Hi Meredith!
I am a relatively new reader to these Love Letters, but since I generally agree with your practical yet sensitive advice, I thought I’d throw my own conundrum into the mix and see what comes up. I am 25 and generally accused of not allowing myself to be vulnerable to other people, which is not all that surprising considering the whole Freudian “my father abandoned me so I seek him in my lovers” was basically written about me.
My methods for dealing with this issue seem to fall under the general label of compartmentalization. I have different men for different purposes, and I try not to let one group bleed into the other. I have amazing straight male friends who provide the more masculine emotional support/friendship side that boyfriends generally offer, but I avoid having sex with them. I have gay male friends with whom I can cuddle and go dancing and watch trashy reality shows. The final category of men, not including relatives of course, consist of physically attractive but emotionally unavailable cads with whom I have casual encounters.
I can certainly psychoanalyze my process, and I am aware that much of my behavior stems from a fear of getting hurt or rejected. Here, then, is my problem. Recently, I have begun seeing a man with whom I had no prior friendship but in whose company I am completely at ease. We both seem to share this smitten quality for each other, but this one is the epitome of unavailable because he has a girlfriend. I am not one to date or sleep around with taken men, but he and his partner are in an open relationship, with her having her own 2nd boyfriend. It’s a quadrangle, and I can’t seem to stop seeing him. We spend entire days and nights together, he even invited me to his family’s house in NH for Valentine’s Day weekend (it didn’t happen but SERIOUSLY?), but his Facebook page still reads “In a Relationship with [OTHER WOMAN].” I had not anticipated feeling this way for someone I began seeing so casually, especially when he already has a girlfriend, but it goes to show that however much we protect ourselves from vulnerability, it catches up with us when we least expect it. Should I continue along this rather crowded path even though it will most likely end in my being heart-broken? Is the joy of the journey worth the pain of the end result? It sounds so dramatic, something I generally try to avoid, but seriously, everyone’s got a little drama, right?

– Quadrangle Quandry, Brighton