Dear Aliens: Episode 1, The Breakup

9.30.2013

By Jeffery Self

Guest columnist Jeffery Self documents breaking up with his soul mate — for posterity, and for the extraterrestrials.

Dear Intergalactic Friends,

A couple months ago, two to be exact, which I guess is what a couple means—unless you’re a “thruple,” and then that’s three… I see nothing wrong with “thruples.” In fact, I might go so far as to say I’d like to try being in a thruple. At least once. I’m certainly not grounded enough to ever stay in one long term, but I’m not so sure I’m grounded enough to be in a traditional “couple” either. But I digress.

Two months ago, my boyfriend of three years and I split up. It wasn’t the cleanest, prettiest, happiest of break ups (is there such a thing?) but I did the only thing a highly sensitive, social media addicted, Aquarius-Pisces cusp spirited, bi-polar, borderline egomaniac would do. I blogged the entire experience.

Before you spit out the vomit you just threw up in your mouth, let me defend myself by saying that it really helped me. It still does. To take the feelings, the experiences, the pain, the newfound freedom, and put it into words, made the whole thing so much more tangible and reminded me why documenting your life in words has proven so helpful to so many others in the past.

I am at a new place with the pain now. Not through it, but not in the middle of it either. A safe distance away from it perhaps, but still close enough to dip my feet in every couple days and remind myself that yep, it still stings, and yep, I’m still single and human. I guess that’s what this is. I’m documenting the soap opera I’ve allowed my life to become. A place to mark my experience as a newly single man in Los Angeles with a lot of hopes, dreams, and incredibly attractive Facebook friends.

So here goes.

I’m Jeffery Self and I’m single in Los Angeles for the first time, ever.

That’s not exactly true but it’s the first time I’ve been living here with no boy to obsess over except the one I spend 24-7 with, and by that I mean me. And she’s a bitch, gurl!

When I first moved to L.A., I was hung up on a pretty Mexican boy I’d met at a film festival in San Francisco a few years before, while visiting from New York. It was a glamorous, fleeting meeting. Though the boy and I exchanged numbers that night, he was headed back to L.A. the following day and a meet-up never happened. I returned to New York but we continued a passive online correspondence throughout the following year. Mostly it was just the two of us chatting on iChat while drunk and stoned, and occasionally even Skype-ing.

This was at a weird time for me in New York when I didn’t have the guts to really flirt with somebody unless there was an entire country between us. Eventually, I came out to L.A. to meet that boy and check out the city I had dreamt of moving to for a long time. New York had proven to be a magical place for me to spend my late teens and early twenties but it was quickly becoming clear that I needed a change.

After a magical week with the film festival boy I decided I had to move to L.A. at the end of the summer. Not necessarily for him, but for palm trees and fancy TV meetings. However, let’s be honest, when I booked that one-way ticket to L.A., I was excited to see him again. He didn’t want to date me, which was a punch in the gut, but also a godsend, because it allowed me to begin my life in L.A. with a clean slate. Sort of.

I immediately transferred my obsession to another a boy, a funny artist with wavy brown hair and super fair skin, a boy who was already taken, but at the end of a relationship. That went about as far you can imagine and then I was alone, but only for a month. That’s when I met my Bug, my ex.

That’s what we’re going to call my ex. Why? Because I think nicknames are cute and that’s always what I called him. Also I don’t want to use his real name and get sued. You have Google though. Bug and I were to together for almost three years and they were three of the best years of my life. Until they weren’t. But while they were, we grew up together, we became more than boyfriends, almost brothers, more than brothers, the very best of friends, soul mates at least while it lasted. I’m never sure if I believe in soul mates except when I believe I’m with my current soul mate. So maybe it’s possible that there are lots of soul mates for every soul out there. Or maybe it’s possible that I smoke too much pot.

Either way, that’s over and we’re in a new chapter. I have no idea what’s ahead. All I know is that I am excited to own my singledom. I am excited to explore my sexuality, my needs, my wants, my desires, and my biggest weaknesses. And I’m excited to share all of those with you too, because after all, if we’re not recording life, how else will the aliens know mine happened? So here it is aliens... what happens next?

 

JEFFERY SELF is the author of 50 Shades of Gay and Straight People. He and his writing partner Cole Escola starred in the sketch comedy series, Jeffery & Cole Casserole on Logo. You can view his blog at JefferySelf.tumblr.com and follow him on Twitter at @Jefferyself.

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