An audio version of this post is available here.
The absolute worst thing about being single on any day (including this one WHICH SHALL NOT BE MENTIONED), is encouplinated people saying things like “you’ll meet someone, I know you will,” or “there’s someone out there for you,” or “you deserve to be happy” (I FUCKING KNOW I DO); or “I can’t understand why you’re single.”
Well. That might be the worst bit.
Or it might be where people post photographs of the flowers / lush jewellery / booze / puppies / houses in the country / sex toys / waders (hey – love can be topical) they’ve been bought.
Or it might be encouplinated people telling you “there are other things in life” (yes, that’s great, but if someone’s dying of dehydration telling them that peanut butter is weww tasty doesn’t help).
I got about half an hour into twitter today – and you know I like to put a full day in at the twitface – before it overwhelmed me. Having woken perky and surprisingly not in that much pain, I attained what I can only refer to as “The Full Plath” before 10am. Naturally my gas cooker has the wrong sort of gas and since I had my cellar converted there are no exposed beams over which to loop a length of woven hemp. Frankly the exposed beams I had were only five and a half foot off the ground anyway. So there’s nothing for it but to grit teeth and get through it, preferably without biting anyone. Since the very nub of the crux of the matter is that there is nobody here to bite, this in itself is frustrating.
How do you even go on a date with someone when you’re mostly housebound? You don’t, I suppose. Are all disabled people who weren’t encouplinated before they became disabled just sitting there, at home today, thinking “ah, feck”?
My last relationship ended in 2003. Eleven – ELEVEN – years ago. Aside from the odd loveless shag – not loveless on my part: I can’t bear one-nighters, find sex just for the sake of sex the single most unrewarding and actively depressing thing in the universe (largely because blokes you have casual sex with are rarely invested in whether you’re enjoying it, or in doing anything to ensure that you are), but I’m terrible for falling vividly in love with people who turn out to just sort of eeh like me a bit, ish, kinda. So passes eleven years. I sort of can’t imagine what relationships are like any more. I mean: someone living with you. Cluttering up your head space. Strewing socks hither and yon. Getting annoyed with you for, you know, existing. Trusting someone. Someone being kind to you. How does that work? The last bit, the being kind bit – particularly if we’re talking about being physically kind, which shaggers aren’t – pretty much makes me panic. I’m guessing (without looking too hard at it) that that’s because it’s the bit I miss the most, and is the bit that I am therefore least likely to permit anyone to do. Because not having it is one thing. Having ten minutes of it and then nothing again is simply a variety of agony I cannot bear.
I can’t pretend to be awash with despair on the topic of love. Neither can I pretend that I don’t think about it. Nor that I hope, particularly. I think about it more than I would like to. Or not think – I don’t think about it, I feel the hollow ache of it. And I suppose my approach to it can basically be summed up as “well, either it happens by some astounding fluke or it doesn’t, there really isn’t much I can do about it. And it hasn’t happened for eleven years, and now I’m in a position of never meeting anyone new, so it’s unlikely. So let’s proceed on that basis and just try to ignore it.” I’m pretty ok at ignoring it. It’s like living with an eating disorder of the heart. Always hungry.
I won’t see this blog entry pop up on twitter, because I’ve muted all mentions of This Particular Day from my TL, not through bitterness – I don’t resent you your loving relationship one bit – but just as a damage limitation. But if you’re fortunate enough to have somebody in your life who isn’t going away, so you can allow them to be kind to you, I hope that you have a very lovely day, or evening together. And you’re right to revel in it. It’s a good thing.
Happy V-day, yo. x