Pansexuality Erasure

To begin with, I have two important terms to define:

Heteronormativity: the belief or assumption that a heterosexual relationship is the norm. It is drenched in gender roles and in the assumption that only men and women belong together. While not always necessarily homophobic, it’s a dangerous privilege that is hurting queer people and hinders the progress in queer people becoming more than just a “minority”.

Bisexual erasure: “the tendency to ignore, remove, falsify, or reexplain evidence of bisexuality in history, academia, news media and other primary sources. In its most extreme form, bisexual erasure can include denying that bisexuality exists.”

I am pansexual. While similar to bisexuality, it is not the same thing but the above definition of erasure is spot on for both identities. Pansexuality means that I am romantically and sexually attracted to all genders: man, woman, transgender, non-binary, genderfluid and genderless. It’s often described as being gender-blind, however I do not identify with this definition. I see gender, I acknowledge it because to be blind to gender is to erase it. And I don’t want to erase anyone’s gender or identity; I just am attracted to people regardless of gender. Meaning while I pay attention to it, it’s not a factor in my attraction to people. It’s also super important to clarify: attraction is just attraction. It does not necessarily involve acting on anything, nor is it a guarantee. Just because I feel attraction towards something, it does not mean that I am getting involved in any way. So while I always have the potential to be attracted to all people, it doesn’t mean that a) I necessarily am (because attraction is a very personal thing and just because a straight girl is attracted to males, it doesn’t mean she’s attracted to every. single. male. she meets; attraction doesn’t work that way????) and b) it doesn’t mean that I’ll act on it (if I were straight and in a relationship, I could still find other people attractive but I’m obviously not going to act on that because attraction ≠ action????)

Personally, I have dated women. I have dated men. I am currently dating a man. I have not dated anyone who is outside of these two binaries (purely coincidental, I’ve not met too many people who identify outside of the two binaries) but this is irrelevant. If my boyfriend said to me today that he identified as genderless, genderfluid, or even transgender I would still be just as in love with him and would still want to be in a relationship with him. Yes, I am currently dating a cisgender man. But this does not erase the part of me that is attracted to people who are not male.

So, to get back to my main point here: my biggest struggle with being pansexual is that it’s really hard to feel “authentically” pan when I’m not single. When I’m single, everyone is fair game. I can date, see or sleep with whoever I want and generally no one tends to question my pansexual-ness (not a word, but I’m rolling with it). But now that I’m in a relationship, I feel that I automatically get placed into the “straight” box. This is because the new people I meet will assume that I’m straight – and that’s not their fault. Society conditions us to believe that a woman dating a man is straight, and that this is the norm. For me, it’s not my norm. My last relationship before Jamie was with a girl. I was struck with the same assumptions, only in reverse: most people I met just thought I was a lesbian.

In between these two relationships, when I was single, I casually dated both men and women. Pansexual. But dating a woman? Must be a lesbian. Dating a man? Undoubtedly straight. It’s frustrating to feel like I can’t be authentically pan when I’m in a relationship because some way or another, I’m met with the assumption that I’m one thing or the other. This, my friends, is known as pansexuality erasure. I’m not a lesbian. I’m not straight. There’s nothing wrong with either of those things, but it’s just not how I identify. And it’s really hard for me to come out to new people I meet because it seems so extra to mention my boyfriend, and then try to follow up with a, “oh but I’m also attracted to women and have dated them before, along with my attraction to other gender identities”. How awkward if it’s not context-appropriate?!?!

A lot of my feelings behind erasure stem from my own actions too, though. I find myself falling into a pattern of “rejecting” either part of my sexuality when I’m in a relationship – usually because I’m afraid of upsetting the person I’m with. When I was dating my ex-girlfriend, I felt weird consuming media that was heterosexually-based, in case my partner felt like I missed being with men or felt that I found hetero relationships cuter. So I’d try to consume only media that featured queer girls: Orange is the New Black, Faking It, Carmilla, Tegan and Sara, and many other TV shows, films, artists, etc. But, because of the heteronormative society we live in, it’s pretty hard to avoid hetero media. When I’m single, I tend to enjoy both queer girl and hetero media equally. Now that I’m dating a man, I feel weird watching anything that features queer girls, especially because queer media is so limited. You have to actively seek out most queer girl media, which makes me feel paranoid that I’ll upset my boyfriend, so I stick to hetero media – despite the fact that he really doesn’t care, is very supportive of everything I do and actually said that my being pan was a “plus” when we first met (along with the fact that I’m a vegetarian and a writer, hehe!). So it’s illogical, I know, but you’d be surprised at how insecure people can feel when they date someone who is pan or bi. And I know it can be kind of scary to date someone whose attraction isn’t limited to one gender but it’s so important to remember that pansexuality/bisexuality is not the same as polyamory. Sure, people can be both but I’m not. I’m only interested in monogamous relationships, so if I’m with ya, you can bet that I won’t stray.

I don’t quite know what the solution to erasure is, but I guess it just involves people being a little more open-minded to the idea that people aren’t always just one thing or another. I’m a little bit in between. I’m a shade in between two colours, and that’s totally fine by me. I tend to be in all other aspects of my life: mixed race, middle child, vegetarian. That’s okay. I suppose it all just comes down to the thing I try to remember the most about people: what you see is not always what you get. People are vastly complex and what is obvious about them – physical appearance, surface details – is not the only thing that they have to offer. I have Generalised Anxiety Disorder, yet you wouldn’t know it by just looking at me or meeting me once or twice. Just like how my being pan is not explicitly obvious, because I’m dating a man right now. Humans are all just lovely little onions with several layers that don’t usually peel back straight away, and that is such a beautiful, beautiful thing❤

After-thoughts on The Shallows

Despite being the biggest baby in the whole world who is terrified of any piece of media that isn’t a rom-com, last night I went to see The Shallows. I watched the trailer a few weeks ago and was instantly intrigued. I’m extremely sensitive to anything remotely scary or confronting in any way and I’ve endured sleepless nights thanks to films like the remake of Carrie and This Is The End. The last few episodes of season four of Orange is the New Black and even Pretty Little Liars have scared me into insomnia. These films and TV shows aren’t scary at all. It’s just that I’m just a sensitive, anxious soul and find literally anything scary and/or upsetting. Yet I find myself so fascinated by things that scare me and I watch these things anyway just to fulfil this twisted thrill-chasing part of me.

So anyway, I went to see The Shallows. I read the entire plot on Wikipedia beforehand, so I knew exactly what was going to happen, and still ended up completely terrified. The entire way through I was gripping my boyfriend’s hand and had my mouth covered to stop myself from letting out any embarrassing screams or gasps (side note: I fucking love when there’s one person who does this in the cinema, it’s hilarious hahaha!). I awoke at 2am last night and didn’t fall asleep for hours, images of this man-hunting shark on a loop in my mind. Obviously today I know how ridiculous I was being and after doing some reading online, I’ve realised just how dangerous films like these are, because of the misinformation they spread to ignorant minds.

Too often in the media, sharks are portrayed as evil killing machines. This could not be further from the truth. Sharks do not actively hunt humans. Most shark attacks that occur are known as hit-and-run attacks and occur only because sharks mistake humans for prey. They usually attack once, realise that the human isn’t prey (sharks don’t like the taste of humans, as we’re not blubbery like seals or other sea animals) and then leave. That’s why there are so many shark attack survivors. On average, only about four or five people per year die from a shark attack. Most people survive, and even then you have a one in 11.5 million chance of an unprovoked shark attack. I won’t spoil anything about The Shallows, but basically the whole film is factually incorrect. While it is entertaining, it is extremely inaccurate in depicting how sharks actually hunt.

The most important thing to remember is that the ocean is the shark’s home. I’m certainly not condoning shark attacks (even though, really, it’s not their fault) but it’s so, so important that we remember that sharks are just chilling in their natural habitat. We humans decide to go into the ocean, to invade their territory, so you can’t really blame sharks for doing what they naturally do. It’s also important to note that there are over 440 shark species (!!!!) so it would be absolutely ridiculous to generalise a whole group of fish.

Yes, this is just a film. But after the popularity of Jaws, many people engaged in shark culling and hunting because of misconceptions about sharks. Sharks shouldn’t be killed to protect humans, nor should they be hunted for soup or meat. Ignorant people are swayed by media like this, as sharks are portrayed as mindless killers. But they are social, sedentary, intelligent and playful creatures. It’s fine to see films like The Shallows – because I’m an animal activist, I would never just take a film like this at face value and I found the film entertaining purely because of how ridiculous it is. I know that none of this would ever happen in real life. I already know that sharks are magnificent animals and don’t deserve the reputation that the media has forced onto them, nor do I believe at all that they should be hunted and killed for any reasons. However, what I worry about is ignorant people viewing this film and believing that sharks actually do what the shark in The Shallows did. All it does is further reaffirm their beliefs that sharks are dangerous and vicious, which just isn’t true at all.

There’s plenty of information out there for anyone who is curious, and I really do urge anyone reading this to do their own research before The Shallows if they intend on seeing it, or after if you already have. Films are first and foremost made for entertainment (and profit, if you’re big-budget Hollywood) and while it’s all good and fun, it’s also imperative that we remember that films play a big role in shaping the minds of its viewers. The media is powerfully influential on vulnerable minds and I would suggest everyone view every film, shark-related or not, with a critical mindset. This website, Save Our Sharks, has some great information on sharks and all it takes is a simple Google search on shark conservation and endangered shark species to learn more about why these gorgeous animals should be protected.

“Anxiety, Depression, and Being a Downer”

I’ve been wanting to talk about mental health lately, only I haven’t known how to. I’ve spoken about it plenty of times before (most notably here) but honestly, that doesn’t really make it any easier. I like to talk about these things openly because I don’t see the point in suffering in silence. It’s a characteristic that I absolutely loathe in New Zealanders – or rather, the whole world. Everyone seems to get so weird when it comes to feelings, but feelings are so inherently human… so why wouldn’t we talk about them? And properly, at that. Not just the good (although Kiwis aren’t really very good at that either) but the whole spectrum, the whole array of human emotions. That we’re able to feel is so beautiful, why not talk about it?

Like I’ve mentioned before, it’s really hard to talk about feeling down when you’re in the middle of it. We all like a good success story, which I guess is why I haven’t wanted to talk about how I’ve been feeling lately. It felt somewhat easier to talk about my struggle with Generalised Anxiety Disorder in October because I felt like I was “better”. It’s hard to explain what “better” even feels like, but it doesn’t feel like this. This, right now, is not good.

I’ve been drowning. This whole year has felt like a constant battle, a new challenge appearing every goddamn day. A lot has changed for me in just eight months. Studying full-time is taking a huge toll on my mental health and if I’m honest, I really miss working full-time. I miss the easiness of it, the financial stability, the routine of having an 8-4 weekday job. I’m really glad that I chose to return to university, but it would be a total lie for me to act as if I were loving life and backing my decision 100%. Some days I really regret leaving my job; other days I can’t imagine how I ever considered staying longer than I did.

I moved, which was stressful in itself, into a place that isn’t too perfect. I’m with my boyfriend, which has helped immensely with the little things, like cooking and having my strongest source of support around most of the time. But, like so many couples do, we fight a lot and it’s left me wondering why, when we’re meant to be in the “honeymoon phase”. I’ve now realised: that shit does not exist. Who the fuck decided that you’re meant to be utterly obsessed with your partner for up to a YEAR without realising that they’re just as much of a shitty human being as you are?! The fact that my boyfriend and I aren’t acting like honeymooners has been a source of sadness for me too this year, until I realised that life doesn’t wait for anyone. Everything else in my life is far from perfect at the moment and that is bound to spill over into overlapping categories. It’s been a tough year; a new relationship wasn’t going to magically fix everything else or make the other shit not matter. I’m just glad that I have a partner who is supportive and strong and will tolerate my tantrums and panic attacks and, above all, absolutely loves me. I’m a huge bitch around people I see everyday, so it’s honestly a miracle that Jamie hasn’t kicked my sorry ass out on the street.

I guess I just wanted to let my readers (which consists mostly of Facebook peers hahah) know that it’s okay to feel down and be open about it. This whole year has kind of sucked for me, mental health-wise. Why should I wait until next year or until I’m happy again to talk about it? And I really, really don’t want to come across as whiny or ‘poor me’ – I just want to have an open and honest conversation about mental health. I saw Charlie McDonnell’s video today about mental health (from which I’ve appropriated my title) and I knew I had to talk about it. It’s okay to be down, it’s okay to not be mentally well. Basically, I just want y’all to know: I got you. And I’m with you. And we will get out to the other side❤

Not-so-social media

A lot of people seem to have a lot of negative opinions on social media- it encourages anti-social behaviour, it is influencing generations of entitled narcissists, it’s quickly unravelling the very fabric of society… Plenty of negatives. I say ‘fuck that’ to all of those arguments, as I think social media is a positive and powerful tool in our modern society. I think it’s amazing how social media connects the world, gives voices to those who otherwise would not and could not exercise them, and allows people to make and maintain friendships otherwise gone unfounded or unpreserved.

Social media has helped me in a multitude of ways. It has lead me to discover what my strengths and passions are, which is why I’m studying Communication. How cool that now it means that I can hopefully get a sick job one day? Social media has helped me to make friends that I wouldn’t otherwise. My active presence on Twitter has introduced amazing, hilarious, wonderful people into my life and has brought me to like-minded people: feminists, people on the LGBT+ spectrum, vegetarians/vegans. I was once painfully shy, but social media allowed me to get comfortable talking to people online in my own time. The most important person in my life, my boyfriend Jamie, and I interacted pre-relationship by exchanging text messages as a buffer for our shared anxieties. Dating with GAD is hard; social media is often a safe and comfortable middle ground for people with anxiety disorders or even just people who are shy.

In saying that, though, I know social media has become somewhat of a negative presence in my life. I know that I’ve been “addicted” to it for a long time now, incessantly wanting to check my Twitter, updating my Instagram every few days, pulling up Facebook probably a hundred times in one day. I never really thought this was a bad thing, until this year when I realised that social media can actually make me feel really awful about myself. I spoke about it on Instagram and Facebook a few months ago, about how the comparative nature of social media can lead you to believe that you’re not good enough in contrast to your peers (which, by the way, is absolutely untrue).

So I’ve decided to cut down. I want to impose some real guidelines soon but for now it’s enough to just make mindful decisions with my social media checking and posting. When I reach for my phone, I find myself now asking myself, “Do I really need to check this now? When was the last time I checked my phone? Could I wait maybe a little bit longer before checking it again?” Last year I started this by turning off my notifications for all apps except for Twitter and Facebook Messenger. There’s no need for me to check Facebook or Instagram every time I receive a like or whatever.

I also sometimes leave the house without my phone now, usually just when my boyfriend and I are going out for a walk or we’re going out for lunch and I don’t feel like I’ll need to be reached within the next few hours. It sounds silly in theory, but leaving the house without your phone these days can actually be dangerous in some ways and, as someone with anxiety, it can be scary to not be able to reach someone or be reached in case something goes wrong. Social media aside, without a phone you can’t reach emergency services, check/transfer money on a bank app, let someone know where you are or otherwise important things. But when I’m with my boyfriend, he has his phone so there’s no need for me to have mine.

I now try to not obsess so much over posting so much content. A lot of this was fuelled by the realisation that 2,400 posts on Instagram is just insane. All power to you if you get there, but a lot of things in life just don’t need to be shared. I’m not one for judging others on this, but I think only sharing what I really need to makes social media not dictate my life so much anymore. I want to be more mindful about what I share with the world and have the things I say be worth listening to.

I love social media and it’s what I want to do professionally for the rest of my life. I’m good at it, I understand it and I want to contribute to our social media landscape in positive ways. But I now know that it’s important for me to take a step away sometimes, to stop comparing myself to others, and to learn to enjoy what’s actually going on around me.

Cutting the cord on nostalgia.

I have always been a nostalgic person. And I don’t necessarily think that this is a bad thing- it shows that I’m a sentimental, caring and thoughtful person. But it has also made me a very sad person at times.

The worst was when I was in my last year of high school, 2013. I had had a really amazing year the year previous. For some reason, in Year 12 everything just fell together in perfect ways and I had a virgin sense of resilience that meant I wasn’t fazed when things went wrong in my life. Somehow, I just handled it and didn’t let anything get to me.

However, I started 2013 off with some unfortunate life events that tainted my entire year. I spent the entire year feeling down, depressed, unlike myself. And most of all, nostalgic. I spent an entire year longing after the one that had just been and in turn, ended up wasting a year missing something that was already long gone.

Now, I’m nowhere near as nostalgic these days. 2014 for me was rough, debatably rougher than 2013. 2015 was a year of healing, getting my anxiety in check and achieving goals. And here I am, in 2016. I don’t miss last year at all, even though it was a pretty good year for me. I don’t miss 2014 at all, nor do I miss any of my years in high school in any way, shape or form. Beyond that, well I just don’t really remember, to be honest. I’m well and truly at peace with my past.

And yet I found I still had easily accessible relics of the past. Namely, photographs. I’ve always been an avid photographer, purely because I find life to be a beautiful and breathtaking thing. I love to document my life, good and bad, which is why I’ve kept a diary since I was nine years old (and now have to lug around fourteen fat journals with me whenever I move to a new house). I recently discovered that I had 42,000 photographs on my MacBook. Explanation: I took Photography as a subject in Year 12 & 13. Plus I just take a lot of photos because I’m wildly sentimental. I also recently made it to 2,400 Instagram posts. Explanation: I had Instagram before Snapchat i.e. I posted every “important” photo I took on Instagram before Snapchat came along and made me realise that sometimes life is pretty mundane and some photos actually should only exist for a 24 hour time period. And also again, because I’m a wildly sentimental person.

But I realised something had to change. So last week, I took it upon myself to delve into my past and delete everything I didn’t need. My diaries don’t cause me much grief, as they’re tucked away in a box and I don’t pull them out just for some light reading before bed. But photos? On my laptop? I can go back to any point in my past with a few clicks on my desktop and see photos with people I don’t date anymore or friends I don’t talk to anymore. I don’t tend to do this ever, so I questioned myself: why even have them at all? I had to stop holding these painful memories, whose only function were to make me sad and take up a lot of space on my hard drive. It took a fucking long time and it was boring as hell and also kind of painful in some parts, because memories (especially bad ones) can be really hard to confront. But I cut my photos down to 4,000. My Instagram is sitting on 800-something.

I’ve always cared so much about accurately documenting my life. That’s why I keep a diary. That’s why I tweet my life away. That’s why I’m so open on most social media about my triumphs and my struggles. Which was why I was apprehensive to delete whole parts of my history. I’ve always found it important to honour my past; it’s where I come from, and I couldn’t be here without being there. But I’m realising now that the past doesn’t define you. You define yourself. And all that really matters is the present. So I deleted anything that made me feel sad, anything irrelevant, anything I never wanted to see again. I don’t want to carry around the baggage from my past anymore. I just want to focus on my life now and enjoy how happy I finally am. Nostalgia is a really bittersweet emotion. And I don’t feel like I’m bitter anymore. I feel like I’m just sweet.

The university/mental illness struggle

For me, anything that has happened in my life over the last two and a half years can pretty much be inextricably linked with my mental health. University and mental health. Work and mental health. Dating/relationships and mental health. Mental illness is something that I care quite deeply about, after living with Generalised Anxiety Disorder for the past two and a half years of my life. It can be really hard to live the life you desperately want to when you have a mental illness, and this can include choosing what to do with your life. Namely, university.

For me, my mental health affected my “life path” rather early on. The start of my university career and the “start-point” of my GAD pretty much went hand-in-hand. I’ve spoken about it before in a lengthy post last year, but I’ll keep this story short: basically, six weeks into my first semester of university I dropped out because I was not mentally or emotionally equipped to handle the stress of higher education and all of the big life changes that come along with it.

It was really hard for me to deal with. I ran from my problems. I eventually fell into a salary job, one that allowed me to go to work everyday and then come home and get into bed and do nothing. I don’t regret the year and a half I spent working when I should have been studying. I needed the time to just enjoy having some money and enjoy having little responsibility. I moved back home, started Cognitive Behavioural Therapy, learnt how to drive and changed my life in the most positive way possible.

And then I decided I wanted to go back. My GAD was mostly under control for the second half of last year and I realised that it was the only obstacle stopping me from going back to uni. So I took the leap. I reenrolled. I applied for the student loan. I left my job. I found a part-time job.

And here I am. I’m currently one exam away from finishing my first ever semester at university, and although I know that millions of people before me have accomplished this exact thing, I feel so fucking proud for achieving this. I am a girl who dropped out two years ago over ONE assignment. I am a girl who found merely existing too hard a feat too many times to count last year. I am a girl who failed her driving test on the first go thanks to anxiety. I am still this girl. I’ve suffered from more panic attacks this past semester than the whole of last year. I have begged my boyfriend to let me drop out again more times than I care to admit. I have handed in, admittedly, most of my assignments late and I have been careless with attending lectures. I’m not the perfect student by any means. But I’ve managed to hand everything in, no matter what. I’ve managed to conquer two exams so far, when the last exam I took was in 2013! I know it’s not much, but to me it’s the whole world. Knowing I can finish a semester instills hope in me that one day I might actually earn a degree.

Being where I am lets me know that people with mental illness can do the things that able-minded people can. It lets me know that I don’t have to let my anxiety dictate my life anymore. I’m stronger than an anxiety so big and so frightening that I don’t hide under duvet covers anymore, I don’t run from demons anymore, and I don’t surrender my dreams to fear. I sound cheesy as fuck right now, but I don’t care. I’m proud of myself for getting here and I’m proud of anyone else too, whether inflicted by mental illness or not. University is fucking hard and I think anyone who can finish a semester, let alone a degree, is a hero in my eyes. So here I am, mentally ill and handling university. If I can, you can too❤

The awkward limbo

I have found myself in an awkward limbo. Not of the drunk, bend-over-backwards to fit under a makeshift bar (aka a broom being held by two even drunker people) variety. But instead of the ‘I am currently living in between flats and it is weird’ variety.

About a month ago I decided to move out of my flat in Hataitai and move to my boyfriend’s as a middle stage between leaving my old flat and finding a new one. The idea was his and was intended to be a way to cut out the stress of trying to figure everything out all at once. There were plenty of reasons why I moved but the main reason came down to distance. I study in Mount Cook, I was living in Hataitai and long story short, there was no easy way for me to get to uni that wasn’t either time-consuming or cost-consuming. The stress of getting to uni, getting to my boyfriend’s and getting my own damn groceries got to be too much, amongst some other variables, and I decided to move out to my boyfriend’s flat…

…Did I mention said boyfriend and I have been dating for only (nearly) three months? Yeeeeeah, it’s pretty soon.

And anyone who knows me in real life (or has been following my life via social media since 2014) will know that I’ve done this before with a previous partner. Last time it was after two months of dating. To be fair, we were friends for seven years prior to our relationship. In saying that, though, we broke up eight months later.

So yeah, I’m aware that I could be making the biggest mistake of my life. But this is a temporary move. Or at least, it was. After a string of failed flat viewings, both in which I attended and didn’t attend (thanks to the room being filled before getting a chance to see it), I’ve now decided that perhaps it’s time to give the search a rest. At least for a little while. At most until the end of the year, when it’s flat-hunting season once again.

The biggest problem about being a student without a car is trying to find somewhere close enough to uni for a small enough price. Oh and also, is it too much to ask for a flat in which the existing flatmates are not raging misogynists and/or potheads?!?! I just want a nice flat with a bunch of nice girls who aren’t total slobs and who actually, maybe, might want to be friends with me.

While I am hopeful that I’ll find this place one day, I also am realistic in knowing that finding this in June may not actually happen. That’s okay. I’ve decided I’m going to stay at my boyfriend’s for a while longer until I can find the perfect place. I was willing to settle on a ‘good enough’, but now I’m not. I want the perfect flat and I know it’s out there.

So, no more. I’m settling here for a while. Since I moved in, I’ve kept all of my stuff packed away in boxes, only taking out what I’ve seriously needed. My bed is propped up against the wall, all of my shit is in one corner of the room and I still refer to things as Jamie’s: Jamie’s room, Jamie’s flat, Jamie’s flatmates. This whole past month I’ve felt so displaced and lost, not having my own space or my stuff set up the way I’ve wanted it. I’ve felt pretty depressed about it. Not anymore. I’m putting my bed away in storage and we’re going to shift the room around to make it feel less like a single dude’s gaming paradise and more like a neutral space for a couple. This all, by the way, has been met with enthusiasm by my graciously open-minded and laidback boyfriend, for whom I am extremely grateful. I no longer want to live in limbo. I want to feel at home again, at least for a little while.

And yeah yeah, blah blah, this is probably way too early for us and all that jazz. But I think only those involved in the relationship know what can and will work for them. We’ve both lived with partners before, so we both know a little bit about what to expect. We’re as close as we could be (I think if you’ve done TMI things in the bathroom in front of a partner, you are good to go) and I have 100% trust in him that he won’t leave me totally homeless. So in the meantime, I will continue to test both mine and my boyfriend’s patience and push the boundaries of our relationship and hope like crazy that one day this will make a good story (one that we’ll tell together because we haven’t broken up due to moving in together too soon… heh heh)