Deal-Breakers: Slaying Dragons or Just Swatting Flies?

Alright, y’all, it’s time to get real-real. My raw, gut-wrenching emotions are in full swing—the kind that make you feel like you’re shattering into a million pieces in slow motion, like some kind of tragic movie scene where you’re just standing there, helpless, watching your body fall apart. It’s like my brain decided to throw my emotions into a high-speed kitchen mixer, and instead of beautiful fluffy icing, I got an exploding cloud of powdered sugar all over the place. My emotions are spinning out of control, and I have no clue which one’s about to send me sprinting to the bathroom for an upchucking meltdown. Seriously, it feels like those creepy bug things from *The Matrix* took over, and now I’m tingling and numb, like I might just drop dead any second. Fear? (More like sheer terror.) Worry? Doubt? Disgust? I don’t even know anymore—full-on panic mode.

The moment I opened my eyes, and BAM—Niagara Falls straight to the face, memories rushing in like a bad horror movie. I’m talking Rob Zombie-level flashbacks. The worst part? A glimpse of my face—sheet white, sunken in, with black circles under my eyes and a nose straight out of a haunted house. Basically, me on drugs. A nice little snapshot of where I’d end up if I picked up again. Just a casual warning from the Grim Reaper. Can’t unsee it. And all I wanted to do was sprint to the medicine cabinet, grab the strongest sedative, and just peace out. But nope. I just lay there, paralyzed, bladder about to burst, and not a muscle working. Good times.

Here’s the culprit—Last night, after a string of texts my boyfriend sent one that felt like I just took the Ice Bucket Challenge. I responded with “I hate u. We are so done”! I mean I would literally slay dragons for this guy, and it suddenly felt like I’d be lucky if he’d swat a fly for me. For once, I really thought, yep, enough is a fucking enough. But here’s the thing—I love him. Like, really love him. The second I see him, I’m a mess—nervous, giddy, totally out of control. It’s like the whole world disappears, and all I want to do is see him happy, hear his laugh, and soak up every moment with him.

But back to last night…I forgot every single good thing about him because I was hot roaring pissed. And than I woke up and had that complete emotional breakdown. I was still floored by his response to my cry for help. Disgusted? Yep. Terrified of losing him? HELL YES. Then I start thinking about compromise—what are my deal-breakers, anyway? I asked some friends, and every time they gave me their answer, I found some wiggle room in it. Because, let’s face it, writing someone off over a “deal-breaker” feels in my opinion like a lack of empathy. There’s always a deeper reason behind someone’s actions, and I want to figure it out, get to the core, and stand side by side through it. That’s love, right? I mean if you truly love someone, isn’t a deal-breaker supposed to be, well, breakable? For me, it sure seems that way. But if he won’t slay that dragon for me, am I really going to settle for a squashed fly? Hmm… possibly my deal-breaker?

And there it is—my brain, ladies and gentlemen, in all its raw emotional conflicted glory.