Years ago, during my last year of college, I was working a part-time job, going to school, going out, eating everything in sight around the clock, never working out, sleeping 4 hours a night, texting guys from 3 different universities and 7 different frats at once – basically just living the dream.

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My last big heartbreak that was one of those “AHA!” epiphany breakups. I had hit such a breaking point and realized, after all these years, that it didn’t matter if one guy was a musician or the other guy was an athlete or the other was a professional Star Wars fanatic. I was continually involving myself with men that all possessed the common denominator of emotional unavailability. I also recognized my own emotional unavailability and began to see the patterns in my dating life, my decisions, reactions and emotional triggers.

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I used to be the Floyd Mayweather of excuses. I was undefeated. No one could make up an excuse quicker than I could. I would even make up excuses for the excuses in my dating life. My favorite excuse was the “busy” or the “a lot of things going on” excuse. “Busy” was a great excuse because as long as I was too “busy” or he was “busy,” that not only meant that we had sh*t going on (which was admirable, a total ego inflation and accountability eraser ), but it also justified having to put off commitment, having to show up, having to match words with actions and having to deal with the truth which was always (when stripped of all of the bs excuses), painful.

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The majority of my dating life can be described as me being strung along and waiting for that special time to come when I would finally get the relationship that I’ve always dreamed of. This meant me waiting around for the guy to become available, me waiting for him to “come to his senses” and me waiting for him to realize that all this time he was looking elsewhere and messing around,  I was “the one” (**by “messing around,” I mean being a certifiable piece of unavailable sh*t).

I never would admit this to myself but looking back, my actions basically translated to every guy that I was “waiting for” (& that I was strung along by)…

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