I am listening to justin bieber in my headphones. I realized earlier today that the playlist I had made, self-titled "good vibes", was actually quite depressing. typical me to attempt something meant to make me feel good which actually makes me feel worse. thank god for bieber, always providing the great abs and the good vibes.
I am writing at a posh organic cafe in London. outside it is raining. everyone is walking in twos and threes, holding umbrellas for each other. I am lonely and keeping my eyes peeled for people walking alone. nothing new. despite my struggles with it, despite the tears, the difficult nights, this is something I have chosen time and time again. no one has forced me into these solo journeys. I just keep hopping across ponds, solitary, seeking something, something that doesn't have a name, yet. I am a namer of things. I am starting to realize this makes me hard to date. there I said it, I am trying to date. I'll be honest, I have withheld this part of my process because I don't want to hurt anyone. I am just trying to mend my heart, mend the hearts of others through my own healing, whether or not that's possible. but I am holding back on something that is pushing at the gates, I am doing everyone a disservice, including myself. I am not sharing this part of my experience.
I am so fucking confused. what the fuck? I mean really. men are from mars, women are from venus? I could have sworn we were all taking up residence on planet earth. why is it such a struggle to connect when we are all so connected in our want for it? why since time immemorial have men and women only managed to frustrate and confuse each other into writing songs or poems or jokes about our shared attempts at love? from where I stand, it seems at best all we manage from each other is inspiration for our own selfish pursuits, and at worst we manage to find ourselves in a wet gutter weeping and longing for all the lost love alone (just me?). sure sure, I am being hyperbolic, but these feelings, when in the throws of them, they are hyperbolic. I can observe them with my mind as they grip at my heart and I can say, "dude, chill. slow your roll. take it easy." but then I find myself immobile, lying on a blow up mattress in someone else's house just wishing that that one guy I saw at the burger joint could hold me. he held his burger so well. I want to use him for his arms. I'd let him use me for whatever it is he's wanting in exchange. we could be confUSED together, instead of just plain ol' confused alone. let me deal with the emptiness in the morning.
now understand, I know I am saying A BUNCH of things we're NOT SUPPOSED TO SAY!!! especially if we are trying to date, but I've had enough of the pretending, the preening and prancing around the painful truth. playing it cool is so uncool, and so very boring. nothing is cooler than the truth. so allow me to wow you with my truth: I am lonely. if I say it out loud, does that guarantee I will continue to be so indefinitely? I can hear the lads running away as I speak. does anyone actually read this? do the guys that find me on tinder read my blog?
tinder—torture for the tender. my tech illiterate friend once hilariously called it "tender". tinder, is far from tender. it is psychological warfare. it is an olympic medley of the mind, an elaborate obstacle course of the heart. it is a song and dance in a loud crowded club, too dark to see, too packed to move. paralyzed by the flashing lights, I am trying not to have a seizure. and yet, I put on my metaphorical push up bra and my symbolic short leather skirt and I pucker and pout my way through the doorman's assessment and seek some sick sort of solace in the throws of swiping right every night. I window shop for love. the store is closed, but the lights are on. I look in and imagine what it would be like to possess the goods behind the glass. I look until my eyes burn and I can barely keep them open. it's gross, I mean really, it's embarrassing. it's a real doozy when you're embarrassed by yourself and no one can even see you.
if it sounds bleak, it is because it feels bleak. I know that's not sexy to admit, but I am exhausted from hiding and the bags under my eyes aren't hiding anything, they tell my secrets when I fail to. I am trying to find enough peace for a good night's sleep. what I have been doing has not been working. I am tired. I know the answer isn't in the arms of another. I know this. but my body aches to be held. so what then?...
I hold myself. that's what. I mean I actually use my own arms to hold me. I wrap them around myself tightly and I talk out loud and tell myself nice and comforting things. and that embarrasses me a great deal less than my zombie-eyed search for digital love. me and my analog heart, trying to get along, trying to communicate. some days are better than others. but I am trying and I love myself for that. I am trying so hard. and unlike all the dudes too scared to, I can handle myself.