Tag Archives: insecurities

Romanian Libra and Early Dad Bod

Today I bought some pants. And I am very tall, requiring a 36” inseam which I’m pretty sure doesn’t exist in retail anymore, so I settle for 34”.  I’m also very thin, or… at least I thought I was.  I remember 3-4 years ago (aka the last time I was in a relationship) I was a trim 29/30 waist in mens.  28 depending on the store.  Today I bought pants and I left with a 31.

Okay, okay, not a HUGE difference, but I tried on the 30s and I felt like my gut was spilling over. They felt snug on my hips, and made my legs look fab, but oi.  My belly.

Now I’m officially convinced that I’m on the fast track to fatherhood… SANS CHILD! You heard me.  Dad bod.

I’m definitely being over-dramatic, but I’m 23 and basically ready to dump all my cute threads for sweatpants and hoodies (the latter of which I bought 3 of today).

And this is where the Romanian Libra comes in. He comes in other varieties—the Chinese Fabio, the African sugar daddy, the Maritime stalker (he started off good!!), the Italian stalker (actual stalker), and the Ukrainian big fat question mark—but the Romanian Libra stands out as my biggest relationship regret so I’ll use him. (Also I’m a Gemini so we were pretty much meant to be until I blew it.)

Anyways, 2 and a half years ago I met a Romanian boy online named Cristian. His picture was plain looking with a touch of scholarly—perfect for me!  Not too intimidating but not too boring.  Yet when we met in person I could see that his photo was a little gratuitous.

He wasn’t ugly, by any means. But he didn’t really encompass a “type”, if you will.  I felt ashamed of myself for thinking of him in such a way, especially when one of the first things he said to me was he was glad I didn’t walk out on him like other guys have after first meeting him.  Somehow he caught me there.  It’s like there was a switch that flicked on and I had to have him.  Normally I cringe when men are self-loathing (y’know, like me) but Cristian was so sincere.  He wasn’t looking for pity.  He was just happy I gave him a chance and he told me so.

He became increasingly attractive to me as I got to know him. He was older than I, but incredibly inexperienced.  He was shy and modest and I tried to be gregarious enough for the both of us.  I was playful and eager and innocent.  I felt innocent with him and it was so special.  It was our first date and it was probably the most memorable first date I’d ever had.  I asked him if it would be alright for me to kiss him when he took me back to my place.  And it was.  And he was awful kisser but he was an amazing kisser.  I feel warm just thinking about it.

The next time we hung out I invited him over to my place to watch a movie (no, not Netflix and chill). He was dressed so… drab.  And it occurred to me that he was pretty drab on our first date too.  And both dates I was dolled up in my tightest jeans and my cutest sweaters!  And it wasn’t until today that I really thought of myself as having looked “cute” in clothes.  But I was.  I was thin and nice clothes fit me so I bought them and I wore them.  And now today I look at myself in my size 31s with a gut on the verge and I miss my Romanian Libra so very much.  Because with him I was cute, and I was confident.  And today I am not.


Quiet homebody seeks LTR

About Me:

ASL?  23, male, my apartment (indefinitely)

I find myself wishing I had the nerve to pursue the dating game again.  I’ve been randomly browsing dating websites and finding myself yearning to reach through my screen to pull the geekiest, kindest looking boys right into my living room.  (Which makes me realize how much my idea of an ideal boyfriend has changed over the years)

Of course I still like a bad boy with a bod as much as anyone else, but I think I’ve come to realize that I would never be able to feel totally at ease with someone who’s going to put in the effort it takes to look like the douche that everybody envies when I’m purely running on youthful metabolism at this time (and hopefully for a long time!)

I get told time and time again that I’m “literally beautiful” “one of the best looking people [I] know” “like model pretty”.  I’ve been approached to do modeling 4 or 5 times (once was local alternative, once was a small artsy/modern kinda business, once by a Holt Renfrew rep., and a couple times online by people wanting me to do a few local runways for their aspiring fashion lines).  And I’m humble enough about this that I either reject or ignore every offer.

Beauty is honestly, truly, skin deep.  I don’t feel beautiful at all.  I don’t feel worthwhile at all.

I have a very long, slender, thin frame.  One of the things I love most about my body is my tiny waist and beautiful bone structure.  I have broad shoulders, my limbs are long, my cheekbones out of this world, but slathered all over it is this skin that I writhe under.  And that’s not to say I have bad skin, I just… I sometimes feel like I am a fat skinny person.  Like everyone who sees me sees all the things I would love about myself, but underneath my clothes I see the things that deter me (am I being literal or metaphorical?).  My chest for starters–inherited via my father, and his father before him.  The largest point of contention in my life.  I have never stood proud, shoulders back.  I have never taken my shirt off since beginning puberty.

Especially now that I live alone, this affects my life daily.  Trying to find clothes to wear that make me feel comfortable enough to brave going outside can be an hour long process.  Sometimes longer.  Sometimes I decide not to go out at all.  Even buying groceries is hard for me.  I have a lot of anxiety about people seeing me.  I’ve spent so much of my life stocking up on carbs and snack foods, frozen foods, foods with artificial ingredients and a longer shelf life.  Why?  Because it allows me to stay home for longer.  My skin feels like elastic and I’ve never had a lean tight body.  I feed myself garbage, how could I expect to have that body?  I am the skinny fat person, for as long as my metabolism allows.

I pick apart every little thing about myself and use it as fuel for being alone.  My breath reeks–cryptic tonsils.  I have awful sebaceous dermatitis–my hair gets so waxy if I’m not diligent and I shed skin cells from my scalp like my cats shed in the spring.  My teeth could be whiter, my nose could be more elegant (and it runs a lot because I broke it in kindergarten, which also makes me a mouth breather, yuck), my eyebrows never quite look like they belong.

Even non-physical things.

My mom still does my banking–I’m not frivolous I just don’t know anything about finances.  I’m pretty lazy when it comes to doing laundry.  My cats are welcome to walk, sit, or lay wherever they please (counter tops and dining tables included).  I am incredibly habitual and follow a daily routine, anything out of the ordinary is indelibly stressful.  If you’re with me for the long haul you better be prepared to re-watch my favourite movies and replay my favourite video games on a yearly (or so) basis.  I’m pretty ambitionless and am rarely motivated to do anything other than sit on my ass (my version of “homebody” for all you online dating folks).  I like to think I’d be into adventures and cute dates of laser tag or skating or going to the movies or walking through the park, but I’ll probably wind up passing because it’s too hot to wear a sweater to blanket my insecurities within.

Oh yea, and if we eat too close to bed time or I haven’t had a number 2 in a while (also thanks to my dad’s genetics), you can forget about cuddling with me much less doing ANYTHING ELSE.

So if any of this makes me your idea of a perfect partner, hit me up!

Something of a realization.

Tomorrow will have been one year since I came back to the city.

I thought I would be a different person by now–a better person.  I thought that I would find peace with myself, be happy with the kind of life that I lead, make friends and be outgoing, maybe even have someone new who could love me the way I have known myself to love.  I thought this year would be different; not that I’ve invested a lot it making it that way.

I know I have changed in some respects, and maybe I am a lot more outgoing because of working at Starbucks, but whatever self-affirmation I carry myself with in front of a stranger is something I know all too intimately to not be true at all.

I do not love myself.

It’s something I have always known, but the weight that this understanding bears becomes more and more significant with every passing memory.  I indulge far too much in what I hate about myself, and I acknowledge far too often the reasons I will never see myself fit enough to truly be loved by myself, much less someone else.

The other day a friend jokingly told me in passing that no one would ever want to date me… and it was then that I knew there really was no façade.  I wasn’t fooling anybody.  I’m not worth the attention and the love from someone who has learned to embrace their own faults and love themselves first and foremost.  I am not capable of sustaining myself and appreciating my means of doing so.

I find myself to be useless.  Unattractive.  Incapable.  Unlovable…

And so I finally deleted all of my online dating profiles.  What is the point of having them, really?  Finding someone to acknowledge me has consumed me this past year.  And only once every few months I actually go on a date with someone.  Every other one of those dates I meet someone I generally regard myself to be interested in.  And after the first, sometimes the second date, I become sad and insecure and never talk to them again.

And all the time in between?  I observe other’s profiles and picture what my life with them would be like.  I look at their pictures and read about them and insert them into memories of my ex.  Because they are memories I don’t want to change.  They are memories I want to relive.  And ultimately it doesn’t matter what any of these men have to offer, because I only want them to offer one thing.  I want them to offer me my past.

That is disgusting.  I am disgusted with myself, and it is over.  I am willfully choosing to be alone, like the way it should be.  If I can do one thing good for myself, it will be this.  To be alone by my own volition, and spare myself the agony of feeling abandoned by anybody else.  I am so sad.

Monday, July 30th

Dear xxxxx,

It has been however long now since we’ve spoken intimately.  In this time, I have been selfish, angry, naïve, bitter; myself.

My attitude towards everything you are has been the same as it’s always been–afraid to commit to what you are.  Afraid to see you as either an amazing guy, or an inconsiderate one.  I’ve always spent so much time jumbling my opinions of you and blaming you for it, that I’ve spent far too little seeing you for who you are.

I have had a lot of time to think and grow up since I last saw you, and I mean that.  I have come to see that in light of everything I feel you’d done wrong in our relationship, that I am the one that actually failed you.  I am the one that was insecure enough in myself to take the beautiful opportunity I had with you and turn it all circumstantial.  I couldn’t accept things as you offered them.  I couldn’t trust your word, and your heart, and your feelings.

But worse yet, I was so selfish in seeing how you were not giving me everything you could have, when I was doing the exact same thing.

I really see you in a much clearer light now, I feel.  Your actions, and your insecurities.  I see now that, between your work, and your friends, and your family, and myself, and all of our expectations for you, you still made the time and effort to be with me, and give me a part of who you are.  I never saw that.  I never saw how overwhelmed and scared you might have been, and I never saw how committed to me you really were, and how you gave me everything you could.

I never saw how you made sure we went to bed together every night with an I love you and all problems resolved.  I never saw how you wouldn’t let anything finish with me being angry.  I never saw the tears you shed, and the feelings you shared, and the love you gave.  I never felt your warmth, or your happiness.  I never gave you a chance.  I couldn’t see anything aside from how I was just your secret.  That’s all I ever saw myself as—your secret, and your shame.

Of all the regrets I thought I’d had, this one is my deepest.  My deepest regret is allowing myself to live each day with you and spend each night with you questioning everything you gave me and wondering if I’d made a mistake with you.

I promise you, that if you’ll let me, I will be what you really need.  I will be patient, and understanding; I will be your friend.  I promise to never go to bed at night again, or spend another second with you, wondering if the love you had to offer was real.  I feel what it was now.  I know you loved me.

I never gave us a chance, and even though it may be too late now, I am ready.  I am ready to grow up and find myself, and discover life.  I am ready to be what you need.  I am ready to be your friend and I am ready to show you what love really is back.  I am ready to be a part of your life, wherever you are ready to have me.  I am ready to truly let you into my life too, so you can experience what it’s like to have people see you and love you for everything that you are.  I am ready to guide you in any way I can.  I am ready to be your support.   I am ready to hear your thoughts and your feelings and your love and embrace them as what you are, because I love you.

I have never stood up for anything in my life, but I am standing up for you.  For us.  I am fully aware that I am putting myself out there for you and allowing myself to be rejected again, but you are worth that to me.  You are worth that risk, and I am here to make every risk to get you back.  I feel like we complement each other so perfectly, and we both have so much growing to do, and I just feel like we can have a real go at something beautiful.  We can grow together.

I love you so much, and I will spend the rest of my life hating what is done.  But I am ready to forgive it all.  Are you?

If you have any love left for me at all, then give us this opportunity.  If you still love me, then just do so.  I promise it will be different this time.  I promise I will never hurt you again.