Why Unavailable Men Are Like Unripe Avocados


Krissy Howard

Tonight I got dumped. Aaaaagain! Maybe not “officially” dumped as we weren’t “officially” girlfriend/boyfriend, but when you’re making pies for a dude and reminding one another that you’re thinking about each other when they’re not around…aaaaaand maybe on more than one occasion putting said dude’s body parts in your mouth, something is up. I don’t care how desensitized and over-sexualized we are, what with these damned kids doing the Snapchats on their whoo-sie-what’s-its!

This is the third guy in a row to give me the ol’ heave ho. And I’ll tell you it doesn’t get any easier; it’s not at all like riding a bike. As much as I want to be mad about it and call this dude an asshole, the truth is he was a really sweet guy who was super cute and aghhhhh GOD I’m never gonna find anyone, EVERRRR (flails around dramatically).

The problem with me is that my type is apparently “emotionally unavailable.” Unavailable men are kind of like trying to make guacamole with under-ripe avocados; they look like normal avocados, but they’re just gonna end up breaking your chips, MANG.

I’m not sure how I keep attracting these avocados. I feel like my chips do a LOT of work on themselves and they’re pretty decent chips! They’re funny and kind of cute most days. They understand they can’t just keep using avocados to make themselves feel better and they really did practice new behaviors this time but, seriously, fuck, I’m just really fucking hungry right now AND I REALLY DON’T WANT TO GO BACK TO SETTLING FOR SOME OFF-BRAND DORITOS.

The thing about the unavailable ones is not only can you not tell just by looking but more often than not you’re getting a shit ton of way mixed signals. They hold your face in their hands and stroke your hair while they kiss you and they tell you you’re beautiful and they tell you you’re beautiful AND THEY TELL YOU YOU’RE BEAUTIFUL, right when you need to hear it the most. And then they end up leaving, just as you’re starting to believe they might mean it.

Somewhere inside this whole time, as you’re learning to trust and let go and try all over again, some part of them remains unattached. I guess it just makes sense that it’s easier to jump when you don’t have that far to fall. It must make life SO EASY. It must be so easy to experience moments with other human people and just leave when the moment is over and be done. And not appreciate every little thing. And not look forward to every little thing. And not feel every single, awful little thing.

If I could learn to do that, I would in a second. Unfortunately, for me, I go all in way too easily. I trust and I try and I want to feel everything, and give everything, and take everything too, and I make mistakes and you see me cry and now the energy inside me that once felt electric now feels nuclear and I feel like the most fragile little flower on Earth.

It seems it would be so easy just to be the other guy.

It’s pretty embarrassing to admit, but I only dated this guy for a month. I realize this makes me sound like some insane lady-from-Fatal Attraction-type person, but just stop being judgmental. I’m learning the hard way that when you don’t allow yourself to grieve your last relationship because you’re too hell-bent on being pissed the fuck off about how it ended, that all that shit will come back to be felt in due time.

And if I may just be gentle on myself for a moment, it doesn’t matter how long you tried; when you give your heart, or even just a small piece of it, away to someone, and that person isn’t gentle enough or ready enough to take what you’re willing to give, that little bit can still break, no matter how small the piece, or how short the amount of time.

Sadness is a heavyweight. Grief and longing, regret, and that tiny sliver of hope you get when you notice you have a new message only to realize it’s not him (again) all pile atop one another, and we pull it around as we keep showing up for our work and our friends and our art and ourselves.

Sometimes the weight gets so heavy I think I can feel every nerve. But then I’m like, that’s impossible if you could feel every nerve you would be dead by going crazy from feeling all your nerves, or some scientific shit.

So for right now, my bed feels a little too big, and I probably won’t stop to take as many photos of the flowers in bloom. I know this feeling won’t last forever, as nothing possibly could, and until then I’ll be in my room listening to the same songs that got me through this when I was 16.

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