Now, I’ve never been fortunate enough to date myself romantically, but I have bared witness to all of my relationships up until this point in my life and there is at least one strong conclusion I’ve drawn from observing my partners: dating me is probably a nightmare.
I first want to define what I mean by “dating me,” which is a term I loosely use to describe guys I admire from afar with fantasy to the men whose hands are down my pants and then taking me out for dinner. It’s hard to define relationships that are always in a transient, often-muddled state. Probably because I have yet to find the right one. Like mountain climbers who brought just enough gear but didn’t even look out for the weather. I often refer to my overall mental health as
