Walking Dumpster Fire

You found me dressed in black. Hiding way up at the back. Life had broken my heart into pieces. You took my hand in yours. You started breaking down my walls. And you covered my heart in kisses. I thought life had passed me by. Missed my tears, ignored my cries. Life had broken my heart and spirit. And then you crossed my path. You quelled my fears, you made me laugh. Then you covered my heart in kisses. 

      – Dressed in Black. Sia.

One year ago, I officially met my partner. Now, I would love to say, when I saw him, I fell. We locked eyes, and I knew it was meant to be; it was like staring at my soulmate. You know, all that cheesy crap. But I can’t. 

Our first meetup was a fucking disaster. It was set up by well-intentioned friends, who didn’t know that I absolutely did not want to be there. I was being “gracious”, which is code for get me annihilated and let’s do this. 

We met as a group, I sat next to him and said very few words and hardly looked at him (I don’t remember doing this, this is from his recollection, but I don’t deny it, it sounds pretty on par). We all went to another bar where I drank copious amounts of alcohol and proceeded to ask him intellectual questions, such as politics and junk size (yes, you read that right, I asked him about his dick…I was clearly winning at life at the time). I then made fun of his sweater and shoes, asked him if he was sponsored by the Wynn, told him I was seeing someone, and then let him know his giant truck was dumb. I was a god-damn gem. Take notes, ladies. 

The old adage is true: misery loves company. He wasn’t miserable, so he wasn’t my company. 

Needless to say, it was a hard pass for him. But I didn’t care, I was too unhappy to see the forest through the swamp I was fucking drowning in. And life went on. 

Now, if I could go back in time to that very bar to chat with my former self, I would shake her and yell, listen you wretched cow. I know you don’t understand this, but this man will be the one of the best things that’s ever happened to you. You will laugh every damn day. He will be the most generous, tenacious, and genuinely kind man you will ever meet. He will spar with you and keep up. You will be home every night by 9pm and sit on the couch with him, and fucking love it. Hell, it will be your idea! You will gush when he calls you small fry. You have no idea why, but you do. Your favorite moments will be when he holds you in his arms in the morning and tells you, you are amazing. And you will actually believe him. He will keep his word every time. He will adore your children, your dog will seek him out (traitorous bitch), and he will love you for exactly who you are. Even your weird quirks and messy parts. Plus, I mean, look at those paws. Get your shit together. 

However, my lecture would fall on deaf ears. That girl in that bar wasn’t ready. She had to go through some battles first. She would have to fall on her knees a few times and pray for something different. Anything. She would have to care about herself and stop getting blackout drunk with people who were not her friends. She would have to stop equating purging with freedom. She would have to understand that love isn’t painful, it’s kind, and it doesn’t keep score. She would have to abolish the heinous words of a coward who portrayed himself as a man. Who promised her a diamond, but only had fool’s gold money. Most importantly, she would have to love herself again. 

We now laugh at our first interaction. It’s a part of our story, a story that I cherish. The other morning, he asked me what if our old selves could see us now, in our house, lying in our bed. I laughed and said, your old self would kick your ass, and my old self would say, what the hell–did I turn into a real-life hooker?

I have no idea why he gave me a second chance. I would like to think it’s because of my charming personality and sweet ass, but joking aside, I think he saw something that I couldn’t. I think he could see all of this. And the dude, somehow, always gets his way. 

When we first started dating, I was doubtful. This was easy, too easy, questionably easy. Do people wake up every day and are happy with their relationship? Like, all the time, happy? How does this work? When does the other shoe drop?! And enter doubt and self-sabotage, welcome to the party bitches. But then he took my hands and told me that there is no other shoe, and if I gave us a shot, a real shot, this is going to be amazing. 

I have no idea why he gave me a second chance, but damn, am I glad he did.