Hope Dies Last

Under any other circumstances, I would have refused his offer. I am not a casual woman and usually I don’t do casual affairs. It’s not my style. But the combination of the man, his timing and those invisible cicadas made me think that maybe I should play a different role for a change. Maybe I would even like it.

The truth is, I thought I could do it because this man doesn’t inspire me to write.

With others, I could find a story in every lingering gaze. He doesn’t look at me that way. He hasn’t even seen Me through the cloud of alcohol and debauchery that is his life. So he doesn’t inspire me to write about his lines or his kisses. There is no pushing or pulling. There is no story here.

He is merely an interruption. He does not inspire words because there are none with him. There are no sounds because his want is on mute. I can’t colour him because he is the very definition of black: he is the absence of any colour. He doesn’t inspire me to write which means that he must not inspire me to feel either.

I like that.  It is safe.

(If only it was true.)

See, when I hear of his other women, accidentally slipped into casual conversation, I bite my bottom lip and flinch. It is reactionary, from those collective experiences that have left me feeling that I will never be a man’s priority. I am just one of many options. When I learn that he dates other women, I dig my nails into my arm to brace myself for the punch that follows in my gut. It is a gag reflex; I want to be a protagonist even in a story that has no story. And when I learn that I won’t even be auditioned for the part of the female lead, it stings.

But those long minutes of flinching, stinging and self-imposed scratching are to be expected. My ego is fragile after the perceived rejections I’ve faced over the last six years. And I’ve been scared and I’ve been bitter and I’ve been angry and I’ve been neurotic and I’ve pushed people away when I wanted to pull them in and when it mattered I pulled too hard and it all unraveled. I even stopped breathing for a while.

But now I don’t want to push or pull. I just want to fall. So, I tried. I jumped without any consideration for the drop. I jumped without any consideration for the landing. It wouldn’t have hurt if I was a book with a hard spine.

But, I am not.

Neither am I an old receipt. If I was, it wouldn’t matter where I fell, or even that I fell at all.

But I am paper thin.  I may rip easily and at times I may crumple, but I have value.  I am loose pages of a manuscript in the wind. I can float, and I can do casual.

I chose to fall into this plot-less story, but I am not a casual woman.

And the reason he doesn’t inspire me to write is because he does not recognize that difference.

Dear Attached Hope,

I am writing this note in the aftermath-ish of another brutal depression. This one was milder than the previous ones; for the only reason that this time I knew what it was. I reached out for help, I wrote about it and very nearly accepted the shadow infested corners of my own soul.

This one was also–according to my therapist–a situational depression. I like that word–situational; it implies a non-permanence. And one of the more defining aspects of this latest depression was the feeling that the pain would never pass. Ergo life as I knew it could never change.  But the pain did pass. Life did kinda change.

The silver lining during the times I spend in the metaphorical gutter is that I spout such wisdom; my mind’s philosophical attempt to argue my soul back to a bearable balance.

A month ago, I wrote this in the margin of a newspaper.

It was a reminder that I need to feel anxious and scared. I must not try to interrupt the process because then I do things like send desperate message to friends that are not fueled by me; but by the panic. Or the pain.  It was a reminder that I must learn to give people the time and space to give me what they can, when they can, in their own way. And if they still don’t give me what I want, IT IS OK.  I will be fine. I am loved. Pain passes. Life changes.

While I want you to apply this to all–family, friends, acquaintances, strangers–it is particularly relevant to your current beau. Relationships can withstand a lot if there is love, compatibility and understanding. But it does not happen overnight. It grows to that place. Do not sabotage the pre-natal part of this relationship by allowing fear get the better of you. You know what I am talking about. Don’t you dare pretend you don’t. Your biggest fear is intimacy and it is also your biggest, unfilled desire. I know that you are terrified of losing him.

So, listen up.

You can overcome this anxiety you  are feeling.  The one that makes you put yourself down so that he can bring you up. Because if he brings you up then it means that he cares. And if he cares then it means he could eventually love you. And if loves you, he won’t leave you.

You can crawl or walk or run or dance or write through the panic. Whatever! But go through it on your own. Don’t try to find colourful, creative–but mainly crazy–ways to stop it.

It will only make things worse.

Hugs and kisses,

Single Hope

p.s. Tell Future Mr Hope that  I owe him a letter too. Soon.

(Previous notes from a singleton can be found here #1, #2)

Dear Attached Hope,

I’m writing this to you imagining that in some indeterminate point in the future you are in a loving, committed, healthy relationship with a loving, affectionate, sane man.

If you are, congratulations. You have wanted this for so long and I’m thrilled for you. In fact, my heart just hurt a little by the sheer possibility that you are there right now. In some kind of parallel universe to my own. I imagine that you’re sitting, perhaps its next to a fire place, and you’re reading this and you’re looking up and there he is. You’re smiling at him simply because he’s there and its him and you found him and because you’re smiling he is coming over and he is giving you a peck on the lips and because you’re unaccustomed to affection for no reason, for no express purpose you are looking up at him quizzically and he is saying, ‘I just like it when you’re happy.”

If you’re there and if this is happening, Hope, then I want to remind you of something. There was this day–August 18, 2009–where you were dumped in such a way that you believed that you would never, ever, ever find anyone that could care for you. You believed that you would always find men that saw you as a flawed woman whose sole purpose was to make their life difficult. You believed, on that day,  that you were a irrevocably flawed woman and that your flaws would always stop men from giving you a chance. Because these flaws, these flaws kill the attraction. Kill the chemistry and you believed that you just can’t ever come back from that.

As you’re reading this now, I want you to remember that feeling. Feel it, taste it, smell it. Can you feel the pain in your chest? Can you feel the heaviness in your body? The resignation? The sadness? The anger that despite all your hard work at improving your flaws they still get in the way of making meaningful connections? Do you remember all of that? I’m sure you do because you have a tendency to hold on to all those negative beliefs and experiences for as long as is humanely possible. But you may be living in your happy bubble right now believing that this relationship has changed you. So, I want you to remember that day. Remember those thoughts. Feel them. Are you there, in that moment where another man left you? Are you there, in that moment where you felt that your world had come to end? That it was all pointless?

Good.

Now I want you to release it.

Because deep down, I don’t care who this new man is. The one that is standing there, giving you the kisses that you need, whispering sweet nothings on the top of your damp hair. I mean obviously  I care. But I don’t care care. I’m digressing. Hope, my point is that it doesn’t matter what this man thinks of you. (Although, he better think you’re the bees knees) The only thing that matters is what you believe about yourself. Don’t base your value and your worth and your self-esteem on the latest man’s opinion of you. No matter how much you love and respect and value him. All relationships will end. You, however, will go on alone.

So, I want you to remember (and can you–from the future–remind me the same thing from time to time) that you are a beautiful, vulnerable, strong, compassionate, witty, smart, thoughtful, talented, headstrong, emotional, sensual and kind woman who loves fiercely but lives quietly.

You are all those things; with or without a man. You are always all those things. That’s a constant. And that should comfort you.

I love you

Your alter ego

(dumped and still) Single Hope

[I started this series three days before I met him. And as we are currently 'dating' I still consider myself semi-single. I don't want to date anyone else, I don't want to meet anyone else but I'm also nowhere near Girlfriend or Attached Status. So, onwards. Notes from a singleton #1 here]

***

Dear Attached Hope,

STOP TALKING ABOUT THE RELATIONSHIP.

Stop it.

Relationships don’t talk into being.

They are into being.

STOP TRYING TO FORCE INTIMACY.

Stop it.

True intimacy can’t be coerced, sideways, by thinly veiled ‘innocent’ questions.

It grows through shared experiences together. In a staight line. Directly. Naturally.

And if you really need to consistently talk about your relationship? Go see your therapist. Its probably got more to do with you than with him.

From your alter ego,

Semi-single Hope

On good days and on good weeks and on overall  good months I feel extremely lucky that I’m single.

I’ve had the opportunity to discover–nay–uncover all my idiosyncratic behaviour. I have gone through the classic 20 something identity and existential crises and I’ve done it alone. Deep down, I know that a relationship would never have survived the roller-coaster of the year I have had. I’ve come out of it with a stronger understanding of myself. I doubt that I could have achieved that kind of growth with a significant other by my side.

As a perpetually single woman navigating through her psyche at every opportunity she can, I have also become incredibly aware of the mistakes I made in past relationships. As the perpetually single girl in my circle of girlfriends I have also had the chance to observe other people’s mistakes. I have seen the way good relationships function and I’ve seen the way unhealthy relationship function. I have also seen the type of communication strategies that ultimately sabotage all relationships.

The luxury of not being emotionally entangled and emotionally dependant on another person provides you with some incredible insight. Insight that I am certain I will forget the minute I find myself in love. To counter this effect, I have decided to put these thoughts down. Right here. In the hope that one day I can look back and have clear and level-headed advice from myself.

Without further ado, the first in my series:  Notes from a Singleton.

Dear Attached Hope,

Dude, do not attempt to express an important message to your significant other passive aggressively.

And if you do do it, don’t be surprised when your message becomes obscured like a ‘Chinese whisper’ and at the end of it all, you AND him have absolutely no idea what you were trying to say to begin with.

My advice?

Try to consistently be authentic.

If you feel angry, express anger. Proportionately. There’s no need to break his record collection because he forgot your tampons on his supermarket run. A simple “I am angry because I feel that you didn’t consider my needs. Give me a minute to calm down” will work. If you want X, tell him that you want X. Do not tell him that you want Y and expect him to understand that you actually want X. I mean, I’m already confused.  If you don’t like his behaviour do not accept it by hiding behind mean glances and out of the blue nonsecial retorts. A calm, rational explanation helps. “Please do not use homophobic slurs around me. When you do it it makes me feel like you don’t respect the attitudes I have.”

And if he insists on being the passive aggressive one? If he has absolutely no self-awareness of himself, his behaviour and his actions?

Get out.

He’s not the one for you.

Your alter ego,

Single Hope