A few weeks ago, I was scrolling through Grindr like the dumb gay I am. I was feeling pretty lonely, which is the worst time to be on Grindr (and social media in general). I think I was feeling especially lonely this time, from working my new job and not meeting with any friends.
I had spoken to a few guys but the conversations hadn’t gotten anywhere like they usually don’t for this hellapp. Besides my being picky, many/most of the guys on there do not care for having conversations, but it’s something I always initiate. I want to know who I’m hooking up with if it comes to that.
Many of my chats usually end in the other person ghosting, which had happened a few times that week. Maybe I’m being too nice, not assertive enough, I was subconsciously thinking. I shouldn’t be asking about their day and what they’re up to, even if I am genuinely curious. They might be weirded out by manners. Next time, I’m going to be dominant, cut right to the chase, I planned.
That’s what happened with the next guy I matched with. The conversation began well enough with some flirting from me to him and vice versa. Then, I went for it, saying when I was available, asking when he could meet up, what days he was available, and the like.
No response. I got off the app. Shit, I thought, was that too much? That’s one of the worst feelings to me–when a fruitful conversation suddenly dies. I checked later, then I checked the next day. He never answered.
I felt like shit.
Naturally, I had an identity and existential crisis after this.
Why did I go in like that? Everything was going fine before. I came off too overeager, too desperate.
The weight of the past week’s loneliness overtook me. At one point or another, it seemed others would grow disinterested in me, I thought. It was just how things would end. My personality was too volatile, too unstable.
Of course, then I thought of my childhood. When traumatic shit happened, my family would act like nothing had happened and everything was completely normal. I couldn’t cry or be angry because that would result in punishment or neglect. All I could do was go along with the pretense that everything was all right, even if I was hurting inside. What else was I supposed to do?
This began affecting how I saw the world. If something bad happened, I’d just brushed it off like it was no big deal. I became a conflict-averse person and would give in to another person even if it meant being unjust to me. Then, later on in my life, I felt stupid and swung the other way. In college group projects and whatnot, I would make sure to get in my say, even if it came off boorish or whatever.
Sigh. I wrote this poem after all those churning thoughts came up. As you may have guessed, I’m still working on finding balance but also just trusting that I will know when to be assertive or not.
