For the first time in a long time …
Not a fuck buddy, or a fling, dating that goes nowhere or a string of messages that peter out because we have run out of inconsequential nothings to talk about and the effort of being witty is just all too much to be bothered with. I actually miss having someone, a constant in my life, that I can message at any time of day with a “I love you”. Someone I can share the news from my day.
I guess I had this realisation a few weeks ago when I had a win at work after months of false starts and mindless hours spent getting 16 sign offs on something that should have been a given. I had this win and when I returned to my desk, I picked up my phone to tell … who? I didn’t have THAT person. The one person in my life who I could share my news. Sure, I had friends, family, who were aware of my struggles and frustration and who when I did eventually tell them they mimicked my joy and elation. But I didn’t have that person. And that made me feel incredibly sad.
I’ve had two weekends in as many months when I haven’t got out of bed for most of the day. I wake up and think about what I have to do and there is nothing that is enough to get me out of bed. Washing can wait. Cleaning the house can wait. I have nowhere to be, no one to see. No one to go out for breakfast with, no kids to cuddle and take to playgrounds. No word from that guy you partied with late into the next morning, just more messages to ignore from the creeper who asked to stop halfway through. It’s a numb nothingness where there is nothing worth getting out of bed for except to let my dog out to pee and honestly I think she would hold it if it meant curling up on the bed with me.
But, I haven’t been writing, as a prick in my life so recently pointed out. I haven’t been writing because I didn’t know what to write. I never plan to write. A few words, a sentence, usually come to me and when I sit, the words flow. Sometimes, I don’t even know where they’re headed. Today, the words were “for the first time in a long time” but I am finding it hard to finish that sentence. I don’t feel lost but I do feel empty, like all the butterflies have died. That feeling of excitement, nerves, joy, a flutter of fancy, nothing. It kind of feels like something has given up.
I have deleted or deactivated the dating apps. It’s not where I’m going to find my butterflies. I am going speed dating on Thursday. My expectations are low. I’m beyond tired with having to tell my story and explain my decisions to people who will never understand. If one more fucking person asks me why I don’t adopt I may actually lose my shit, not that I’m very subtle with my responses anyway.
I loathe those people who say “I’m just taking some time out to work on me, you know, self-care. Learn to love myself.” There’s actually some vomit in my mouth right now because it honestly sounds like an excuse for being an unlovable fuck. I’m going to go against every self-help book right now and say this: “loving yourself is a hell of a lot easier when someone loves you”. We mirror our partners, in subtle and overt ways, and without it all we have is an empty space, a blank wall, probably with some marks on it from where your dog shook her head and drool went flying out to land in gross little blobs. I am an empty space, covered in dog drool. And if that isn’t the most pathetic thing you’ve read today, then you’re a sadder fuck than I am.
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