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Selective (dis)Service

About a year ago I had a conversation with a homie that compared the beginning of most relationships to private FaceBook pages, saying that we never really act 100% ourselves and only let our potential partner see certain aspects of our lives.

I thought about the current relationship I was in at the time, and co-signed on the bottom line with a permanent Sharpie.

Because on the outside, I was cool, calm, and collective. Nothing phased me. I never asked questions, or showed emotion. I barely text, or called. I was the originator of the poker-face, and I didn’t even flinch when I caught him in a lie. On the outside – I simply didn’t care.

But below the surface? Gears were turning, and 5 different voices were yelling over each other for my attention. I simultaneously felt crazy, confident, prideful, stubborn, confused, cynical, nervous, excited, happy, sad, and “in-like.” I was deleting texts as quickly as I’d write them. And I wanted to fucking backhand the stupid off his face when I caught him in a lie. On the inside – I cared too much.

Like my Facebook profile to the public, I chose to only share bits and pieces of myself with him. What kind of music I listened to, who my favorite band was. My obsession with the Giants, and love for the city. I never lied about anything, nor was I fake. I was just selective. OK fine, ridiculously selective. But it wasn’t like I was hiding a needy, psychotic, insecure, raging bitch. Even worse, I was hiding the part of me that was scared – the part of me that actually cared.

Regardless of what we are hiding though, I think the reason why we hide it remains the same. We hope that by the time our partner has discovered our “flaws,” the love we’ve created and connection we’ve made will negate everything else.

You would think that the logical thing to do would be to put everything up front, and then move forward from there. Yet we still choose to carefully time our revelations, if not, resist them all together. Because who on Earth is going to want to go on a second date with you if you tell them on the first date how damaged you are?

But like the famous Marilyn Monroe quote says, “If you can’t handle me at my worst, then you don’t deserve me at my best.”

So here, let me make it easier for you: My name is Abigail. I’m a Virgo. I’m constantly cleaning my room because I’m constantly making a mess. I’m bad at math, hate washing dishes, and could use some financial guidance. I’m not insecure but I have self-esteem issues. I have a lot of guy friends. You will never be more important than my girls. I’m a cynical, hopeless romantic. I’m an emotional cutter. I dwell. I worry. And most of all – I THINK TOO MUCH.

But if you can get past all of that? I swear, I’m pretty fucking awesome.

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