self-care like I’d convinced myself that I had. I sped up my hurt in hopes of winning, and I denied myself the proper time and space to stop and heal. I don’t even think I knew what healing looked like back then. However, I did know that to “not lose” or be defeated in the art of love and war (as I had once been), I would just have to roll with it, a “California stop” if you will.
I associated sleeping with someone new as the cure-all that would silence the real pain. All that did was prolong the healing process. We both made a decision to roll with the punches (metaphorically) that we were throwing at each other. In reality, we both knew we had signed up for something we weren’t ready for, but we were willing to take the risk. The only results you get from self-neglect and improper care is more dismay
and self-inflicted bullshit. Naturally, that’s what happened. Our lust-filled fling snowballed into something we didn’t expect. What had begun as something to make us feel good on the surface level manifested into our mutual destruction. Two flawed and hurt people in search of a quick fix.
Our subconscious dysfunctional agreement made with one another was our bond. I could say that I regret that time in my life or that maybe I should have handled that situation differently, but I’d be lying if I did. During that time, I needed a reminder thatI was wanted and valued, even if it came with a price. I needed to know that I could find happiness, fun, and desirability again, even if temporary.
