So mostly last weeks posts read like single girl tales of misery and woe. And I am the first to admit, the single thing can be a bitch. Particularly when I am tired/hormonal/in need of a cuddle, or option D, as I discovered on Sunday, a jar of marmalade needs opening and the crumpets are just out of the toaster and its like some kind of cruel torture to not be able to open the DAMN jar. And it’s all because there is no boy around. Because you are single and you are probably going to die alone (I can lose perspective when hungry). And it is so bloody stupid and frustrating and you just want to sit on the floor and cry. But the crumpets are going cold and you REALLY want the crumpets. So you struggle with tea towel, a spoon and then a small screwdriver (or spanner – it was a tool anyway, with a thing that could in theory, flick off the lid) and eventually take the skin off the inside of your hand. But then you are able to get enough of a grip on it, the lid gives, and you can access the goodness within. No boy required. I struggle to find the words to describe the satisfaction found from eating those crumpets.
And it may be a stretchy metaphor, but I think my life is like that jar of marmalade. Since I was 17 I have shared my life with a boy. I have had five long term relationships since then, five ‘soul mates’ for a specific period of my life. And during the times between these lovely boys, I was searching for the next one. And because I was always a little bit afraid of being alone, I tended to settle for whomever landed in my lap and then work REALLY hard to make it work. Even when the big red flags showed themselves early on. I thought I could fix him, us, me if I just tried hard enough. I clung to the idea of creating the perfect relationship – with the end goal of being loved unconditionally and forever (yeah I know, I don’t want much). This meant compromising myself a lot, and in my marriage, losing myself; anything to prevent the relationship from ending. And of course they all ended eventually.
When my marriage collapsed though, something inside of me shut down. I think it was that realisation that the one thing I wanted SO badly, had put so much love and energy into, worked so fucking hard for years at, had shattered. Ergo: everything is shatterable. Apart from the awful reality of divorce, it was humiliating explaining to family and friends and random utility companies (to change the name on the bill) that I had failed. Because he had left me. For the CSI (Canadian Stick Insect). And I was alone. I didn’t learn very quickly either. Within 6 months I had entered into another relationship. Luckily for me, I met a lovely, caring, intelligent and funny boy from Perth. But this one was broken too. Early on I knew he was sad inside in a way that I could not fix, and I needed SO much more than he could give me. It took me a long time and a lot of courage, but I left Perth boy at Heathrow Terminal 3 many months ago. I was/am still a little terrified of chosing to be alone.
I think I have always looked for boys to open my jars of marmalade, and to open me. And what I am learning is that with the assistance of some tools I don’t know the name of, a little bit of blood and some tears, I can actually open them myself. Yay me :)
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