I’m giving myself some time for ME

One of the most baffling things I’ve found is that, despite each of us steering our own ship, we still have absolutely no bloody control over it.

You think ‘Right, OK. No more crap. I’m giving myself some time for ME – MY life, and what I want to do with it.’

Then suddenly a guy walks over, gives you that old familiar side-eye and within ten minutes of conversation, Celine starts neighing ‘it’s all coming back to me’ in your earhole and it starts all over again.

I could go through this old routine again and again. In fact, I think I’ve done this ever since I was able to legally date – and a fair bit before.

So, after an abomination of bad relationships, I decided that I’d take myself right out of it.

I could go on a tangent now on how I always seem to attract arseholes. We’ve all said that at some point, right? The belief that we attract only those who will treat us like crap?

I dare to confess that, deep down, it was more likely that I believed I deserved that kind of guy. And that subconsciously, it was me finding them, not the other way round.

It’s not hard to figure out if someone’s going to turn out an abusive pain in the arse, really. The signs are there early on. But of course, love, loneliness and the nightmare of going back to that very well-worn Ally McBeal soundtrack blinds you to them.

I always thought that age would mature me from this pattern.

I’ve always been the most terribly sensitive of people.

I fear being alone and I often get scared that I’ll never be worthy of being loved by someone.

Funny really – I’ve lost count of the amount of times I fought men double my size as a boy. Broken bones, open wounds, splattered teeth and black eyes… But it was always the words that hurt more, that cut me deeper and scarred me beyond all logical thought.

It takes a long time to shake that kind of stuff. Thankfully, time is a great healer of all things. But we keep our battle scars; mine being the impeccable way I beat myself up and the ability to fall in love at a stupidly lightning pace.

After years of many cruddy relationship decisions, I gathered up what was left of my insides, and vanished up into my metaphorical mountain.

I deleted all dating apps and wouldn’t step foot in a club unless I was physically dragged there by my eyelids.

I’d got to a point where I needed to stop wasting my life looking for someone to complete me, filling gaps with pointless short-lived flings, and start working on fixing myself.

I guess I was running away a bit too. You’ve got to be a bitter old fart for a little while, get drunk with friends and curse those cunty exes until they’re finally bled out.

This is all healthy. Poison needs to come out somehow – and I suggest that any gay without poison needs to get themselves to gay A&E immediately and watch Death Becomes Her 72 times.

I don’t believe that you must love yourself to get anywhere in life. You can be a total fuck up and still have a good time – just as long as you take a bit of time to treat yourself better. That’s certainly something I need to do more of, and I’m making sure I do.

Despite all our fuck ups and traits, we ALL deserve better than to be with a person who treats you as an option rather than a priority.

And if they can’t, then they’re not worth any more of your time. Put down the phone, meet with friends who make you laugh, go to the gym, eat a whole cake, shave your head. Do whatever it is that gives you pleasure – and move on. Many of these types will come and go.

There’s so much more to life than just sitting there and staring at some guy’s online WhatsApp status waiting for a nonchalant piece of crap message.



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