The Three-Nearly-Four-Month Curse

The three-nearly-four-month curse started a little bit after my first (and last) boyfriend told me to die.

I’ve insisted my best friends break up with their boyfriends at the mildest inconvenience. He forgot your anniversary? Dump him.
He didn’t apologise after your fight? Dump him.
You cheated? Dump him!

You might frown and shake your head at that last one. But, for me, being a friend to my girls means supporting their rights and their wrongs. So unless they’re becoming meth addicts or fucking up my life, I’d support them through almost anything. Murder included. Especially when it comes to the below-average men they all seem to gravitate toward.

Given this information, you’d assume my tolerance for shit when it comes to men is pretty low and that I have high standards.

“Not eating is retarded,” he said once upon a time.
“I lost the weight though.”
“Then die.”
It was at this point that everything came to a standstill for me. “Excuse me?” I asked my boyfriend at the time.

Leo, a spicy white ‘Italian’ (so Italian that his dad’s name is Gary) with bad hair and small eyes, looked at me with a straight face. “I said then die. ‘Cause that’s exactly what’s going to happen if you don’t eat.”

I blinked at him. Well, not really because this conversation happened over the phone but he might as well have been in front of me hitting my chest with a hammer for all the hurt I felt. I spent almost every day with him for three-nearly-four months so I could picture the conversation as if it happened in real life. In this scenario, I would have been sitting on his bed with the navy sheets that lay on the floor without a headboard and he would be standing, alternating between frowning at me and stealing glances at his phone.

“Obviously you’re going to lose weight,” he said, looking at me as if I was his stupid 5-year-old cousin. He didn’t even have a 5-year-old cousin but I imagine that’s how he’d speak to them. “But not in a healthy way at all. It’s dumb!”

Here, he would’ve thrown his hands up in the air and rolled his eyes. Maybe even walk over to his light-up keyboard and flop down onto his leather gamer chair and put on that game that annoyed the shit out of me. As if he didn’t just fuck up my brain.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Okay.

“Do you know,” I managed to say, trying not to cry on the spot, “how difficult it is to lose weight when you don't go to the gym?”

“So just go to the gym, babe. Like you cannot argue with me on this. You’re dumb.”
(His exact words were, “not eating is dumb”, but minor details).
“Sometimes eating the bare minimum is easier than the other option of feeling so gross you throw up. And don’t call me retarded.”
(His excuse, later on, was that he said not eating is retarded. As if that somehow made it

better).
“It’s something I’m trying to work on,” I continued. “Not an easy fix.”
We went back and forth after this for a while but nothing worth typing out because I already told you the important bit: he told me to die over a conversation about my eating disorder and I still stayed with him.

It’s a memory I wish I could forget but one that is too fresh in my mind any time I eat. Or anytime I don’t. Or any moment when I’m thinking about my appearance.

And it was just another Tuesday for him.

He broke up with me not long after. That happened over the phone too. If I hadn’t told him to phone me our breakup would have been via text, with a very clever, “Do you feel strange?”

Props to him. I haven’t heard of that one before. Just wish he did it the previous day, like before I gave him the gifts I bought him while I was in Europe.

It took me ages to get over him. Not because I was in love with him like the 19-year-old me thought I was. I spent my teenage years listening to Taylor Swift avidly. She kept me alive during the worst years of my life (read: any year from 2008 up to 2018), and while she has plenty of songs not about love and heartbreak, most of my favourites were about the love and heartbreak.

A Taylor album about my life would look like this:

1999 (Nadia’s Version) 1) This Is Me Crying

2) Soon You Won’t Get Better (Feat. Dead Grandpa) 3) I Bet You Don’t Think About Me
4) You’re Not Sorry But I Sure Am (Gaslighting ver.) 5) How You Lose The Girl

The heartbreak I experienced before then wasn’t of the romantic kind. They were all family-related and about every friend who dumped me the minute they found somebody better. So when Taylor sang of a broken heart, I romanticised the shit out of it. I sat and wished for it. Yearned for it. Longed for it.

But when it happened it wasn’t what I thought it would be.

I bring this up because she has a lyric I think about often. I wasn’t heartbroken because I loved him. I was heartbroken because I felt used, embarrassed, ashamed and every other synonym for those words. After years of never getting the male attention I was taught to want, here was this guy who said he liked me. A guy who took my first kiss (against my will, mind you), who I had no interest in until he showed interest in me, who made me feel like hey, maybe I’m not repulsive. And he did not give a shit about me. All he was looking for was a quick fuck and when he couldn’t get it, he dipped. That’s the part that bounces around in my head years later. I was just a piece of meat that he chewed and spat out once it lost its flavour. Or, as Taylor puts it, a crumpled-up piece of paper lying on the floor. The simile is simple enough but it’s exactly how I felt. Something that’s discarded to the side without a second thought because its purpose has been fulfilled. Nobody will give it any more attention because somebody else already deemed it insignificant and useless. Into the trash it goes. You can try to iron it out but it won’t ever be completely smooth again. Onto the next shinier sheet of paper that I’ll write on lovingly and with care in front of the old paper to show her just how replaceable she is.

Safe to say that I have not been in another relationship with a guy since.
I also haven’t kissed a person sober since then too but that’s a trauma for another story.

The next relationship I got into went a lot differently. It ended in a heartache that would make my friends smile politely every time I bring it up and say, “I understand, don’t worry,” even though their eyes scream at me to just shut the fuck up and get over it.

Her name was Amber.
Very pretty name for a pretty girl who I liked since first year.
In hindsight, I should have listened to my lecturers when they told us to not date anybody in

the degree. It would have saved me a whole lot of heartbreak because not only did I do it once, I did it twice.

I remember my first day of university because I was so focused on her as I ran on the wet grass. I also remember trying to explain why my denim dress was dirty later at dinner. My brother finished narrating how he was in an hour-long statistics class that made his brain hurt and my parents asked me to tell them about my first day.

“They made you do what?”
“They made us play Duck Duck Goose. On the library lawns.”
“What...” A head shake from Dad. A puzzled expression on Mum’s face. “Okay. What is that,

exactly?”
“You kind of, like, run around and tap each other on the head.”
“Right.” Pause. An exchange of disbelieving looks. “How did your other classes go?” “They actually cancelled the rest so it was just Duck Duck Goose.”
“Nadia, are you sure we’re paying for a real degree?”

I still ask myself this and I’ve already graduated.

Anyway, Amber was in my group as we all ran around smacking each other on the head. I slipped on the grass numerous times and wanted to die because the cute girl with curly hair was in my group and I kept making a fool of myself. I did try speaking to her but it didn’t last very long.

“Hey!”

“Oh, hi?”

“Can’t believe they’re making us run on the grass for our first class.”
“I know right? Imagine what the tests will be like, haha.”

Me, instantly regretting the sound once it left my mouth, “HAHAHA!”
“Haha.” Awkward silence. “I think they want us to start running again, I’m gonna go line

up...” She was very nice but it looked like she would rather be anywhere else. I didn’t blame her. Who would want to talk to the freak with the flower painted on her face that kept face-planting the ground?

Not all was lost though. I did end up getting her number sometime during the week. I can’t remember how I managed it but she saved herself as “amber tha hedgehawg”.

I didn’t get it at first. When we started dating and were talking about our first impressions of each other one night, she explained that it was supposed to be like Sonic the Hedgehog because she was trying to be funny. We were Game Design students so that should’ve been obvious to me. She had changed mine to Nadia Bandicoot that night too because Crash Bandicoot was one of my favourite games.

At first, when I got her number, I didn’t do much with it aside from asking about assignments. The nerves ran too strong and I had zero experience in approaching people that I liked. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I tried harder. This was pre-Leo. Would he not have been in my life? I would’ve liked that. I’ll never know but I enjoy being delusional in my daydreams.

It was only when covid struck that things started picking up between the two of us.

Our relationship was definitely the result of cabin fever but it’s not like I didn’t already have a crush on her. When I was dating Leo I still remember looking out for her. It sounds bad but it’s not like Leo was giving me much to look forward to, other than the buckets of trauma. Sometimes with girls, I find it hard to differentiate between when I like them Romantically, if I just Really want to be their friend or if I want to Be Them. Sometimes all three. But I knew I Liked liked Amber because I listened to a podcast for her. I was a different person by the time she came into my life. This wasn’t Nadia who bit her tongue and swallowed her words. It was a new and improved Nadia who realised that if her father didn’t even raise his voice at her when he was angry, there was no need to let another man do it ever again. This Nadia stood her ground and told men to fuck off when they bothered her and her friends. She also started telling people she liked them.

Amber and I formed a bond over our joint insomnia. When 4 a.m. came around and everybody was asleep, she’d be up posting about something silly cute, like disco or alligators. Desperate to talk to her, I responded to every status she posted and soon we were talking every day. The chat that changed things happened the night I was painting my brother something. He was going through an unimaginable heartbreak and I needed him to know that there would always be somebody in his corner. I spent the night painting one of his favourite characters so I could give him something to wake up to. It took longer than expected and I only finished at six in the morning. Amber was the only one up that late and kept me company as I painted. We didn’t confess or talk about anything important but it set the tone for future messages, even if I didn’t know it back then. After enough “U up?” moments, I told her how much I liked her. The way I went about it was a bit corny but it got the job done. We were having another late-night talk and got onto the topic of crushes.

Also, if you're okay with sharing, PLEASE tell me about this girl you have a crush on omg,, I love Relationship Drama. you actually know her!! she's in our degree, very cool and talented girl who has a weird fetish for alligators.

As lame as I was, it worked. But the surprising bit was that she liked me back. The even more surprising bit– she was the one who asked me to be her girlfriend. Which confused the shit out of me when she proceeded to dump me at the park after three-nearly-four months of dating. There were many things that confused me about Amber. She hated receiving help and trying to get her to open up was like attempting to open a rusted tap only for a drop of water. She’d give me a tiny crumb of her each month, like the fact that she didn’t like her dad and that she thought she was on the spectrum. The only reason I got any of this was because of me. Dating Amber was dating a ghost. She was kind of there but always out of reach. But I loved her. Not the Leo kind of love where I loved the idea that somebody finally liked me. I loved her in a way where I was willing to eat scraps of the love she was offering as long as I got to eat. She fed me crumbs and I was but a humble ant. When I thought I had enough crumbs to make a quarter slice of bread I got a text one December afternoon asking if I was free to see her at the park.

Naturally, I was excited.

Our first date was at the park so I thought she wanted to go back for some sentimental reason. I was having a week from hell and trauma blocked almost everything out that December but I remember the night before crystal clear because I reread her texts over and over again afterwards to look for anything I could have missed.

Everything had been so normal.

I spent the day helping my mom bake [redacted]’s cake!! Still gotta finish the icing and stuff but she is: almost done

(enjoy listening to music with shala <3 I’ll see you tomorrow!! Love youuu sleep well <3) ((tell me if you need a lift tomorrow too!!))

I was on cloud nine. I even got up early to buy her favourite flowers so that they were fresh. She picked me up as promised and even brought the journal I made for us to exchange. Extra exciting. We went to the park and walked for about fifteen minutes, talking about our siblings and everything else that was going on in our lives. It was boiling hot so she asked if we could sit down in the shade on the bench nearby.

“I’m sweating through my mask, ew. Poes hot.” I pulled it down and wiped my mouth.

“It is kinda gross.” She turned to me and gave me a strained smile. “Nadia, I need to talk to you about something.”

“Are you breaking up with me?” I asked with a laugh. (This was a running joke between us.)
Cue a sad stare from Amber.
(Spoiler: it was NOT a joke this time.)

I pulled my mask back up to cover my face because I started crying and it was kind of gross. The tears were mixing with the snot leaking out of my nose. She said stuff that went through one ear and out the other.

“Are you sure I didn’t do anything?”

“No, Nadia, not at all.” She sat there quietly while I sniffed and hiccuped my way through ten minutes of silence. I have never wanted to astral project myself to another planet like I did at that moment. I needed to be away from that park, away from that city, away from any place where I’d think about the curl of her hair and soft smile. So all I had to basically do was die because there was no place where I wouldn’t think about her.

Easy game.
The worst part was that she had to drive me back home.
All I remember from that ride was staring at the flowers I bought her on the floor of her car.

Three-nearly-four months.

That’s when people grow tired of me and things go wrong. Leo was the first to show me and Amber followed not long after that. Both of them broke up with me just before we hit the four-month mark. The same thing happened with the next person I dated, but I have no interest in going into detail about that story. It can be summarised pretty easily.

Me: “I am uncomfortable with physical touch.”

Her: “That’s totally okay!”
Me: “I am also traumatised and need to take things slow because I have a fear you’ll leave me.” Her: “That’s also totally okay!”
Me: “And I need time to myself sometimes because I’m introverted and am easily drained.” Her: “That is still totally okay!”
Three-nearly-four months later:
“Nadia you throw my family trauma back in my face (even though you were the only one to

help me move out when they were being awful to me), you string me along (even though I go out of my way to make you jealous), you don’t make any time for me (even though you see me more than all of your friends combined) and you never initiate anything! (It upset me when you established that boundary, like, what about what I want?)”

“I cannot do this anymore. Goodbye.”
And that was that.
That is one relationship I am happy to say I don’t miss at all.

So I sit and wonder. What is it about me that stops being appealing after three-nearly-four months? I know a lot of this makes me seem like the victim. I’m not saying I didn’t do anything wrong. Once when I was dating Leo I turned my read receipts on to read his messages and show that I was ignoring him because he had hurt my feelings the previous few days. I can’t remember what I did to Amber but I’m sure there was something. But for all my bad, I really thought that there was something worth staying for. Each time I’ve been proven wrong and I can’t figure out what’s wrong with me. I’ve heard enough, “Nadia it’s really not you...” from my friends to last a lifetime. But at some point, when the same thing happens and the only common denominator is you, you have to take some accountability, right?

Is it the way I look? If so I can’t fix much about that. I grew up with an unremarkable face. I tried making up for it with sharp eyeliner and shading my eyebrows so that they match the colour of whatever t-shirt I’m wearing for the day.

Is it something about my personality? I’ve tried on so many at this point I’m not sure which is mine anymore. My mother’s hand-me-down ‘I don’t take shit from people’ is a few sizes too big for me, and my dad’s tsundere attitude is too small for my big heart. There was the quiet me who let Leo do whatever he wanted and she wasn’t enough. There was the strong me who stood up for what she loved with Amber and she was still not enough.

There’s also the chance that I’m thinking about it too hard and the reason is something simple. Maybe Amber dipped because I told her once that I had a shrine for Taylor Swift when I was 13 and it freaked her out. Maybe Leo just couldn’t handle eating food that was seasoned and needed to go back to dating somebody white again. Maybe the reasons with the other people that followed them are equally as silly and not because there’s something inherently wrong with me.

Whatever the case may be, after all these failed three-nearly-four month relationships, all I’m left to wonder is one thing– how many times do I have to be not enough until I’m finally enough?