I’ve always felt that the world of love, lust, and romance did not include me.
For the first 25 or so years of my life, I thought this was because I was a hideous and monstrous freaks whom nobody could ever love in any sense or on any level.
But then I discovered the Internet, and FuirryMUCK, and being a furry, and eventually being Fruvous, and I discovered it was possible for people to like me and even love me…;as long as I was pretending to be someone else.
But hey, loving the mask is almost the same as loving the mask-maker. Right?
And yet I still don’t feel like that world includes me. Not really. I will concede that it is theoretically possible for me to find love and a relationship and sexytimes, but in practice, I really don’t see it happening.
For one thing, I don’t meet new people. Hard to do when you only leave the house once a week for grocery shopping, apart from the occasional medical appointment.
47 and I am already living a senior citizen lifestyle.
Well I’ve always been well ahead of my age group.
And as I have said many times before. meeting new people is the key to romance. Every new person you meet is a ticket in the romance lottery. Another chance to meet someone with whom you “click”.
No new people, no tickets, no chance of winning.
So real-world type romance is not an option for me. And as patient readers know, I have tried dating apps/sites and they are not for me.
Reading the profiles leave me nauseated and depression. All these dude talking about what they are “into” and telling me absolutely nothing else about themselves or really any sign of a personality at all.
I fall in love with people, not parts. I want a man, not meat.
And when I make a profile for myself, nobody ever responds to it. I suspect because my profiles have way more words than other people’s, so it’s like, tl;dr LOL.
Plus I always infuse my profiles with my sparkling personality and megawatt witand goofy charm and such, and that’s just too intense for a lot of people.
Well fuck’em. Or don’t.
But deeper than the pragmatic issues, I still don’t feel lovable. Not the real me, anyhow. I still feel like if people get to know the real me, they will run away screaming.
I can’t even imagine someone getting emotionally close to someone in the real world. When I try, the picture dissolves in panic and self-loathing almost instantly.
I can entertain a fantasy of romance, but the moment I try to imagine it being real, the walls come tumbling down.
I don’t think this is a permanent condition, though. If I manage to get some employment and success, that would go a long way to boosting my confidence and might make me a lot more willing to go look for love.
Of course, I could also have a massive psychological breakthrough that accomplishes the exact same thing.
But I ain’t exactly holding my breath on that one.
More after the break.
The most important bit of news today
Doordash does 7-11 now, so I can finally order from 7-11 again. Yay!
Surely that’s the most exciting news of today, Nov 3, 2020.
Deserve don’t mean shit
That’s a movie quote, I think.
I will start out by saying it’s not that I think I don’t deserve love. Of course I deserve love. I’m one heck of a guy.
Cute, funny, smart, sweet, understanding, kind, compassionate, and cuddly AF.
And I don’t hate myself much often. So I doubt it would get into the whole “I can’t love someone dumb enough to love someone like me” territory.
I sincerely think someone would be lucky to have me. Sure, I’m not exactly as low maintenance as I would like to be (working on that), but I could make the right man very very happy indeed.
So that’s not an issue either.
I do worry that if I get close to someone, dark stuff will come floating to the surface of my mind and end up hurting them somehow.
Stuff I have never had to deal with before because I’m such a loner. There is a line in my mind that literally nobody has ever crossed. Nobody has ever gotten closer to me than that. Not my parents, not my siblings, not anybody ever in my life.
And what little human connection I made along the way was scraped off of my soul by decades of isolation, like a snow plow scraping a lawn down to the bare dirt.
All that has left me with a sea of untapped rage and dark thoughts and bad intentions lying under the surface of my personality like a subterranean lake.
And like such lakes, everything is fine until someone goes digging around down there and without warning a sinkhole opens and they fall in.
And there I am with my little bucket, emptying that lake a little at a time every day, knowing that my progress might be excruciatingly slow, but it’s still progress.
I am still too scared to pull the plug out of the bottom and let all that dark water spill out into the world in a tsunami and pollute the waters of the world.
I know the ocean can take it. But I am still too scared to do it. And too ashamed.
I wish I could make peace with all that anger and pain. I wish that, at some point. I had learned a healthy way to express it. I wish I could make it all go away without having to deal with it, like a secret late night toxic waste dump.
But the only way out is through. I can see that now. There are so many situations where “stop” and “go” are the only options. No going back. No changing tracks. No escape hatch. You can either go forward or go nowhere,. That’s the reality of it.
And a lot of people, myself vehemently included, who choose “stop” and just stay there, year after year, rotting away as the energy that should be propelling them forward has nowhere to go and burns them up inside instead.
And all this time they are also building up a vast arsenal of weapons to use against their desire to move forward. Excuses, phobias, dodges, and outright lies even.
Freedom comes when you realize that no matter how bad you think the consequences of pressing “go” will be, they can’t be worse than THIS.
Sometimes uncertain happiness is way way better than certain doom.
Some things are worth the risk.
I will talk to you nice people again tomorrow.