A few weeks ago I was compelled to get back into dating. It was one and a half months since I got out of a long term relationship. But that relationship had a slow death. I had plenty of time leading up to the end of it to start moving on. I convinced myself that I didn’t need much time to move on, since I was moving on for a while anyways.

My friend said she had a friend she thinks I would get along with. I met her for drinks. A blind date. I quickly learned why people don’t usually do blind dates.

That week I downloaded a few dating apps. Bumble, Hinge, Tinder. I’ve been procrastinating it for a while. My bumble account autocompleted from three years ago when I used it last. It auto-updated the age, that’s good, but nothing else. I was too lazy to change photos. It was too stressful to think about. I didn’t even make hinge/tinder accuonts. I just started swiping.

My god, how addictive those apps are. I got matches, and matches, and conversations, and some were good, some ghosted, some I met with in person. I was swiping any chance I got. I never bought bumble premium - I was stubbornly against those money traps and I considered it a good thing that something was stopping me from swiping. I’d be swiping at the late hours of the day. I’d have conversations to respond to. It was overwhelming. These were real people, expecting real answers. I’m not a huge texter. It was overwhelming. Sometimes I’d go to the gym just to respond to texts. Because I was way less stressed & way more creative after a few reps.

I paused my bumble account. At least for a few days. I couldn’t keep doing it. It was exhausting.

I went on some first dates. I was friendly but I learned very quickly there was something within my stopping me from really getting into it. The blocker, I don’t know exactly what it was. When texting I grew tired of the same ten questions, the small talk, convincing someone else that I’m interesting, have hobbies, whatever, trying to play a character of someone upbeat, excited, happy. In person, I had good conversation. I like meeting people. But it was also draining. I was on. Like, *on*. It felt like taking a test. I felt like I had to do all of this stuff. Like plan, like take the lead. I was relieved when it was over. I dreaded the time leading up to it. I quickly learned that I hate first dates, at least then, in the headspace I was in at the time, with the blocker in the back of my head.

But by then I’d already gone on a first date with this one girl, and she was super nice. And we had similar energy. And I could make her laugh. I liked making her laugh. We got lunch, went on a walk. It was all conversation, and talking to her was easy. She moved to the US two years ago, from central europe nonetheless. I think she gave me a familiar, comfortable feeling that I get being around my parents. They grew up there too.

But it came time to plan the third date. I had no juice left. Paused all my apps, sent the rejection text to all the first dates, I was winding down. But she wanted to meet. And she asked me out. How sweet. Alright, what could I do. I obliged. She was nice.

The night before I drank with some friends. I drank, like, a lot. Way more than I usually do. I was stressed. I was all mixed up. I needed some relief. I told them, for some reason I was in a drinking mood. Later I told them, I was going on dates, but I hadn’t quite moved on. I didn’t know what to do. This third date was looming over my head and stressing me out.

It was a nice night. We got dinner, then ice cream, then we chatted on a balcony. But it came time to chat about what we wanted in a relationship. And I basically word vomited from there. I didn’t know what I wanted. Notionally I wanted a long term relationship. But it was a few months since I got out of a long term relationship, and I still felt weird about it. I didn’t really know what I was doing. That soured the mood. It would’ve happened one way or another. I still don’t know if it was better that I told her in person or via text.

Even without that conversation. We felt like friends. The blocker, again, kept me from seeing her as anything but a friend. Because it would feel wrong. I would feel like I’m betraying my own emotion. No matter how date-y it looked, I couldn’t cross the barrier from friend to romantic interest. She picked up on it, went home, and texted me that we shouldn’t see each other. Because she’s looking for a serious relationship. I concurred.

That concluded my escapade. I turned on the hose and was doused with experiences I wasn’t ready for. It was way too much. I feel relieved, to be on the other end of it.

So what was this mysterious blocker? Yeah, well, it’s obvious I wasn’t over my ex-girlfriend. And part of me is still holding onto what we had. Because it was so good. You had to be there. This girl was wonderful. I’ve never met someone that makes me feel the way she makes me feel. So how could I possibly pursue other people romantically? I enjoyed meeting people, as friends, but the second it might have crossed into romance territory, it felt like I was betraying the part of me that knows, really knows, that these girls weren’t her. And how could I have her if I pursued someone else? It made no sense.

Who knows when or if these feelings will subside. My sister told me something reassuring. Even if our relationship had a slow death, it really only had been two months since we actually broke up. And if that’s when we really broke up, not the year prior, I had spent three years fixated on her. Two months, three years.

People tell me I’ll move on. That time heals all wounds. That would be nice, but I’ll believe it when I see it. The part of me still holding on, well, wants to never let go. That is, after all, why it’s still holding on. I don’t know what will happen. I guess, time will tell. But for now, I won’t date. You could argue that I didn’t really even date at all.