Online Dating at 36 - The Good, the Bad, & WTH?

And yes, I did. I reactivated my Match account. I'm officially "back out there." I'm a little wounded, a little bruised. I've got some new scars, some new battle wounds. But if I wasn't willing to let my heart be broken, what kind of relationships would I really be having? I've debated. I've vacillated. The last time I communicated with D, it ripped a scab off I didn't even know I had. What would going back out on Match do to my apparently fragile healing process? When I deactivated my account, I told Match it was because I'd met someone on Match. It asked for my new partner's screen name, which I entered. So I have confidence that he will not show up in my matches, nor I in his - if he has also reactivated. (That is certainly one question I will not  be asking.) Life is meant to be lived. D will always have a place in my heart for many, many reasons. Part of me will always love him, and based on our conversations, he, me. But I cannot

Next week -- on Monday, specifically -- I will drive 7 hours due north for my first vacation in basically forever. I'm headed to the Twin Cities of Minnesota to visit one of my best friends, and this trip has recently been dubbed "The 4 Bs: Booze, Baseball, Beaches, and Bitching." Now I'm not looking to do any bitching myself, at least not about men. I don't have a reason to. Yes, I was hurt and confused and all that good stuff, but I was never angry or resentful. Our post-breakup communication has been friendly and without animosity. While we are not yet at the comfort level of friends, we'll eventually get there. It will take time. While I doubt hearing from me in a friendly, "this happened and I thought you'd find it humorous" sort of way would upset him, we both need time and space. Are you sick of reading that basic phrase yet? The bitching will be for my friend, who on Monday renewed her membership in the "unexpectedly single&quo

Right now, I'm dealing with two double-edged swords, things that are so pro/con they balance each other out. One is about my depression recovery, the other... well, technically about the same thing, but it's about dating again. When I was teaching collegiate Vocal Pedagogy, in my lecture about vocal hygiene and medications, I used a one-panel cartoon to comically illustrate a very serious point. In it, a lady is standing at a pharmacy window. On the counter in front of her are twenty or so pill bottles, and the pharmacist is pointing at them saying, "and this one is for the side effects caused by this, and this is for the side effects caused by that..." Modern chemistry has certainly made our lives better through drug therapies, but at what costs? I've blogged before about one unpleasant and new-to-me side effect of the upped dosage of Wellbutrin: the excessive sweating. In the past week, a second one has developed. Externally, it is very difficult to see. Int

Earlier today, as I was leaving my second fitness class of the day, I got a Facebook message from a friend. We met while I was working on my Master's degree, she on her undergraduate. While in school we weren't necessarily close, but we were friendly. Facebook and time does what it does to friendships, and we have learned that we share more than California ancestry and a love of classical singing. We also live with chronic illness; mine is mental and hers, physical. She's written me a couple of times since the most recent breakup, and this message was about my post that attempted an explanation. She particularly liked my philosophy on how our souls only have so much room for emotions, and if we don't release the negative ones the positive ones have no place to grow. She then shared with me an observation about her friends and illness, and it wasn't until I read her note that I realized how often I get similar reactions. In a nutshell, we humans are visually driv

Yesterday was Father's Day. One would have had to live under a rock in the middle of nowhere to not know that fact. I have only one father living as both of my grandfathers have been deceased for decades, but I know many fathers, as many of my friends are fathers. Single or not, that's to be expected when one is in their late 30s. Being on a tighter budget and lacking a certain amount of forethought, my own father got a phone call. He was perfectly happy with that, since he's never been one to really like receiving gifts. And, he's ridiculously hard to shop for, too. My other father friends got the obligatory Facebook shout-out. Ah, Facebook. Holidays in the Twenty-First Century. For a few days leading up to Father's Day, I considered whether or not I should send a text to one father that I know who is not currently on my Facebook friends list. He's a great father to his son, and he's a good friend although our relationship is a bit ... awkward right n

First off, I'm sorry if the title has misled any of you into thinking I've somehow gotten a miraculous insight into D's thought processes and have come up with a crystal-clear explanation as to why he felt he needed to end our relationship, because this post isn't about that at all nor have I had any enlightenment. This post is for all my friends who can't quite understand why I don't bear any ill will towards him for "hurting me." Granted, many of them think I'm still moony and stupid in love, even though I'm once again single. I can understand where they are coming from, even though I am neither of those things. However, love doesn't prevent us from being angry at someone. How many times have you been insulted, hurt, or been totally irate at your best friend, a family member, your lover, your spouse? You still love them, but you are incredibly angry for some reason. Words may have been hurled in passionate moments of frustration, words

I've debated greatly about writing this post. This is supposed to be a dating blog, after all, not that I haven't veered from that topic in posts past. I would think about writing it, and decide not to, then think about it some more. Then I pulled up my navigation page and saw the numbers. Numbers? The numbers of "hits" each of my posts has received. I combined that with the love I'm getting on Facebook, and that tipped the scales in favor of an update post. There's a saying that it takes a village to raise a child. Well, it also takes a village to help up those who are struggling. I am an introvert, it is summer vacation, and I'm in a depressive episode. That's the perfect trifecta for me to stay away from people. Add in the rain we've had over the past couple of days and the fact that today I don't have to be anywhere, and I'm about ready to add "professional hermit" to my resume. However, I am making progress. A lot of pr

D just left about 15 minutes ago. After an hour in each other's company, we said a pleasant goodbye - for now. He's been reading this blog after all, and that did help with the conversation because he already knew where I was, emotionally and in regards to us. I didn't really have any questions for him, although he did admit that even he doesn't really understand why he broke up with me other than he felt he needed to. From one person with issues to another, that makes perfect sense. To those of you reading this who don't share in our psychological fun, that may seem like a shitty cop-out or something. Just take my word for it, it's not. We certainly care for each other, but we both need to focus on ourselves right now. He's doing better than I am, and in his own sweet way expressed concern for me. However, he is not 100% himself, either. I refuse to air his dirty laundry here, even though he told me he's going to stop reading this blog. In the end,

I had an anxiety attack this morning. It was completely without reason. A few hours later, I called my doctor and got in to see her this afternoon. I've been blogging lately quite a bit about mental illness, especially bipolar disorder. Now I need to take a moment and turn the magnifying glass back on me and my Major Depressive Disorder with some General Anxiety Disorder thrown in for good measure. And yes, there's stuff in here about D, too. For over a year, I've been taking two medications to help me with my depression: Wellbutrin XL and Trazodone. My dosages have been on the low end of the spectrum, but they are what I've always taken in the past and, until recently, they have been sufficient. Not anymore. Many people seem to think that medicated depressives won't have bad days. This is not true. Our medications help regulate the chemicals in our brains so we can have normal emotional reactions. Just like unmedicated people who do not have MDD, we can have

Any of my blog followers, and I do mean any, can tell you that time is my nemesis. I don't know where my impatience comes from. I grew up an only child who frequently had to entertain herself. I did that happily without video games or the Internet, using my imagination, books, and a couple good friends instead. I am someone who loves to cook, and the more complicated the meal, the better off I am since few things soothe me like making a wonderful stew that takes a good part of the day to cook. I often yearn for those days where I am only in the kitchen, and am thrilled when one of those days comes around usually at the beginning of fall. Yet when it comes to giving people time, I am as impatient as that jerk tailgating everybody in the fast lane. I know it needs to be done, but damnit, I don't want to do it! Certainly 24, 48 hours is enough, right? It's not, and deep down I know that. Doesn't mean I'm any more patient, though. We have yet to have a day where D a

I've finished up the books I've checked out, at least the applicable sections. The insights I have gleaned have been truly eye-opening. As a depressive, I know from my own experiences, therapy, and medications what helps and what does not. When you have your own mental illness, it is easy to think you can just automatically understand other mental illnesses. You can't. I'm glad I read these books. One was written in the way a basic textbook or workbook would be written. While it didn't "dumb down" the topic, it refrained from excessive scientific talk and was easy, even engaging, to read. The other one was dry; it was the summation of a study revised (slightly) to be a guide to both practitioners and families. Since much of it is geared towards family therapy, much of it didn't really apply to me. I'm not family. I'm close, or at least I was. In many ways, I know more about him and his illness than his son does, and I doubt anyone else is c

I have written openly on this blog about many things: relationships, gender, sex, religion, and even my own battle with Major Depressive Disorder with a side of General Anxiety Disorder. Mental illness is something that still carries an enormous stigma in our society. To an extent, there has been a certain element about mental illness that has made it trendy, as long as one is not too mentally ill. Upper middle class people discuss their anti-depressants like they would their favorite scotch, because really they are only "a little" depressed. Psychiatrists even refer to those things as "the diagnosis du jour. " D told me on our first date about his bipolar disorder. Normally that doesn't sound like first date conversation, I know. But remember we'd spent hours upon hours on the phone prior to that first date, and he felt the need to explain something. As with most everyone who is bipolar, he takes lithium. One of the major side effects of lithium is a trem

It's the next morning. I crawled into bed last night, having left the partially-cooked dinner where it was on the stove, too stunned, numb, and hurt to even consider eating. Thanks to my usually nightly prescription sleep aid, amplified with 150 mg of diphenhydramine, I did sleep. I also dreamed, and yes, D was in my dreams. I'm still in bed. Oh, sure, I've gotten up to use the restroom. I also went out to the kitchen, disposed of the dinner I'd been making for two, unset the table, and toasted a bagel - which I ate back in bed. I've been going through the immense number of messages of love and support. They've come via blog comments, Facebook messages, Facebook comments, and text messages. I've heard from people I didn't even know had an interest in my love life. I've had numerous offers from girlfriends (and a couple guy friends) for drinks and venting. Yes, last time I was dumped unexpectedly (by J), I went to a girlfriend's house and cons

Three words. It is amazing how three little words can change your world - both for better and for the worse. "I love you" are three words that can brighten your day, turn your life upside down in the best possible way. I heard those words no less than three times today via text message, and at least as many times this morning as I was leaving for work. Yet I wasn't totally surprised when tonight I heard, "I just can't." Devastated, heartbroken, numb, and confused all the same, but not totally surprised. "I just can't" was D's way of calling things off, of breaking up with me. Did I get an explanation? Sort of. I am stunned, that is true. Things were going so very well, or so it seemed. Yes, things moved fast. Quite fast. But we both seemed comfortable with it, or so I thought. He was the first to say he loved me. We shared our fears and dreams, some of our deepest secrets. I confessed I was scared he'd leave me. He told me he was te