Gills & Tails
“This sea world I’m in
Sucks your life out, leaving you comatose
Take back your salt and fins
Send me a lifeboat.”
Sorry for the Silence
It’s been a minute. I had to sort through some things... and go live a little. Girlfriends are so important — I’m lucky to have found two really good ones. Sometimes I forget that, for all of life’s and the country’s chaos, having fun matters, too.
So, where to start?
Maybe with the fact that I was being a hermit again. I’d given Smooth Jazz another shot (don’t ask) and ended up disappointed in myself. So I disappeared. But eventually, I owned up to it and apologized to my friends for going quiet.
Luckily, they know me. They understand I tend to deal with things on my own — not because I don’t trust them, but because I’ve been called a drain before. Past friends didn’t understand depression or how it works. The worst part? I was always there for them — through their on-again-off-again chaos, baby daddy drama, and everything in between. One time, an ex-friend even threw hot sauce during a burrito blowout with her man. Allegedly, she was aiming for him. I caught strays.
So yeah, I tend to hide until I can put on a brave face. Though lately, my friends are encouraging me not to shy away. I have people now who want me to talk about what I’m feeling — people who don’t make me feel like I’m “too much.” I think I’m learning what real friendship looks like.
Golden Light, Red Flags
About a week and a half ago, J called me mid-breakdown about this guy she forgot to tell me about. They met camping. Nature did its thing — they vibed, hooked up under an oak tree. She described it like a romance novel: golden light, toned physique, wilderness energy. Honestly? Sounds hot. I’m out here living vicariously through other people getting laid.
Her dog was with her — remember that detail.
While they were together, he never mentioned having a girlfriend. She only found out when she stumbled upon the girlfriend’s socials airing out their drama. Meanwhile, he was still sending paragraphs about wanting more. He referenced plans — camping trips, future dates, road trips, all of it. Weeks of this. And she believed him.
Because sometimes, when we want something badly enough, words are enough. Even when they’re lies.
Then in June, he told her he “needed space.” She gave it to him. She reached out later... nothing. And to make it worse? Her dog passed away during this time.
I told her how sorry I was about Cassie — I know how much she loved that dog. Then I said, “Girl... we’re rolling into October. Let that shit go. He’s not worth the energy.”
Eventually, she sent an ultimatum text: Reply or I’m blocking you. Predictably, silence. The next day, she blocked him.
I was proud of her — though personally, I wouldn’t have sent the text. If someone ghosts you, they’ve said enough. But hey, she did what she needed to do for herself.
J is phenomenal — smart, bubbly, charming, flirty. A little petite blonde everyone gravitates toward. Basically everything I sometimes wish I could be. So when she called me crying from loneliness, it hit different.
She gets attention — but that doesn’t mean she feels loved.
On Being Invisible, and Seen
Meanwhile, I cry from a different place. The combination of living with HSV (which is unnoticeable to me) and being a Black woman on dating apps? Rough. Study after study shows we’re considered the least desirable. I hadn’t been on a date in three months before the end of September.
When I finally did go out with someone, he ghosted. I think I got a little too excited — not in a wild way, but because he put in effort. He drove a long way to meet me, and effort makes me melt. I guess I showed too much appreciation too soon. No second date.
Then came Oktoberfest — the event that earned J her new nickname: The Little General. She’s under five feet tall and somehow managed to lead me and our friend D right to the front of the concert stage.
I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone. Honestly, I assumed J would get all the attention — she usually does. But then a 22-year-old asked me to dance.
I blinked. “Oh... um, alright.”
It was awkward. I kept throwing “help me” looks at my friends as he pawed at me and kissed my neck. Again — this girl isn’t used to attention.
In the wise words of Anne Hathaway as Mia Thermopolis in The Princess Diaries:
“Queen Clarisse, my expectation in life is to be invisible. And I’m good at it.”
(J will love that reference — we both adore Anne Hathaway.)
Later, J told me she gave him the look to see if his eyes would wander. “They didn’t,” she said. “His eyes were focused on you.”
He asked for my number. But… I don’t think I want to be Mrs. Robinson. We chatted a bit, but it’s clear he’s only interested in one thing. I mean, he’s 22. That tracks.
But honestly? It’s not just the young ones. Older men on dating apps do the same — they just lie better. They list “looking for long-term” in their bios and act no differently than the 22-year-old.
It’s hard out here. As J said, we always think the grass is greener. She’s desired, but often left unsatisfied.
I feel invisible, but crave connection. Neither side feels like the better one.
The Date
And now, as strange as it feels to write this — I have a date tonight. Shockingly.
He’s married, but in an ENM (ethical non-monogamy) partnership. We’ve both been upfront about everything. I’m trying to stay open.
Update:
I went on the date. It went well. We have chemistry. But I’m not sure I have the capacity to be in a relationship where there’s no possibility of ever hearing “I love you.”
Then again, I’ve heard “I love you” from men who didn’t mean it. So honestly... I don’t even know which way is up anymore.
UGHHHHH.
‘Til next time.
PS: I’m still working on my piece about the challenges of dating as a Black woman — it’s taking a lot of research. But I didn’t want to deprive you of an update in the meantime. While you wait, check out the “Story Time” section in the nav bar. I love you, and thank you for being here.