Fistful of love.

(In which our intrepid adventurer plunges the deepest, darkest reaches of her own heart and hopes to the heavens that nobody laughs or reports her to the police for obsessing.)

Finding love is hard enough as it is. They say if a woman isn’t married by the time she’s 35, her chances drop by 25% every year from then on. I might be making that up, but I’m sure I heard it somewhere. Then consider how much harder it is for a single mother. And after that, think about how much more complicated it becomes for a disabled single mother. And then, think about little ol’ me. A disabled single mother who doesn’t even remotely resemble Claudia Schiffer and earns less than those chaps who collect supermarket trolleys from the antipodes of the Tesco carpark. We’re talking minus figures here. It’s like trying to fire a feather at an inch wide target from about 200 miles away while blindfolded.

Having said that, until about a year ago, I hadn’t been single for more than 2 weeks since just after my son was born. I lucked out. Not that they were all particularly great relationships. Of the three that lasted more than 6 months, one was physically abusive, one mentally abusive and unfaithful, and the other… well, if you look in the dictionary, you’ll find his picture under both the headings “wet blanket” and “waste of space.” If I’m honest, the short ones were the best ones.

First of all, there was Tall Boy. I met him through friends when I was still working, and from the beginning, we both knew it was just meant to be fun and light and casual. It was exactly what it was supposed to be. We had really great sex, and it meant we always had a date for parties. We rarely called each other boyfriend/girlfriend and never “partner” or “other half” or any of those other ridiculous PC terms that mean something different to everyone. It was fun. It worked well. Until I went batshit and had my breakdown (at which point, I was still living with mentally-abusive ex, which probably contributed rather a lot). We drifted, it ended. I have no bad feelings about it, it was what it was and what it was, was good. We’re still good friends now.

And then, there was The Swede. I met him before my life fell apart, but we didn’t get close until both of us were at rock bottom. I was trapped living in a house with a man who hated me but refused to move out, battling with depression and the onset of CFS, and he was in the middle of a difficult divorce, working all the hours God sends to keep himself afloat. We bonded over being totally fucked up. We had no illusions that either of us were perfect, but that’s why it worked, and he begged me not to break his heart. It was a difficult promise to make, since there were so many things stacked against us, but I went against my fears and dived right in. He would say it was doomed from the start, due to having the entire North Sea between us. I would say he only had to ask, and I would have moved. He never asked. I never moved. He dumped me via MSN Messenger. I don’t remember exactly what he said, but it had something to do with the distance, and his pessimism regarding the longevity of relationships in general.

I’m ashamed to say that, a year on, I would still take him back if he asked me. I miss him every single day. Everything reminds me of him, even things that don’t have anything to do with him. He’s my first thought every morning, and my last thought at night. For certain values of “morning” and “night”, of course. I’m not sure why I won’t let go, but even though he has a new girlfriend now, I still fantasize that he’s just waiting for the time to be right for us again. I’m kidding myself. I’m an idiot. I’m in love.

Normally, by now, I would have enacted my usual break-up routine of getting over a man by getting under another one. But this is the first time I’ve been on the singles market since getting sick, and when you barely even have the energy to see the friends you already have, it’s pretty tricky trying to make new ones. Internet dating hasn’t really worked out for me, not because I don’t believe it works, but having met 3 out of 5 of my most notable beaus on the web, I am starting to become something of the “once bitten, twice shy” persuasion.

I’m never quite sure why being single bothers me so much. I’ve never been terribly bothered by sex, even less so now that it’s an exercise in futility, and I find most people to be desperately annoying after more than 2 hours alone with them. But I crave the warmth of another human being, one who makes all the bad shit go away for a bit. I want to feel the kind of love that feels like a punch in the face, like a plunge bath after a sauna, like a bolt of lightning out of blue skies.

I’m beginning to wonder if the CFS has taken the opportunity for world-shaking love away from me. Is it possible I’ve used up all my chances, and wasted them on fuckwits, losers and fairweather lovers? Am I still allowed a happy ending? Perhaps I should wish instead for my desire to dwindle at the same rate as my hope. I’d look stupid in a wedding dress anyway.

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~ by surprisingme on April 23, 2010.

4 Responses to “Fistful of love.”

  1. Wow, I can’t imagine being single and looking for love with CFS. It must be very difficult. You’re right – relationships take work, especially new ones, and it’s hard to even make new friends with CFS. I mean, how many people do I meet lying on the couch in my family room?

    But I don’t think you should give up hope. My Grandma used to say, “For every pot, there’s a lid.” I’m sure your lid is out there somewhere! Maybe you need some time on your own right now, and that’s OK, too.

    Yes, you do deserve a happy ending!

    Sue

    • I think what I worry about most is that I’ve already met my lid, and discarded him somehow. It’s tricky though, waiting for the one. It could take a while, and I want someone now. I’m not good at being on my own.

  2. I loved this post! Once I was talking to a work friend about relationships and I said something along the lines of – I’ve left a path of bodies behind me. There was a slight pause and he said, ‘can you see it from space?’
    I’m crap at relationships. I’ve been in and out of them, choosing badly, being chosen badly, and I’ve finally come full circle and am trying to have a grown up relationship with someone I was with in my twenties because he was always ‘the one’. When I’m out of a relationship I want to be in one, and when I’m in one I long for my empty bed. Awful dilemma, and a good subject for a post of my own so I can stop warbling on on your blog.

    From your writing I can tell you have a very attractive personality. Personally I think it would be wasted on the The Swede.

    • I’ve portrayed The Swede badly here, by necessity. But truth is, he’s the only person I’ve ever really believed deserved me. The only thing he ever did wrong was dump me. It’s tragic really. It’s one of those things, you know? I just don’t feel like our story is over yet.

      Looking forward to seeing your post on the subject đŸ™‚

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