Dead-eyed Diatribe.
I’m pretty sure I’m entering a “cold-heart” phase. Basically, this means I am non-receptive to any thoughts or ideas about the fantasy everyone perpetuates, wherein a perfect mate exists for everyone, blah blah blah.
I went on a trip to Ireland by myself. I had a good time, but toward the end, I started to get lonely for a person to share the experience with. I just kept seeing people looking all lovey-dovey, talking to their mates with mutual respect, hugging, whatever… And I felt pretty forlorn. Especially at the medieval feast when I was the only single person there and everyone was supposed to feed their “true lover” part of our red currant tart dessert. Everyone was giggling and leaning toward their loved ones, smiling and glowing and warm-hearted. Meanwhile, I just sat there eating quietly and trying to look anywhere but at the joyous faces of smooching people all around me.
The day after that, riding the bus from Limerick to Dublin, I really just gave up on anything; any small hope I had harbored of “finding love” just disappeared. Yes, the embers of that tired little fire died completely. I don’t remember exactly what I was thinking or how it happened… but there was a couple in the seats across the aisle, and they were just so comfortable with each other, so real. And, for whatever reason, that upset me. I remember I did start crying some.
I think it was then I decided that having an open heart just hurts me. There’s no benefit. I have no potential mates. I don’t actually even have interest in looking for potential mates. I was trying to keep my heart open, just in case someone came into my life. But, I just feel tired of waiting. I’ve been waiting for a few years now, and I’m tired of it.
I guess I have some vague sense that if someone interesting comes along, I’ll be able to re-open myself. But, realistically, the more I shut down, the harder it will be to open up.
I guess, ultimately, I don’t think it matters. I have no hope or expectation of stumbling upon someone to love and be loved by. I’ve never been one to believe in fairy tales. I don’t watch romance movies because they’re too ridiculous – that kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life. Not to me anyway.
Essentially, I see that my dating life, if I choose to begin one, will be determined by people I find on dating websites. If I can ever bring myself to visit dating websites, that is. I dread picking through people, talking to a few who look mildly interesting, whittling down the options by becoming platonic friends, then finally just settling for whatever guy is left over after the bored ones drop off.
I can see I’ll end up settling, whether I genuinely like him or not. That’s right. I’ll just settle into a lukewarm relationship with someone I like well enough. Again. I won’t be able to genuinely love him, but will be able to tolerate him enough to erase my preferences so that I don’t care about anything and there are no arguments; then I’ll spend 10 years faking it until I just can’t take it anymore and give up trying. Again.
I don’t want that at all.
But, what else is there for me? There are no options, realistically. In theory, I’m “a good catch” and “have a lot to offer”. In reality, I don’t have a choice of suitors and I don’t think of people or myself in material terms. I don’t feel a relationship should have an element of barter to it, or that it’s some kind of career experience to be put on a resume. I have never just stumbled across a guy with whom I had instant chemistry, and so I see that I’ll just have to do the same thing everyone else seems to do: convince myself to “fall in love” with someone I don’t really want to love. Just love whoever happens to be there at the time.
Yeah, I am a horrible person, terrible, whatever, because I don’t pretend like I’m supposed to. Screw it. We all already know it’s a farce, we all know we’re lying to ourselves, but the truth is simply that we’re too afraid of being alone to be honest about it.
So, whatever.
I guess I’ll eventually suck it up and join the game. Get to be as dead-eyed and miserable as I ever was, but at least I’ll get to fake smile and falsely gush about “having a boyfriend”.
Yay.
Congratulations, life, you’ve won. You can keep my cracked and withered stub of a heart as a trophy.