heart-to-heart.jpgI’m falling out of love with myself. . I’m no dummy. I can see the writing on the wall. I’ve been acting differently lately–listening to what other people are saying when before I’d just be trying to remember the name of the two dogs from Magnum P.I.

I’ve even caught myself entertaining altruistic thoughts. This past week I found the words “Let me buy the next round” almost on my lips! I later said that I was drunk, but that’s no excuse. I thought that maybe it was just a disinterest connected to my recent weight gain but I see it goes deeper than that. I think that over time I let my guard down and I saw parts of myself I didn’t know were there.

I prove true the maxim that love “is an ignorance of someone that allows you to believe they’re not as dispicable as the rest of humanity.” I mean, you live with someone long enough and you see their real self. I can eat an entire package of cold hot dogs in one sitting and I play the musical Evita real loud and sing the words all wrong.

I wish I hadn’t wasted the best years of my life on a dead-end relationship with myself. I wish I had a DeLorien. I’d crank it up to 88 in a shopping mall parking lot and go back to 1991 and warn myself “no matter how cute, how luxurious the hair, or knowing the touch, don’t fall in love with yourself!” My 1991 self would look at me with shock and amazement, and most likely a healthy dose of lust because let’s face it: I’ve still ‘got it’.

My friends all tell me its for the best that I move on. My self help books say its a step towards healthy adulthood but its going to be hard to let go. Especially after I’ve given myself a ring and tattooed my name on my chest. And it will be hard to get used to the idea of being a selfish lover as a ‘bad thing’.

Its already uncomfortable. This morning I saw myself in the mirror and I pretended I was too busy brushing my teeth to stop and chat.

But don’t cry for me Marge and Tina. I’ll be alright. Maybe I’ll just have sex with myself once more for closure.

Ryan McGivern