To the man who loves me next

To the man who loves me next:

Maybe we locked eyes on the train. Maybe you saw me dancing up by the stage at an indie-rock show.  More likely than not, we met on an online dating site.

In any event, you don’t know a whole lot about me yet. So allow me to bring you up to speed before either of us get hurt.

I’m damaged goods. Like, really damaged. You see, I witnessed a dear friend of mine fall to her death less than three months ago. Most of the time — like now — I feel normal. But sometimes I get hit with what I’m come to refer to as a grief bomb. Out of nowhere, I’ll just lose my shit and cry and cry and cry until my face literally hurts and I can’t fully open my eyes. The grief bombs are fewer and far between these days, but they do still sometimes go off. I advise you to get out now, lest you get hit with grief bomb shrapnel.

If you do decide to stay, here are some tips:

– I do not need “space” in the aftermath of a grief bomb.  I need you as close as possible.

– You can’t fix it. Nothing you can say or do — save from raising the dead or mastering time travel —  will defuse the grief bomb.

– Listen. Like, actually listen. Let Me Talk. Sometimes all I need to do to feel better is hit the release valve. It wasn’t until what happened happened that I realized how rare it is that people actually listen instead of formulating what they’ll say next. I’m working on getting better at listening myself.

– Grief bombs do not explode at convenient times.

– I’m sure you have your own damage, though let’s hope it’s not as awful as mine. Let’s not enter into a game of pain one-upsmanship.

– I will assume you’re dead if you don’t call when you say you’re going to. I know from experience how suddenly someone you love can be wrenched from you. It’s not a joke.

– I’m not usually this thin. My appetite’s been off. In time, I’ll fatten up. I don’t want you to feel like I bait-and-switched you when I go back to my normal voluptuous self.

– I’m not sure I’m ready for this.

Heavy enough for you? Good, cause there’s more damage where that came from. I have a major chip on my shoulder when it comes to rejection. I’ve been rejected so many times that I can predict exactly what you’re going to say to me when you get tired of our relationship (and, mark my words, you will). You’ll say that I’m a smart, accomplished woman and that you admire me greatly. However, you feel like our chemistry is off and that we’re not very compatible. I’ll press you for a more specific explanation, and you’ll strain to assure me I’m a good person who’ll find someone… but it’s just not you. Did I guess right, or what?

To save you the trouble of coming by my house to deliver the above speech to me, I’ll make it real easy. The second I catch a whiff of He’s Just Not That Into You vibes, I’ll cut you loose. I won’t ask what’s up with the silent treatment or try to talk it out. I won’t give you the benefit of the doubt. If that seems overly harsh, tough. I’m done with being on the receiving end, and I don’t have time to keep being the person who fixes everything. If you don’t call or you cancel plans for no good reason or you tune out when I’m talking to you, to me it means you’re not interested. That’s what it’s always meant with your predecessors, so why should you be different? If you think I’m being unfair and that I’ve misinterpreted your signals, fight for me. Fight hard.

I’ve given you plenty of reasons to run away. But if you’re brave and patient and kind enough, there are plenty of reasons to stay. I’ve got a rich inner world that I share with few people. It’s fun and magical in there, and I suspect you’d want to experience it. I’m pretty good at helping people with their problems in a practical, objective way. It takes me 10 minutes for me to get ready. I’m a  reasonably good cook. I’m really self-sufficient, and won’t take more from you than you can give. I’m really, really loyal (more loyal than is good for me) and I’ll never ever stray. Family history seems to indicate I’ll age gracefully. I’m not a prude; even if I legitimately do have a headache, I’ll still want to have sex with you. Your parents will approve of me.

So… are you in or out?