Real stories about dating and relationships in New York City. Truth is more interesting than fiction.

“…at least as supportive as your bra”

...at least as supportive as your bra i am not a role model  I’ve been holding onto this tweet, by Ross Felix, aka @DatingRev, for over a week now.  I do that when I read things I like (and think I might want to write about).  I hold onto them until I have the time, or I’m properly inspired.

I’ve been holding on to this, waiting until I had the right words. I didn’t want to just ramble on about how much I’d like to find a guy who was supportive of me. Because, well, that’s an massive oversimplification.

I’ve had that guy. The one who was at least as supportive as my bra.  The one who believed in me and became my biggest cheerleader. And I know what’s it like to lose that. Sucks. Really sucks.

That’s not where my head is at, today, though.  I was sick for over a month.  And then I moved.  Into a smaller apartment (read=most of my furniture doesn’t work here because it’s too big).  And then, the “new” refrigerator broke so I’ve been living for days without one. And most of the apartment is full of unpacked boxes, while I try to figure out where I can hide everything, what’s going to charity, etc…

And I’m doing this all on my own. My dad is available, sure. But he’s better at emergency $ loans than the emotional stuff. He’ll call to ask how I’m doing, but I know he only wants to hear good news. Bad news just upsets him, and I feel like it’s my job to not upset him.  And it’s always been that way.

I have amazing friends, who’ve been great/helpful and going above and beyond. But I feel bad about relying on them as much as I do. There are limits to friendship, I guess.  And I think I’ve hit upon them, lately.

So it’s just me. Only me. Trying to get my life back in order. And wishing, more than is probably healthy, that I weren’t doing it alone. Because it really is too much for just one person.  Even one very strong person.

Anyway.  Ask me about this tomorrow, and I’m sure to regret writing it.  Or not.


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