I have come to dread
my birthday. Not only because it means getting older, but I always get asked
the dreaded question, “When are you going to get a boyfriend?” with the added
remark, “You’re getting on a bit now, you know.” Why am I not allowed to turn
32 years old and be single and be happy about it? It isn’t just my work
colleagues that have had a dig, but my mum’s friends too. Are they trying to
make me feel guilty about being single? Or are they trying to scare me? Why am
I not allowed to be happy just being me? Because, guess what, I am. I am so
happy being me that I don’t understand why anyone is in a relationship to begin
with.
My first serious relationship (of four and half years) told me that it was
wrong to see each other more than once a week and it was wrong to want to live
together. For the first year of dating, he told me every single time that he
picked me up in the car that I wasn’t the one for him and he never wanted to
marry me, yet when we were actually together, he told me that I was the one. He
didn’t want any other communication other than text messages when we were
apart, but misinterpreted every single message I sent, saying I was being
negative, when I wasn’t. He didn’t seem to understand that you only understand
10% of a message, when you only see the words – the rest of communication comes
from the tone in which things are said and body language. He told me I wasn’t
good enough to meet his family. There were many times where I tried to help him
with things, and he shrugged my help or advice off as though I was stupid and
would ask a random colleague for advice instead. He stood me up multiple times,
without telling me that he wasn’t going to turn up and had a go at me when I
asked him why he couldn’t spare thirty seconds of his time to text me that he
wasn’t going to be there. I wasn’t worth thirty seconds of his time. He said
you’re not allowed to celebrate special days, like birthdays or anniversary
dates or Christmas, because they were just another day, but you were never allowed
to do something special on an ordinary day, because there was no special reason
for it. After a walk, I once said that I wanted to take a picture of us
together every time we went somewhere, so he said that if that was the case, he
was going to make sure that we never did anything ever again – we were together
for two more years and we were never even allowed to walk around the park. You
would probably wonder why I stuck around for so long, but I can assure you that
it wasn’t all bad. The brief times that we did get to spend together were the
best moments of my life, even to this day. He was the nicest and most caring
person I have ever met, when he could be bothered to communicate with me. He
was kind and patient. He encouraged me to follow my dreams and to do things
that I love. He made me see that my father’s side of the family were mental
abusive and none of the things that they had filled my head with were true. He
gave me confidence in me, for the first time in my entire life. He essentially
built me up to be the happy and confident adult that I am today. I could never
have accomplished any of what I have done in the past eight years if I hadn’t
met him. He really was a saviour to me. I know he had his mental health
struggles and tried and tried to be there for him, to help him, to cheer him
up, to take his mind off his troubles, but his continuously pushing me away and
telling me that I wasn’t good enough and I wasn’t trying hard enough, when all
I did was put him first and gave everything I had to him (I couldn’t give or do
any more than I was), for him to make me feel so lonely, unloved and worthless
that I couldn’t even speak to anyone. Once, someone at work just said, “Moring
Josette, are you okay?” and I broke down crying hysterically and collapsed in a
heap and couldn’t move, because I felt that worthless.
When that relationship was over, one miscarriage and near-death
broncho-pneumonia later (I was one of, if not, the first person in the
UK to contract Covid and no doctor knew what was wrong with me) I started
seeing someone else. He was a mutual friend, I had known from university and
he, my ex and myself had all worked for the same company together, several
years pervious. He was really nice, but I didn’t feel anything towards him. I
was dating him, because everyone told me that I had to date immediately after
having my heart ripped out, in order to cope, which, I know now, is never a
good or the right idea. You need time to be you again and to actually process
the feelings and hurt, and grieve that the person you thought you would spend
forever with and was pregnant with their child with, wanted nothing to do with
you ever again. If anyone starts dating immediately after, it proves that they
never cared for you at all. If they cared, they couldn’t move on that quickly. Anyway,
on paper, this new relationship seemed perfect. He was into writing. He would
come up with games for us to play throughout the day, which kept my mind busy,
so I didn’t dwell on the hurt and pain. We would stay up talking until 3am and
I had to be up at 5am to get ready for work. It felt so good being with someone
who wanted to see me and spend time with me, who spoke of doing things together
and a future together. I don’t know whether it was because I hadn’t had time to
process or cope with my previous break up, or whether I really just didn’t feel
anything romantically towards him, but I felt nothing. Then when he brought up
his illness, it brought fear in my whole body. I didn’t want to be stuck with
him forever and the longer we went on, the more I felt trapped. I didn’t want
people to think that I only broke up with him because of his illness, that
wasn’t it at all, but I couldn’t see myself being happy, getting married to him
and looking after him. I could with my ex – he had a health condition and a big
health scare when we were together and for weeks all I thought about was
wanting to spend the rest of my life looking after him and caring for him. But
with this guy, it was different; I would have been waiting for him to die,
looking forward to being a widow. I felt like a monster. I couldn’t break up
with him, but I couldn’t stay with him. Then it happened. He said he had a
hospital appointment and was going to be kept in overnight. He was alone. I
wanted to surprise him and turn up to spend time with him, as a friend at the
very least, because we were good friends – at this point I had known him eight
years. I phoned the hospital up, but they had no record of him staying there.
Then on social media, a photo appeared. One of his friends had tagged him in a
photo. They were having a lads night out, doing a pub crawl. Needless to say, I
broke up with him.
While I was dating my old university friend, mentioned above, I realised that I
had feelings for my manger. Well, he wasn’t exactly my manger. My manager was in
the hospital and the manager of the east of the country had to cover the west
side of the country too. He and I had crossed paths several times, but I had
been in a relationship and he was engaged. However, at this point in time, he
was recently single, following his fiancée breaking up with him a week before
the wedding. We were never together. This was all during lockdown, but he would
phone me every single day, to check in on me and I was the only person in the firm
who actually asked him if he was okay. Everyone else expected him to carry the
firm on his shoulders, and by himself. I looked forward to his phone call more
than anything in the world. We would plan lunchtime phone calls to just talk
about stuff. We would fantasise about running away to Scotland together, to go
on lots of hikes and taste a different whisky at a different pub every day. I
looked forward to our lunchtime chats more than I ever did seeing the guy I
started dating after my breakup. Sadly, I had to take a month off work due to a
mental breakdown and when I came back everything at work had changed. Our old
manager was back and check-in phone calls no longer existed. What hurt most was
that this manager now had a girlfriend. He was dating an Instagram model that
he met whilst walking his dog. This hurt, a lot more than it should have done.
He left the company shortly after. I gave him a good luck card and sewed him a
mini, felt ukulele, which I spent more time and care over making this for him than
I have for anyone else, ever.
After that, I kept my head down working and working and working. About a year
later, I was kind of seeing a lady, who had got a temporary job in our office.
She was really fun, and we got along perfectly from her first day in the
office, but when she was due to leave, to further her university studying, she
said she didn’t want to be in a relationship at that moment. That was fine. I
understood. I saw her a couple of months later, in the supermarket, holding
hands with another woman. She saw me and grabbed her partners hand and
constantly kept looking out for me around the shop. I was happy for her and
just wanted to reach out and say, “Hi,” but she obviously wasn’t interested and
wanted nothing to do with me, even just as friends.
That was over eighteen months ago. Since then, I have a new job and I actually
have a bedroom (long story). I am still stuck at home, but I am finally happy.
It took a long time. It has been a huge roller coaster of emotions. I kept
going from being very happy to very sad, to suicidal and then cycle would start
again. Just before Christmas, I took a couple of online mental health courses
and since then, I have noticed a vast improvement in my menta health. Yes, I
have still had some hiccups, but so longs as I am stuck at home, I always will
– and I had a phone interview with a finance advisor just before New Year, who
told me that I don’t earn enough to buy or rent on my own and that was before
interest rates went sky-high.
For the first time in eight years, maybe even my whole life, I am genuinely
happy being me. I am going to work, and my brain feels clear and positive. I’m
not telling myself to be in a positive mood and I’m not in a positive mood
because someone has made me feel that way, I am in a positive mood for me. I am
enjoying my own company. I am eating healthily. I am drinking 2-3 litres of
water a day. I am going on long walks – I try to walk between 25 and 30 miles
every Saturday. I don’t have to worry about buying/eating food that someone
else doesn’t like or can’t eat. I don’t have to worry about watching a film
that someone else doesn’t want to watch. I can go to sleep when I want and
don’t get woke up by snoring or being shoved out of bed. I don’t have to host,
nor do I have to visit someone else’s family. I can take my holiday days when I
want. I can go on holiday where I want. I don’t have someone making me feel
isolated, lonely and worthless. I don’t have to constantly worry every single
second of the day that if my partner loses interest in me or change their mind
about me, then I’ll lose my life, my future, my everything, while nothing will
change for them. I hate knowing that someone else is in control of my life. Being
single, I am in control. I am happy for me. I am working for me. No one is able
to take my future home, my future life, my future happiness away from me. I
don’t understand why anyone would want to be in a relationship. Why would
anyone want to feel that? Why would anyone purposedly want to limit what they
can do, where they can go and how they are allowed to feel? Why would anyone
purposely want to feel so lonely and so worthless that they don’t want to
exist? I don’t understand why anyone would want to do that. Yet everyone I know
is in a relationship. I am the only person I know, over the age of 23 who isn’t
married or in a serious, long-term relationship. All everyone does is complain
about their significant other – they all sound like they hate each other. Maybe
I’m just not as strong as everyone else. And if that’s the case, then why is it
wrong for me to be single? I am finally happy, for me, and for the first time
in probably my entire life. I don’t want anyone. I don’t need anyone.
To add to this, I read an article the other week that said 80% of people in
relationships/engaged/married are in love with someone else. Why would I want
to be in a relationship with someone, if I knew they were in love with someone
else? Why would I want to be in a relationship with someone, if I was in love
with someone else? I would rather be single than be in a relationship with
someone that wasn’t the person I was in love with. How could you live with
yourself knowing that you were living a lie, that you were thinking of someone
else, that your heart belonged to someone else? It gets me angry just thinking
about it. Man up and end things. If it means being alone, then be alone. It is better
to be alone than be with someone and keep telling yourself over and over again
that it is the right thing to do and that you do love them, despite your heart
not fully being in it, because deep down, when you truly allow yourself to be
you, you are in love with someone else.
And that is why I am single. I am happy, more than happy. I can be me. I can do
things for me and I don’t have to worry about anyone hurting me ever again. Why
can’t you be happy for me with that? I don’t have to worry every single second
of the day that my significant other might leave me one day. I don’t have to
worry constantly that I’ll be homeless if my relationship ends. I don’t have to
worry all of the time that my partner might suddenly change their mind about me
overnight and wake up the next morning (having told me the previous night to
trust them and everything was going to work out) that they feel absolutely
nothing towards me anymore and I might as well be a stranger on the street. Why
can’t everyone just accept that there isn’t anyone out there for me and I am
perfectly happy being single? Sorry for the rant, but it needed to be said.
-
Josie -
