“it’s as if he were cre­ated at the fac­tory just for the pur­pose of Lov­ing me ab­so­lutely and com­pletely.”

Cosmopolitan (Philippines) - - Love, Lust & Other Stuff -

with po­tato-chip crumbs, dog hair, loose peanut M&M’S, and other de­bris, but none of that mat­tered to Christo­pher. It’s as if he were cre­ated at the fac­tory just for the pur­pose of lov­ing me ab­so­lutely and com­pletely.

Be­cause I didn’t ac­cept my­self “as is” ear­lier in life, in or­der to reach Christo­pher, I had to trudge through a mine­field of ex­cep­tion­ally wrong peo­ple. I cringe to re­call Shawn, the menswear de­signer who of­fered to “edit” my closet and then pro­ceeded to throw away all my clothes ex­cept for a sin­gle pair of Levi’s 501 jeans and a navy blazer my dad mailed me one year for Christ­mas.

There was Mitch, with whom I couldn’t have sex be­cause he re­minded me of an in­sect but whom I none­the­less stalked on­line, pos­ing as hot guys who wanted him in or­der to catch him cheat­ing on me. And even though I cheated on him nu­mer­ous times, I did this “to see if I could still even have sex.” Thus, my own in­fi­delity was all in even then, I didn’t re­al­ize he was a douche?

But Den­nis was by far the long­est mis­take of my dat­ing life. Early on when I asked him bliss­fully, “Are you as happy as me?” and he replied, “No, not as happy as you,” I should have ended it. That bla­tant in­equal­ity of af­fec­tion re­ally doesn’t have the dura­bil­ity to last a life­time. But I stayed. I did more than stay; I in­sisted to my­self for years that he could come to love me. Es­pe­cially the ver­sion of me that would ap­pear once I im­proved and be­came more nor­mal.

I learned to dis­trust my in­stincts. This is the psy­cho­log­i­cal equiv­a­lent of stab­bing an olive fork into the flesh of your soul. After Den­nis, I never again turned away from my in­stincts.

Christo­pher had been there all along. Be­cause he’d al­ways been my lit­er­ary agent. No one knew me bet­ter when I was my true, ac­tual self—as op­posed to my con­trived “dat­ing” self— than Christo­pher. Sure, he was paid to en­dure me, but my in­stincts told me he Den­nis sev­eral months later and made it last 10 years longer than it ought to have. And then I blew up my world, and all the pieces fell onto Christo­pher’s desk.

I was a wreck. But I was no longer ca­pa­ble of bull­shit dat­ing stuff. With Christo­pher, I don’t put my “best foot for­ward” or turn on the charm. I do not hold in my stom­ach. My be­hav­ior is ex­treme, manic, con­fus­ing, and ir­re­spon­si­ble. Any other guy would have run out the door, hor­ri­fied, leav­ing me to fes­ter in the pit of my Whit­ney Hous­ton videos. But as Christo­pher tells me, “I knew how aw­ful you were when I mar­ried you. I love you!”

The parts about me I felt were de­fec­tive, he sees as es­sen­tial. What I con­sid­ered a flaw, he views as a charm­ing quirk. Am I crazy? Of course I am, but I’m ex­actly his brand of crazy. au­gusten Bur­roughs is the best-sell­ing au­thor of run­ning­with­scis­sors and the mem­oir, Lust&won­der.

Newspapers in English

Newspapers from Philippines

© PressReader. All rights reserved.