Long time no post. That’s obviously my bad because I have been busy stuffing my feelings deep down inside as I go on dates with random dudes. In my defense, I have been heart broken about this break up, but I know I am much better off without Diego as much as I hate to say it.

It’s been one week and three days as of today. I feel that is sufficient recovery time for an on again off again relationship of five years. Ha!

So I have been back on Tinder. And Bumble. And Match. And OkCupid. Just to cover all my bases. Oh! And Facebook dating. Can’t forget that.

I am feeding into the toxicity of my bipolar disorder with online dating and I’m well aware of that. But there is a decent reason for that. I was supposed to have my foot and knee surgery today, but surgery got canceled on Friday, August 28th due to all of the covid-19 cases at the local hospital. So when Diego broke up with me, I was forced to move back in with my parents and as a last hoorah before surgery, I figured I would go out on a few dates and have some fun before I was laid up 10 weeks. I was going to use those ten weeks to properly grieve and work on myself.

Now that surgery isn’t happening, I am back to work with no surgery date in sight, and I am still on these dating apps. I won’t get into the nitty gritty details of each ordeal, but I will go into Friday’s horror story.

So I meet this guy in Seattle. He’s 32, in sales, got a nice mustache. Everything I like in a man. He drives me to Fremont where we proceed to have a few shots of bourbon (my favorite) and a couple of beers. Takes me back to his place and proceeds to make me cry because I didn’t tell him about my latex allergy to rubbers. He wasn’t prepared and called me a filthy, infected whore for not wanting to use a rubber. Which in hindsight, I should always do, but hey! I’m living my best life.

At this point, I go through a fourth of a fifth of Bacardi at his place because I’m uncomfortable and have no one to call to pick me up and drive me back to the ferry. And I’m a small person, and I’m chugging this God awful rum because I figure if I just fuck this dude I don’t have to remember it if I get drunk enough. He keeps pouring to get me drunk. We reach an impasse.

He drives me drunk back to the ferry, I’m still crying. He drops me off five blocks away from the ferry and I barely get out of the car when I see him speed off. Thank God, I think. I’m alive. Not well. But at least we didn’t have sex…

I stumble onto the ferry and proceed to violently vomit the whole ferry ride home. But it sobers me up enough to drive home.

I proceed to block this “man” on Tinder. He ends up getting banned and he texts me why his account got banned. I did not confirm nor deny anything. He proceeds to call me a filthy whore whom others can smell my evil from a mile away. Then I proceed to block and report him on all other dating apps and social media, and then he tries to dig deep and insult everything I told him in confidence. So then I blocked his phone number.

He’s the pyscho, not me. Ha!

The sad thing is this probably won’t deter me from more online dating, but I have learned in sharing my story, I know who’s there for me and willing to fight and protect my well being so there always is a silver lining, I suppose.

Til next time, folks!

Dani