I needed to stop for a vape. That was the driving force, the prominent thought. It was 10 pm. I was driving back to my flat, and needed to find a garage. See, I had just left my boyfriend’s… ex-boyfriend’s house after having the unique experience of asking someone if they didn’t like me anymore and hearing them say yes. You could say I was feeling a tad dissociative and numb. I just kept on skipping from song to song to podcast to silence. In that car, on the M7, I remember feeling so far away from the present, so far back in my head that I had no peripheral vision. I just stared at the road ahead through two portholes. And look, I know, I know, I’m being dramatic. Breakups happen, right? But I can’t help but wonder why he had to introduce me to his parents first…
The first date was in Keogh’s cafe. Morale and enthusiasm were running low on my end. I spent the walk there convincing myself that this wouldn’t be that bad, that it wouldn’t have to take too long if I wasn’t into it. I had zero confidence that I would be into it. That morning, he had informed me that despite the long hair in all of his Hinge photos, he was actually rocking a buzz cut now. Fine enough, at least I knew he could grow it. He said that he now looked like Ewan McGregor in Trainspotting (For any lads reading, I’ll just say right now that you probably shouldn’t compare yourself to a heroin addict, especially over text…before the first date). Despite this, I do remember, upon first sighting, thinking how weird it was that he was better looking in person. He had nice clothes, he was tall, he had a light culchie accent and he could, in fairness to him, rock a buzzcut. It does not often happen that they are more attractive in person.
See, I had thrown myself into this date to get over being a silly girl crushing on a careless guy. I hadn’t gone on a date in three months, and I got a panic on this date that I was not used to. I was so worried I was being chatty in a way that made him feel overwhelmed rather than comfortable. I went down to the bathroom an hour in to touch base with myself (that’s where I was at personally). I hadn’t been nervous like this on a date since the first date I went on all the way back in January. And girls, look, I’ll be honest, I had to cut it short, I was spiralling. I was down in that bathroom stall asking myself important questions like ‘Am I the worst person ever?’ and ‘Why am I like this?’ It was not a good look for me.
I decided I would drop in on a friend at work to simply rant, word vomit, and shake, etc. (one of the benefits of having friends in hospitality), and as he was heading off to the record shop, he walked with me to the restaurant. I do remember that as we headed away from Keogh’s, he walked slightly ahead of me and asked if I could check if he had sweat patches on the ass of his jeans. This man asked if he was serving swamp arse and I thought oh my god he’s just like me for real. It made me giggle, and I also liked how comfortable he was asking something like that.
When I got into the restaurant, I stress-talked at my friend (she is used to this). I described the date and said I wasn’t sure about it. She said I wasn’t saying anything negative. If anything, I was actually saying positives with a ‘but like idk’ to punctuate the sentence. I mean, the first date was a mixed bag. On the one hand, I was like Oh wait, cute maybe, but on the other hand, on a physical level, it was triggering my fight or flight response—so there’s that.
After a good rant to my friend, I headed off home, and a few hours after the date I got a little text to say that a certain person had had a good time and wanted to see if I got home safe (ladies, it was 3 pm. Like femicide is real, but also come on now). I felt very weird, as I often do after a date. It took a little bit more chatting through the date with my friends before I was ready to text back. It’s funny that a move like that could’ve made me look aloof or laid back to him (little does he know, eh).
And just like that, another date was planned. I couldn’t think of a reason to say no (the foundations of a great love story, ladies and gentlemen). In all seriousness, my brain hasn’t really given me reason to trust it, in relation to romance at least. The only people I felt certain about weren’t so kind to me. I wasn’t sure about him, but maybe, in a weird way, that was a good thing.
For the planning of the second date, I was met with green flags all around. He asked me about dietary restrictions, and I got a choice of cuisine and everything. Oddly enough, I don't really have a great memory of the date. He paid for everything (I do remember that). We chit-chatted. I felt like a fancy lady. A few of the highlights for you all; the revelation that he had the ‘coriander tastes like soap’ gene (the kind of thing you want to know before you choose indian of all the given cuisine options), worrying whether it would be okay to vape while he walked me to the bus, the mix of relief and mild disgust when he pulled out his snus, the brief hug before I tapped onto the bus. I came away, once again, with a weird sense of uncertainty. We hadn’t even kissed at this point. There was conversation…but was it stilted? All of it was so cute…but was it too much? The good seemed to outweigh the bad again, so it was time for a third date (I have a new appreciation for romance writers, I’ll tell you that much).
The third date was my turn to plan. I found a board game cafe because, seemingly, I had learned a total of zero lessons from my time dating (See January arcade date). I suggested either that or a movie night at mine. I was being bold and brave, and I also hadn’t been on a whole lot of third dates (I’d literally been on one), so I had feck all ideas for third date activities. He suggested we could do the cafe and then the movie. And boy was I glad. I don’t know if I could’ve taken another man rejecting an invitation into my home. That would’ve led to a pretty extreme downward spiral on my part, methinks.
We went to the cafe. He was looking intently at the board game, and I was looking intently at the 0.0% on the back of my beer. Board games and alcohol-free beers. This is the kind of establishment that would inspire The Good Place. It was good fun…ish. Look, I am, to my core, a yapper. I do not need something to fill the silence. No arcade games, or puzzles or bowling or pool. Less of that now. Down with that sort of thing. I just wanted to talk and see if that felt natural. How weird are dating activities, though? Let’s go and do a thing we’d never do in our normal lives to see if we would be compatible as a couple when we return to said normal lives. In my humble opinion, adults play mini golf for two reasons: as a second date, and as a last-ditch effort to prove to themselves that they can still do ‘fun’ dates.
We finished off with our board game and headed back to mine. We sat simply cuddling for at least an hour and a half, watching The Other Zoey. It was cute and ridiculous, and it felt like I was subjecting him to this to test his patience. Thankfully, it seemed as though he was fairly into me, so he didn’t seem to mind.
For anyone out there who is like me and feeling grossly behind their peers in this area, let me say this. Leaning into him on the couch felt terrifying. The long-awaited kiss at the end of the film felt terrifying. I am twenty-three, and I was petrified. But in those moments, I realised something. I was leaning in, pretending this was normal, that it was something I was used to, and so was he. He may have had more experience, but it wasn’t with me, so it could only help him so much. From my limited experience, I would say that when it comes to sex and romance, everybody is on a ‘fake it till you make it’ buzz. It’s one of those things where I probably knew that before, but I couldn’t ever actually believe it because I was so mortified by my own inexperience.
Honestly, for a lot of the back half of that date, I was so distracted by the fact that I was doing all the cuddling and making out that I couldn’t really be in the moment and know whether I was enjoying it or not. I was so embarrassed that I hadn’t done this thing for so long, and all of a sudden, I was doing it. Was this it? Was I feeling the right things? And of course, did I like him? That was a terrifying thought. At one point in our conversation, he said the words ‘you could be a model.’ He was so earnest when he said that. Could I be with someone this earnest?
The following day, I was just going back and forth, so unsure of what I wanted to do. I spent, I would say, the guts of a day, just mulling it over at work.
And then all of a sudden…
I’d invited him over to mine
…
The very next day.
…
Girlies, I cannot account for the above actions. I don’t know what came over me. It’s almost like my body decided for me because it knew that if I didn’t choose one way or the other, I’d be stuck in decision paralysis forever. I was just freaking out and my body was like ah sure fuck it, or better yet…fuck him (sorry dad).
I sent the text and then immediately felt nervous all over again. If he rejected this, I actually would have had to throw myself into the nearest body of water (a canal, for those wondering, so I’d probably just land myself with a nasty infection if anything), but he didn’t. He just popped over to my house a day later, and we started watching The Boys of all things (my suggestion, let it be known).
On that day, I lost my V-card. Yeah, that’s right, I lost my V-card in a flat that I myself was paying the rent on…pretty cool if you ask me (If you are picking up on the fact that I’m kinda sorta ripping off a Taylor Tomlinson bit, well how about you shut your whore mouth, perchance). I remember hearing that bit for the first time and being like Oh my god, that will be me, and if I get to relate to Taylor Tomlinson, well, things aren’t so bad. I told him this (about the V-card stuff, not the Taylor Tomlinson stuff, that’s just for me and the blog readers), and he was really sweet about it. He asked me if it was my first time with a guy, insinuating that I hadn’t had hetero sex because I had been with girls, and I just nodded because technically I wasn’t lying by agreeing.
Unfortunately, I have nothing miraculous to say about this. It appears that the only thing you really get from your first time is, hopefully a fun new activity and the clarity that having had this experience didn’t make you feel any different than before.
From that point on, we were basically official. In fact, he asked me out in bed (not on the same night, don’t worry). He just slipped girlfriend into conversation one evening. Of course I made him then properly ask me. If I’m doing a relationship, I want it with all the bells and whistles dammit. Lying there in bed, he put his hands together to open an imaginary engagement ring box, and asked me to be his girlfriend. I said yes, and that was that.
All of a sudden, I had this boy in my bed a couple nights a week, and I had this person I could text about every stupid thing that came into my head. Of course, it felt great. It’s the early days of romance in my first relationship. It’s all perfect. The exhilaration of choosing someone and them choosing you back really cannot be understated. It’s almost unnatural to talk about. Like, I can’t find all those cute examples of a happy relationship to share. I was really over the moon, but I can’t access those memories so easily. I suppose the brain doesn’t seem to hold on to happy memories so well. Unfortunately, happy memories teach us nothing about what to avoid in life. This is fairly widely known, but it’s a weird concept to come into contact with in your actual life.
I do think we hold the memory of comfort and safety in our bones, though. It seems to be the part I can recall best. The snuggling and cuddling and all those phrases that sound like they were made up by marketing teams, especially for Valentine’s cards. I don’t even really understand why it feels safe to be in the arms of someone you don’t actually know all that well. Is it something we decide along the way? This person will be someone I trust.
One thing that stands out to me is that when we would watch TV he would kiss my head or arm or hand randomly just because he could. I was embarrassed by this at first, worried I wasn’t doing it back enough. However, I realised that it wasn’t really about that. It wasn’t an exchange, it wasn’t about owing each other something. It was just a little gesture, as we watched skulls being crushed, and dicks exploding (honestly The Boys is a perfect couple watch in my eyes), to remind me that he was happy to be there, that he liked me, that he was content.
I remember things going kind of wrong around month three, or maybe a little after. Everything felt pretty cute and a little surreal until then. He brought me flowers and chocolates when we went out a couple days after my graduation. I would send him my night out outfits and he would give me little compliments. I’d walk him out to his car, kiss him goodbye, and be excited to see him the next time we met up, even though it would only be a couple of days from then. One night, he went out with his work friends and was texting me that he wished I were out with him all night. On the walk home he called me and told me he loved me over and over. At some point on his walk back to mine, we realised that he, in his drunken state, had gotten lost. Eventually, I also realised that he had walked two hours in the wrong direction and I would have to drive to collect him. I brought my friend with me, and we blared some Gracie Abrams in the car. The experience was all quite novel to me, honestly. By the time we picked him up, he was a bit down. I imagine the embarrassment of the situation had set in. I comforted him as we fell asleep that night. It was certainly a weird evening. Although he had been reckless and melancholic, I felt grateful to have someone who couldn’t help but think of me when he was out and having fun. That just wasn’t the norm for me. However, I should’ve seen a pattern, I suppose. Later, on a night out, he plotted out with my friend how he would tell me he loved me. It’s hard to know if drink makes one unable to deny true feelings, or just more interested in feeling big feelings, generally.
I said I loved him when we were lying in bed one evening. Just lying there it felt like I couldn’t not say it. He had quite an adverse response. He wanted to know how I was sure. He gave me reasons why I wasn’t sure. He seemed generally uncomfortable. We didn’t really discuss it further that night. We went to sleep, and he stayed firmly on his side of the bed. I was sick with stress the next day at work. Eventually, I broke and called him. He said he felt trapped, that he didn’t hug me because he wanted me to get a good night’s sleep (and I’m not saying he was lying, I’m just saying that if you can’t see the juxtaposition between those two points, you’re fucking blind). Naturally, I reassured him that we didn’t have to move so fast. He didn’t need to say it back…and we were okay again. Although ‘again’ feels a little inaccurate. This was new territory. I think we had both learned something new about each other. Something had fundamentally shifted.
There was also another issue that kept cropping up more and more from that point. He was…tired. A lot. And when he was tired, he was less affectionate and less communicative. The weekend would start with him delighted to see me and end with him nearly nonverbal. I couldn’t help but take it personally. One weekend I said my IBS was quite bad (I was still unable to shit in front of the boy) and he said oh I can just go home, instead of spending the night together. I guess that would’ve been fine if he were very chatty during the day. He seemed to have run out of steam awfully quickly that weekend.
I remember asking him if he wanted to go for drinks with my friends. My friend’s girlfriend was going to be over. He had the whole week off. I figured he wouldn’t be tired, that it would be nice to bring him along. Seemingly, I was mistaken. He just said something along the lines of ‘no thanks if that's okay’ (never ever have I seen ‘if that’s okay’ used in sincerity). I called him once again to see what was up. Same old thing, of course. He was just tired. I suggested he go to the doctor because this had been going on for so long. He also pointed out that we would be seeing each other the following day anyway. There wasn’t much I could do…but stress, of course (I am always able for that, it seems).
On the aforementioned Friday, I went over to his. This was a big deal. See, when I first met him, his house was being done up and was in a state of perpetual disarray. He also lived fairly far away with his parents, so we spent all of our time in my flat. You might think that that was him keeping me away, and believe me, the thought has crossed my mind, and maybe it was in the back of his. But rightly or wrongly, I truly don’t think it was his intent. At least, this is how I see it.
His house was a half-hour drive from work, and an hour from mine. When I got there, he didn’t offer a hug or a kiss. I didn’t get a tour, really (and I love house tours). I don’t know what I was expecting. There was a dog on the floor with cataracts in its eyes and hair falling out by the handful. He would limp over, looking for attention…well, not so much looking for as sniffing for (again, the cataracts were really quite bad). There was a cupboard in the kitchen turned inexplicably toward the wall. What set of events would cause that? Why would the cupboard be pushed against the wall but not turned around? Like, yes, it’s out of the way, but the unpainted side of the cupboard is on show. Is it to show that the cupboard is unwanted in the kitchen space? Is it a segregation thing? Am I losing the run of this story…
He brought me down to his room. I learned on that day that the boy I had been seeing for four months slept with a thick, rough throw rather than a duvet. He was living like the lads from the fucking Banshees of Inisherin and I was none the wiser. I felt betrayed (not dramatic at all). The sheet was exposed, vulnerable even. There’s no way to make a fitted sheet with no duvet look respectable. I sat on the bed and he sat on the chair. He offered me tea, and then was quick to pull out the phone and order our dinner. Making the call, he seemed a little restless. We drove to the nearest town to pick up the food and I waited in the car as he picked it up. When we got back to the house, his parents were in the kitchen. I’m not sure what meeting your boyfriend’s parents is supposed to feel like. I wasn’t really stressed at all about it. With this situation, I just felt like, they’re just people and I can hold a conversation. Complete rational thinking…I don’t understand my brain either.
We then went back into his room, I got into my pyjamas, and we lay in his bed. I tried to cuddle him, and he was not so receptive to this (it’s amazing how many signs you can miss when you’re specifically trying to ignore them, eh). This time around, he chose the show. Rookie mistake, I’ll know better next time. He chose Dexter, of all things. Now, I have some minor regrets about that relationship. The main one is that I sat through not one but five fucking episodes of that god-forsaken show. That show must not have had a woman at any level of production because no woman would allow TV to be that dull or idiotic. If you want a murder mystery with no mystery, this is the show for you. If you want a mildly incestuous brother-sister relationship, well, you are in for a treat. If you want to not empathise with a single character, then you’re going to love this shit.
…but anyway.
Eventually, I asked him if he had gone to see the doctor like I had suggested. He sniggered and said no. At that point I kind of gave up on trying to cuddle and pretend anything about the day had been normal. He asked if I wanted to watch a sixth episode of Dexter. Proud to say that I declined this enticing offer. I asked him if he ever thought he would actually go to the doctor, and he said no. This much I knew, I just wanted to hear it from him. The doctor was evidently a last resort. You had to be sure you were dying before you got to booking that appointment, apparently.
At that point, I had to just come out and say it. ‘I just feel like you’re not being very affectionate with me.’ He then held my hand, really putting himself out there. I was, of course, only weirded out by this move. There was no more avoiding this conversation. I said, ‘You’re acting like you don’t even like me anymore.’ This made him pause. Eventually, he said, ‘I just don’t think we’re very compatible,’ and this made me pause. He explained how when he gets tired after a day, it seems like I can just keep going. I didn’t really understand what he meant. I mean, we didn’t go out socialising really ever. We watched TV and ordered food. If that tires you out, I don’t think you have a body and mind compatible with life itself. You see, blog readers, I (in his words, of course) was…boisterous…
Now I just want it on record that no word has made me want to end it all more in my life. This phrase is what I come back to most often. I imagine it’ll be the part of our relationship I remember when I lose everything else. When I thought about this afterwards, I just had to assume that he was a science student, that he just didn’t know the weight of words. However, I’ve asked other science students and they all think it’s a wild choice. Boisterous is a word for puppies and twelve-year-old boys with ADHD, not girls who want to talk to their boyfriends past 7 pm. He asked me if I thought we were compatible. This appeared to be his attempt to get me on side. He revealed that he believed spending time with me over the past few months had added to his fatigue.
He said all this shit and I immediately jumped to the ‘well we can just chill it out for a bit’ like a clown. I didn’t really know what else to say. He made it clear that that was not an option. The first kind thing he did that evening. I turned away and he put his arm over me and said, ‘I hate to see you so upset,’ which would’ve been nice if he hadn’t caused the sadness in the first place. I did go ahead and pull the hand away. I had to ask at this juncture why the fuck I was in the country side in Kildare an hour away from my house past 10 pm for this conversation. He revealed that he hadn’t planned to do it this night. He had been consulted (by someone more stupid than he is, clearly) that he should wait until after I go to his house and meet his parents, as it would just be easier that way.
At some point during this encounter, he got up and left, and I got a text from my mum. ‘How’s it going, meeting the Fockers?’ Imagine her surprise when I text back, ‘not so well, I’m pretty sure he’s breaking up with me.’ She called me, and I went to his bathroom and stood there for about fifteen minutes talking it through with her. My biggest issue was whether I could leave. Would it be so weird to leave and have to see his parents? Could I even face them? My mum made the valid point that it was more embarrassing for him, and that whether his mum ever told him this or not, she was most likely going to be very disappointed in him.
After standing there for a while with just a wall between us, I finally ventured back into the room. I got my bag because I was being brave and going home. He offered to let me sleep in his room, and he would sleep somewhere else. I said verbatim, ‘I’d rather kill myself’. He then pointed out that at least I wouldn’t have to run into him really at all (I’m 99% sure he wasn’t a narcissist, but that one line had me questioning that). I then got out of my pyjamas. He left the room, which just doesn’t feel like the respectful thing to do when we both know he was actually inside of me only last week (again, sorry dad). When I went out to my car, he said, if it’s the last thing you say to me, just let me know you got home safe. There was no hug or sorry, or anything. I just got in my car and left.
And so there I was, on the M7 just lookin’ for a place to buy a vape. That’s what needed to happen. I pulled in and picked up two vapes (there was a request made by the roommate for a second to be bought). It was only as I left that I realised where I was. It was that same garage where I had crashed my car while drinking a can of Coke. That same garage where I told January—the boy that started it all—that I was going to have to rain-check our date because I had totalled my car and was missing part of my tooth. It’s not lost on me that I was also kind of broken up with when I eventually went on that third date as well. Look, I’m not entirely sure of what the meaning of it is, or if there’s meaning to it at all, but at the very least, I do appreciate a call-back. When I got home, I texted him to let him know I got home safe, as he had instructed me to do. He texted back, ‘Glad to hear it, goodnight Aisling,’ and as of today, we have not spoken a word to one another.
At this point, we’ve been apart for longer than we were ever together. And with distance, I can now admit that he was right. We weren’t actually compatible. My brother did point this out right after the breakup. He might not have the best timing, but he was observant. I can now see that sometimes we would just run out of things to say to each other. We didn’t have all that much in common. I would see him go on his phone sometimes when my friends were talking, and I’m sure I did things he didn’t like.
In truth, I think I was afraid to walk away from this relationship. I finally had someone and it was too scary to just walk away from that, even when I knew deep down it wasn’t right. My brother did say another insightful thing, actually. He said that with your first relationship, you just never expect it to end, so when it starts to go downhill, you can’t help but try desperately to salvage it. But with future relationships, you’ll know better, and maybe you’ll be able to walk away when it’s not working.