Editor’s Note:  The pseduonym “Bettye” is used in this column to allow students to write candidly about topics of relationships and sex without backlash.

During times of high stress, work fatigue, registration anxiety and lease searching, one thing comes to mind — when am I going to get laid? Through this drought of touch and taste, a clear vision of self-respect becomes apparent, with the only reason of clouded thought resting on desperation.

After nightly encounters, I’m the type of person who either does two things: Blocks the person or keeps — or rather tries to keep — them on the back burner. Through much disappointment and high standards, I have been left with one eligible bachelor who has become the symbolic green light of sexuality and sweet release. But this is life, so there is always an obstacle between me and my desires. 

To give some background on the relationship — rather connection, happening, coincidence — we have a messy history, instigated by my luggage of emotional clinginess. Been there, done that (I even got the shirt) and tried to cut off communication for the sake of my sanity. Instead of becoming free, I became a slave to the idea of who he was, the concept of what he is and a servant to the delusional thought of a meet-cute instance where he sweeps me off my feet and we live together till we’re senile. 

I decided to face the ghost head on, opened myself up with great embarrassment, but we managed to not be awkward. We still talk — I know, crazy — but interacting with the real person reminds me that he’s not perfect, ideal or even that cute. We flirt from time to time, but that’s about it — I promise, your honor. 

With that, this new form of camaraderie comes with shut doors of opportunity and open windows that bring in pests — talks of sexual encounters. He goes on about who he’s talking to, who he plans to bed and often flips through his own archive and compares what we’ve done with what he is doing. I know, how cruel. 

I do have to say, at my lowest moments of desperation, this is a beartrap to the leg that I don’t need at the moment, and I admit full guilt to putting myself in this situation. Each time we text and call, I cling to hope that he suddenly bursts out saying, “Come over right now and let’s make love!” Even with all this, I do have to say … this is amazing exposure therapy. 

Throughout the time I was haunted, I came to the obvious epiphany: I am worth something, whether or not someone wants me. With my life experience in romance and relationship building, this was not so obvious to me until then. I’ve always tried to be attractive, open, seductive and overpowering to assert a façade of control, but when the façade isn’t even put into consideration, the support crumbles and I wonder what I ever did wrong. 

With my new sense of self-respect equipped and the ghost of failed relationships in the palm of my hands, whenever I’m put in the situation that would have torn me apart in the past, I simply mutter to myself, “Wait … I don’t even care!”

This Deus Ex mantra pulls me out of the situation where I begin to form conspiracy, assumption and jumping to conclusions formed from my own delusions. The dusty cogs in my brain begin to creak and turn and supportive questions begin to manifest: “Do I need to be someone’s sexual desire just so I have merit?” “Even if I get what I want, will I be satisfied?” “Where can I find better options?” “Did I turn off the oven?”

As I’ve been told before, I just care too much. Displacing myself out of the conditioned response in these situations of rejection and — quite literally — being put down, it’s preparing me for other men who can’t commit and will eventually drop me out of their sexual calendar scheduling. In this day and age, it’s not a matter of if they ghost you, it’s a matter of when. 

Hopefully, this gives insight to you fellow readers and aids you in your own situation. There is no definitive step-by-step process — hell, I don’t even know how I got here. All I know is that the obvious epiphany is there with you, perhaps you even know it, it’s just a matter of unclouding your mind and realizing the squeeze ain’t worth the — well … y’know.