In November 2016, a converging of events, not important to this story, helped me realize that I am lesbian and not bisexual. I had crushes on both as young as I could remember but women never approached me for dating. I thought that wasn’t a viable choice for me. When I decided I was going to pursue that world myself I felt stronger in my body, sure I was on the path to the happiness that alluded me. I had no idea what I was getting myself into.
I was positive that even a sensitive-introvert type like me can go out and meet people in New York City. Then the elections happened and my spirits crashed. I could barely go outside at all. I couldn’t go outside to meet people. I was too wounded. Instead, I turned to dating apps. I met three significant people, the First, the Second and the Third.
Theme song: “Prefect Illusion” by Lady Gaga
The First, a recovering addict with PTSD. The only significant thing about the her is how it ended. We had a flirtation for three weeks. I called her Carol because she lived in the country, sometimes she wanted me to call her Therese, the name I wanted. When we met I had mixed feelings, both liked her and disliked her, but that always happens, doesn’t it? Mainly, I didn’t want to be discouraged, and I really enjoyed being on a date with a woman, validation. The second date was awful. Her personality changed. She kept giving me weird looks, was falling asleep, and not making any attempt at the affection we had on the last date. It was the 18th and I tried to give her cookies, she didn’t want them. I was confused. I told her I was feeling insecure. She shrugged and said everyone wants a guarantee and she was just tired. She didn’t text me when she got home, or respond to my text. I was worried because she was driving. I called her in the morning. She responded with a text. It was over, she is just not a whole person yet, but she does wish me luck. The physical pain in my heart was out-of-proportion with what we had. It was as if she planted a part of herself in my heart during those three weeks and then ripped herself out of me. I couldn’t understand why she couldn’t talk to me when I was sitting right in front her, why she couldn’t be kind. We hardly had anything. What was she afraid of saying to my face? I was sure that was just her. It was something that would never happen again, least of all with the Second.
Jules Desiree Wyble was born and raised in New Jersey. She studied Transformative Language Arts at Goddard College where she received her MA in August of 2017. She currently lives in New York City working as a figure model and life coach. She recently took up an interest in learning to box.