I’m so single that nobody asks me ‘what’s happening at the dating front’ anymore.
I don’t really think of myself as a single person. It’s only when someone else mentions the word when I remember that it actually concerns me. Some people enjoy labelling themselves, identifying with a certain crowd. I’m used to being the odd one out, and don’t really think of labels until writing a job application. Honestly, why does everyone care all of a sudden what I identify as?
I hate romantic gestures of any kind. I don’t want to be wined or dined, I don’t want flowers or heart-shaped chocolate boxes.
Rose petals on the floor would lead to a vacuum cleaner appearing instead of me.
A walk on the beach would end with me jumping off a cliff.
Booking a surprise holiday would be the last thing you’d do before the relationship would come to a firm end.
I fucking hate surprises. I want to know what’s happening. If you want to sweep me off my feet, put up some shelves and change that light bulb in the bathroom that’s so high up that I can’t reach it even with a chair.
I know, I know. Guys please, at least form a queue!
The funny thing is that men think I’m kidding. Once they do it, it’s completely different. Let me just make this absolutely crystal clear: no I’m not and no it won’t be. I will leave the scene and the moment you choose to propose in public means the locks will be changed by the time you get home. Try me motherfucker. Just try me.
I joke about it but to be honest, I don’t know how much of my anti-romance stance is my personality and how much is my illness. Depression and especially antidepressants are infamous for killing what’s left of your desire towards any intimacy whatsoever.
I can vouch that lying on the couch in my pyjamas watching ‘Law and Order’ suffices just fine. I don’t know is it a sign of my illness that I don’t really consider this a problem. I can always admire Christopher Meloni’s tattooed biceps and have my man-fix there. Granted he doesn’t put up shelves either but I’m sure he would if asked.
Christopher Meloni doesn’t care that I’m wearing my ugliest pyjamas and that I haven’t bothered to wash my hair in a week. All he cares is about is solving crimes, and rescuing me from the clutches of an evil criminal mastermind. For now, that’s enough for me. When I wake up tired, I’m grateful to not to have a partner whom I’d have to take into account on top of everything else. Thank Christ.
That’s the great thing about Christopher Meloni, or his character Elliott Stabler, I can just turn off the TV.
I know that not everyone is like me. Some people really want to be in a relationship, to some people having a partner makes their illness more bearable and to some a lack of a romantic relationship is a really sore and painful subject. Not everyone is as ‘meh’ as me. Or ‘grumpy’ as people who like me would say. Or ‘rancid bitch’ as those who don’t would.
I admit that at times it would be nice to be held. Just held, that’s it. And I guess the thought of someone loving me as I am, lack of serotonin and all, isn’t completely repulsive. At the same time I know I might not be able to do it. I get stressed out when I have to make a phone call and do the weekly shop the same day. A relationship with all of its ups and downs might just be too much at the moment.
That’s the thing. Lest we forget that my first relationship was an unhealthy one and even with the best will in the world has irreversibly changed how I view relationships and the people around me. Maybe underneath this icy exterior is just a sensitive soul who just wants to be loved.
Or, you know, there isn’t. We’ll know more when the antidepressants kick in.
To anyone in the similar position, relax. You’ve got time. Being unwell is shit as it is, no point in making it worse by giving yourself a hard time.
Join me on the sofa, ‘Law and Order’ is on.