Day 103: Dear Nice Guys,

Dear Nice Guys,

Fuck you.

No, seriously.  Fuck.  You.  I am so tired of you and your bullshit.  Of your aggressive insistence that I make exceptions for you because you, YOU ARE DIFFERENT.  You're not like those OTHER men!

News flash, sweetheart.  You are exactly like those other men.

"But!' you say, all indignant and aggrieved, "I don't get angry and abusive when you reject me!"

No, of course not.  Instead you pout, and cast hurt glances my way, as though that were somehow BETTER.  As though that did not still imply that I owe you something.  That you have a right to my attention and affection.

Let me offer the most recent in a lifetime of examples.  Today, on a social website, I received a message from a man who was pleased of offer me his approval.

See, he started so well.  SO WELL.  A compliment.  A mild flirtation.  Maybe a bit of hypocrisy claiming to be a grammar nerd, given his complete wreckage of the English language in the next to last sentence, but, honestly, I forgive typos all the time.  And, being a well-bred woman, when I am complimented, I say thank you.  And so I did.

Which, of course, is when he got butt hurt.

Really, dude?  Quotations around writer?  Like, your message was a test, and I've failed, so now I don't get my certificate of authenticity from the Masculine Authority Agency?

I thought I'd take it easy at first.  I mean, sometimes people don't get how their words come across.  Not everyone is thoughtful in their presentation.  Not everyone is cognizant of their impact.  Not everyone is...

NOT EVERYONE IS GONNA GET THE VERBAL BEAT DOWN THIS GUY IS CLEARLY BEGGING FOR.

You did not want to start this shit with me.  I swear you did not.  But you were a fool, and now you will reap what you sow.

OF COURSE, I MIGHT HAVE BEEN EXAGGERATING THAT WHOLE "SANE" THING.

I am so exhausted by my own irritation.  I am also exhausted by the idea that I should just ignore it, and move on.

NO.

HOW ABOUT MEN STOP ACTING LIKE THIS, INSTEAD?!?!?!

Look, there are a select number of people in the world to whom I owe my attention.  All of them are people with whom I have deep, interconnected bonds, and an understanding of support and reciprocity between us.

THERE IS NOT A SINGLE FUCKING STRANGER ON THE INTERNET WHO FALLS INTO THIS CATEGORY.

Nice guys tear my ass with frustration, because they think they get a cookie for being a decent human being.  And, as soon as the cookie doesn't come, they suddenly stop being a decent human.

IF YOU WERE ONLY DOING IT FOR THE COOKIES, YOU WEREN'T DECENT IN THE FIRST PLACE.

OH MY GOD.

Look, I think I may have lost some coherence here, but I've got a lot of rage over this issue.  Lemme sum up my points, in an attempt to wrap this up in a marginally comprehensive way.

1) Don't say you're a nice guy, or different, or whatever.  Just be different.  Trust me.  We'll notice.

2) If you can't acknowledge that you're having a negative impact, and adjust for that, we'll notice that, too.

Oh, and that dude?  That guy who was so different?

Yeah.  Let's leave it at that.  I think I prefer being unappreciated by men like you.

Day 102: Accepting Loss

Note: All of my blogs are about my own lived experience, but I want to make doubly sure I say that before this one.  The language I'm using here is thoughtfully chosen to reflect that very personal experience.

Every year, on October 14th, I mourn my husband.

It's a funny thing to do, because, in a way, it's like mourning an imaginary friend, or a character in a play.  The man I married didn't really exist.  He was an elaborate costume being worn by a woman who didn't truly know herself yet, and, as such, I guess he wasn't an actual person.

But he was real to me.

We all--no matter how close we are--see each other from the outside in, and for a decade I saw a man that I loved very much, who later faded from my life as the woman she was finally emerged.

It's odd when you lose someone in bits and pieces.  When is it that they start to really be gone?  Is it when they dress differently, and hold themselves differently, and speak in a different tone?  Is it when they give up their old hobbies and favorites, and fill their life with new endeavors?  Is it when their scent changes, and their body changes, and they feel like a stranger sitting beside you on the couch?

Is it when you can no longer lean into them, and feel all the ways in which you fit together?  All the places that your inner selves match up just right?

I don't know.  I don't know when that moment happens.  I didn't see it go by.  It was a process--a long and painful process, made all the harder by my conviction that mourning it was disrespectful to the woman who was slowly emerging in the world, even as my husband faded away.  I was supposed to be supportive, and loving, and embrace this new person.  So I tried not to grieve, because it felt like a betrayal.

But you can't stop grief just because you think you should.  You can make it uglier, and more painful--a thing that bursts out in fits and starts and jagged anguish--but that's all that fighting it will do.  The grief will still come.  The best you can do is accept it.

I grieved then.  And I still grieve now.  Not all the time.  Not constantly.  I love my friend Natalie.  I'm happy for her.  I'm glad she has the chance to live her life as herself, and not inside the shell of a person she never really was.

But I miss my husband.
I mourn him.
And on October 14th, I miss him just a little bit more.