Lesson

On the Thursday, I walked into The Bar and was faced with two particularly awful sights. One, I came face to face with the object of my unrequited affection out on a date with another woman. Two, I came face to face with the newer man; who after I had decided to take a risk and text him, had remained inexplicably and predictably silent.

On the Saturday, I walked into a church and watched a couple I barely know tie the knot in forever-ness.

On the Monday, I walked into therapy and proceeded to spew such hatred for the human race–particularly for the male subset of our species–that my therapist was speechless.

On the Tuesday, I walked into an emergency room and allowed doctors to admit me overnight for a Crohn’s related infection.

On the Thursday, I walked into The Store to unload brand new items for the Christmas season.

Today, I walked into a church and watched as my nephew was baptized.

***

In the last ten days, I feel I experienced the full breadth of a life. And this is what I observed:

It is beautiful and it is horrible.

In its beauty we learn to pause. And in its horribleness we learn to move.

 

Mars

On Saturday, I found myself justifying my non-promiscuity.

The glazed but surprised eyes looked back at me as if I had just declared that I have gills and swim around in circles all day.

‘What do you mean you have never had a one night stand!?’

‘I mean I’ve never had a one night stand. Which part of that sentence didn’t you understand?’

‘But why? Do you think its slutty for people to follow their natural instincts?’

‘I don’t really care what other people do. But its not something I can do. I wish I could; it sounds like fun. But I can’t.’

I imagine that in his world, I am an alien–an alien with gills. We live in the same neighbourhood of the same city of the same country. We have mutual friends. But his is a life of rich debauchery; money, hot clubs, fast cars,  drugs and women spin on the axis of his world. My life is a stark contrast. A spinning vortex in slow motion. I write, I drink tea at my local bar while making puns with a close circle of friends. Oh! And everyone now and again I go on the odd date and have whirlwind affairs that end badly.

‘How do you expect to get into a relationship if you don’t open yourself to one night stands?’ he asked.

I burst out laughing.

‘You’re joking right?’

‘The only way for a relationship to begin is to meet, sleep together and then see if you like each other.’

‘You’re joking right?’

Now, it was my turn to look at him as if he was a visitor on my planet. He didn’t appear to see the twisted logic of his argument.

‘How about you meet, go out on a couple of dates to see if you like each other and then sleep together?’

‘You’re a prude. And single.’

I wasn’t offended. I enjoy hearing explanations of the possible reasons I am single; the crazier the explanation; the saner I feel.

‘Maybe.’ I offered.

‘Wanna do it in my car?’

‘No.’

***

So, internet, one night stands. Yay or nay?

Blink

All this time, I’ve thought I’ve been unlucky in love.

But the other night, as A and I got to chatting about boys I began to doubt this. Over rum (hers) and tea (mine) it was one particular conversation that got me thinking.

A: I’ve been single for a year and a half.

Me: Dude, I’ve been single for coming onto six years now.

A: No, but you dated Him.

Me: Yea, but he wasn’t my boyfriend.

A: But you dated him. I haven’t even met someone I’d be interested in dating in a year and a half.

And somehow in that one sentence she nailed the perpetual single girl’s main obstacle. (Of which I declare myself Supreme Leader; don’t take it away from me. It’s the only thing I’ve got.)

It’s not that there is something fundamentally wrong with us. It’s not that we have more issues than women who date more often or who have had more relationships than us.

Rather, the perpetual single girl’s problem is that we don’t date just to date. Let me explain. Unlike the average dater, we don’t go on dates to find a person we would like to date. No sirree. We first want to find the big love and only then do we want to date him.

For me to even consider going on a date, I need to feel that intense spark; an immediate body/soul/mind connection; the holy trinity of attraction. This chemistry of which I speak is not based on level of cuteness or similar interests or common values. The only way I can describe it is like this: Within a blink; I just know. This guy is special.

The Blink doesn’t happen very often. In my life–in all my life–the number of times that I have felt that level of intensity can be counted on the fingers of one hand. Four to be exact. The fact that I’ve only had two long-term relationships is actually promising. Fifty percent of the time The Blink is spot on.

All the other men; the crushes, the distractions, the mistakes? I didn’t feel The Blink. But I did feel The Boredom, The Loneliness and The Pressure. I felt all those things directly after the latest rejection.

And I very nearly decided to go against my basic nature and throw myself into dating–anyone; whoever asked; whoever showed a little bit of interest. For a couple of weeks there, I flirted with boys I knew I would never want; not even in a million blinks.

Over rum and tea with A, it occurred to me that I am not at all unlucky when it comes to love. Because the kind of love; the kind of relationship; the kind of date that I’m looking for is just not common.

I’m looking for the big type of love; the big relationship; the big date. The type of love that you blink and it just is. I’m looking for immediacy; for no choice but to love; for its hard but I can’t not love. I don’t want to but I have to love.

I’m not sure I’m even looking for it anymore. I don’t think that this big love I want is something you search for; in a bar with your patented single girl’s scan. Rather, it almost always just appears. A big date that turns into a big relationship that turns into a big love all at the same time.

The only thing I have to do (and you and you) is have my eye’s open; ready to blink.

Confession: Part Two

A little over three months ago, I confessed that I had not been on an airplane in two years.

As usual, you were all lovely and understanding and flooded my comment box with tips and stories and advice. I was ready to get on a plane and make the trip for my best friend’s engagement party.

Except, when the big day arrived,  I did not get on that plane.

I managed to get to the airport. I managed to wait in line. I managed to check in–while sobbing uncontrollably. But I never managed to even begin walking to the departure gate.  The Xanax didn’t work. Somehow, my panic was no match for the chemicals.My fear had paralyzed me.

The next 24 hours rank right up there with the most traumatic experiences of my life. In all my adult life, I have not  felt like such a failure as I did that day. In all my adult life, I have not felt less understood as I did on that day. Slowly, as the news trickled down to all the relevant people, my panic grew fiercer. The reactions were diverse. An overwhelming silence from the friends that were already on the island waiting to pick me up at the airport. Rage from my brother who believes in ‘tough love’. Anxiousness and guilt from my mother. My sister and The Best Friend were proud. “You fucking made it to the airport! You checked in! You took your first step!”

Over the course of the next month, which coincided with the first three weeks of my relationship with him, I self-medicated myself with Xanax every single day. I was chain smoking. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep without a pill.

I told no-one.

(I don’t recommend this strategy)

Sure, there were conversations had–here and there–about what happened. And all of them made me feel worse. He was a good distraction from all these things. My mind was filled with him; purposefully. If I allowed myself to not think of him I would have to deal with the plethora of guilt, disappointment and fear that I felt inside. What kind of person misses their best friend’s engagement? What kind of person can’t get on a plane? What kind of person can allow irrational fear to consume her in this way? But the one question that replayed itself over and over in my mind was the most frightening of all.

“Was this going to be my life for ever?”

I say I was at peace when I met him. And I was. But, beneath the peace was all of this. I was dealing with all of this while trying to begin a relationship. That it failed, therefore, is not surprising. That I broke down–completely–when it ended was inevitable.

I am not ashamed of my panic attack disorder or the depression. (The two seem to go hand in hand.)  But, I do hate it. It gets in my way. It ruins relationships–friendships and romances, it causes tension in my family and it stops me from living exactly the kind of life that I want to live. But, it is here. Over the last year, I have tried to avoid it while also trying to defeat it. After the troubling summer I had, I realized that I can’t avoid it. I can’t control it. I can’t defeat it without the proper tools. I learned that this is one battle that I have to face on my own. That those around me will never, really, understand it.  I learned that others will never really accept it.

These realizations were–and continue to be– isolating.

But, I know that I”m not alone. According to the UK’s National Health Service, at least 10% of the world’s population suffer from some sort of anxiety disorder. There are a lot of us out there. And so I wanted to put out part of my story. Its fragmented and all over the place, I know. But, its fragmented and all over the place in my head.

Perhaps, in time, I will be able to make sense of it; express it more eloquently. But for now, the admission that I am a phobic is all the sense I can make.

Twenty dates

After the first date, I sent an email to my four closest friends. The subject read, “Would it be too much if I said I met my soul mate?”

On the sixth date, I was certain I had. It was this feeling in my gut that translated into happiness and peace and calmness. People I hardly knew would look at me and laugh, “You’ve met someone, haven’t you?” I was radiating complete confidence, self acceptance and joy.

On the tenth date, I realized that my soul mate was not actually perfect, I began to withdraw out of fear.

On the twelfth date, I realized that my soul mate, while far from perfect, was also not looking for the same thing I was. “I just want to be left alone.” he had said. I–single for the majority of my life–understood that sentiment; I didn’t even take it personally. “OK” I countered. “I can leave you alone.” He–in committed, long term relationships for most of his life–did not know what he wanted. “No, don’t leave me alone” he had replied.

On the seventeenth date, I could feel my soul mate chickening out. He had got caught up in something far more complex than he was ready for; he couldn’t handle it.

On the eighteenth date, I was so scared that the end was near that I withdrew even more. I pushed him further away. Then, I pulled him closer. Then, I pushed him away again. He employed the exact same strategy.

On the twentieth date, we both gave up.  He made a choice and I did not even attempt to fight for what I wanted. All because of fear, insecurity, bitterness and anger of issues that had nothing to do with him. I suspect he unfairly judged me and our brief affair in the same way that I did.

Two months later, I still believe that I met my soul mate. But sometimes, even when soul mates do meet, it doesn’t mean that they will–or should–be together.

He wasn’t the one. But he was a kindred spirit. He was a soul mate. And for this reason alone, I still miss him.

Fuck.