Bulletproof…I Wish I Was

Photo by Xiangkun ZHU on Unsplash

Guess Who’s Back in the Motherfuckin' House?
No, it’s not New York. It’s Meeeee.

And yes, that’s a Flavor of Love reference. You know I’m a geriatric millennial.

Honestly, I wasn’t sure how to start this one. It took me a solid 30–45 minutes just to 1) get started and 2) find songs that really matched what I’ve been feeling lately.

As you know, dating has been a whole journey—and not always the fun kind. Opening myself up again, especially given my situation (HSV-2), has been rough. So let’s explore all of that… to the tune of Radiohead’s “Bulletproof… I Wish I Was.”

“Limb by limb and tooth by tooth.
Tearing up inside of me.
Every day, every hour, I wish that I was bulletproof.”

I know it’s probably going to sound wild when I say this, but being vulnerable isn’t exactly a strong suit of mine lately.
Hear me out: it’s way easier for me to be open here on this blog (for the entire internet to read, no less) than it is to open up to someone I’m actually dating in real life.

I was just talking to my therapist about this. (Yep, I started therapy again while I was gone.) I’d taken a little break because I thought I was doing just fine—mostly because I wasn’t dealing with men or being intimate with men who only seemed to want one thing. I mistook that for growth. I thought that meant I’d leveled up into some emotionally impenetrable, stoic, unbothered cyborg.

Spoiler alert: I had not.

As I opened up more in therapy, I realized the lack of intimacy had actually left me feeling low—low enough to pull away from people who do care about me. It’s not my favorite trait, but it’s definitely a defense mechanism. When I feel vulnerable, I go full red panda.

Yes, I’ve mentioned this before, but it still holds true: my favorite animal is the red panda. They’re kind of raccoon-adjacent, love snacks, look adorable, and can stand on their hind legs—usually when they feel threatened. They’re private little creatures who like their alone time. I respect that. I relate to that. I feel like red pandas are just trying to protect their peace in this wild world.

As Nipsey Hussle once said:

“Would you rather be at peace with the world and at war with yourself?
Or be at war with the world and at peace with yourself?”

A red panda will go to war with a rock if necessary (YouTube it). And in my own way, I do that too.
Not with literal rocks, but I keep potential threats to my peace at a distance.

But here’s the thing: like red pandas, I guess I’m just cute enough that people keep wanting to enter my space. And unfortunately, not everyone has the best intentions. I’ve let people in who didn’t deserve access, and I’ve regretted it.
Peace: interrupted.

Alexa, play Radiohead’s “No Surprises”…

“A heart that’s full up like a landfill.
A job that slowly kills you.
Bruises that won’t heal.
You look so tired, unhappy…”

For those of you who are new here, part of how I’ve protected myself from hurt has been through celibacy. I’m coming up on a full year. I also stopped dating for a bit—back in April, I think.

But eventually, I felt like a hypocrite. I was out here encouraging others to keep going, to stay open, to believe in love again… while I was low-key hiding from it all.

I wanted to keep my heart and head at peace, yes. But I was also starting to feel restless. Bored, even. The monotony of my days needed… something.
Now, I don’t want to be hurt—nobody does—but in my quest for a life with “no alarms and no surprises,” I realized I didn’t want to live in isolation either. And isolation often leads to sadness.

I’ve learned that while celibacy helped me regain a sense of control, it also brought up feelings of inadequacy, restlessness, and even a resurgence of depression.

In therapy, I opened up about how my celibacy has impacted me. Yes, it’s given me more time and space: I’ve deepened friendships with my girls, focused more on work, started budgeting, prioritized my health, and even helped my neighbors (which honestly feeds my soul).

But still—there’s something missing. I miss touch.
That’s probably why I rejoined Bumble a few weeks ago.

And guess what? I met someone. We’re having a good time. We’re even about to go on our fourth date. I met some of his friends during PRIDE weekend. All signs point to good.

But here’s the plot twist: it still feels… weird.
Like, physically. Intimacy feels foreign. Being kissed or hugged after months of going without—it’s not as easy as flipping a switch.

I want it—the hugs, the kisses, the hand-holding.
But I also feel myself pulling away.
Closeness bothers me now. I hate that. But it’s true.

Maybe it’s the pressure of dating again.
Maybe it’s the fear of being seen, of letting someone in only for it to fall apart again.
Maybe it’s the fear of change. Of breaking the “peace” I found in solitude by opening the door to potential chaos again.

The last relationship I was in? Full of unpleasant surprises.
I’m sure this year of celibacy has been part of healing from that trauma—and from the string of awful online dating experiences that followed.

But now? I just want to find someone where there’s:

“Such a pretty house and such a pretty garden. No alarms and no surprises, please…”

Author’s Note:
I know the last lyrics I used could be read as referencing death or escape through suicide. As someone who’s dealt with depression since my teens, I get how heavy that can land.

For me, though, I’ve always taken those words as a longing for peace—emotional stability, feeling safe, and carrying a little less weight. Not giving up, just breathing easier.

If things feel heavy for you right now, you're not alone. You can talk to me if you wish—my email’s linked in the navigation bar. We can also connect on IG.

And if you’re contemplating therapy (this isn’t a paid ad, by the way), check out BetterHelp. They offer financial assistance if cost is a concern. Getting support doesn’t have to be out of reach.