23. heartaches
and gratitude
Over drinks on Thursday night and chai the next afternoon, I was suddenly privy to the heartaches and pains of dating in a modern world, courtesy of my friends. I have been out of the scene long and had nothing recent to contribute. But I had five wild years of dating before I settled down. And listening to them, my mind went places it hadn’t in all these days –
– back to those stories of my twenties. The anticipation of meeting someone new. The disappointment of no texts the next morning. The sudden ghosting. The uncertainty of the feelings after a date that went well. The sparks over calls and texts and the complete bummer when you meet them.
They were the best of times. They were the worst of times.
When I started going to therapy about 5 years ago, I quickly discovered that I was an addict. I was addicted to the rush of swiping on people, meeting them and to the heartbreak that followed. It was the instant gratification that came out of the validation I received from people who just wanted to sleep with me.
They flattered, complimented and showed love to the little girl inside me who grew up being told that she wasn’t pretty. And this attention that I received – almost unregulated from men on these apps – kept the dopamine flowing to my brain. Nothing soothed me better than meaningless conversations with men trying to get into my pants.
And low self-esteem is a great catalyst for irresponsible decisions.
I was drawn to the toxic men on these dating apps like a moth to the burning flame of my scented candle. I knew the heartbreak was coming, sooner than later. Even with the nicest of the people I met during my dating years, I had to refresh the delusion in my heart regularly to assure myself that they wouldn’t break my heart if I slipped up by chance.
I got broken up in the choicest of places – over brunch at my favourite restaurant, in bed, after a very thoughtful lunch, over a single text message (not Whatsapp message, TEXT on Android), over a call after two months of whirlwind dating, at an intimate music gig (right after which he kissed the photographer, my friend) and so many more.
I cradled these heartbreaks for a few days, using alcohol and marijuana to numb the pain and went straight back to the swiping – back to the instant gratification and the instant heartaches.
I often wonder, in retrospect, would things have been different if I had gone to therapy sooner? Would I have been calmer, and less prone to external validation and bad decisions if I had my (very cool) therapist telling me every week that I just needed to get through one more week without dating? Would I have saved myself anxiety attacks in office bathrooms and ugly crying on the back of auto-rickshaws?
In retrospect, it all seems so bleak. Those years are enveloped by a dark storm cloud that still makes my heart hurt for the younger version of me.
And it reminds me that even though this week has been one straight out of hell, at least, I am not heartbroken over some Tinder boy.
Until next time digging into my brain for more stories from my twenties,