This month I decided to take a break from dating, whilst still fully in the throws of my latest fling. I realised I’d had enough while weeping onto bedsheets that still smelled of a man I’d known a month, having flown to another country to meet up with him. This was not the first time I had travelled hundreds of miles for a man. Once I become attached to a mate I get drunk on lust, high on dopamine and engage in sleepless nights of frantic sexting which render me useless at everyday tasks. Please don’t expect me to concentrate on work when I have a hot man to fantasise about.
I have given up so many of my vices this year (I am nine months sober from alcohol and even drink decaf coffee, I’m practically a saint) but men are much harder to shake. I haven’t been in a serious relationship for years but I can’t seem to let go of casual entanglements. I get giddy on stomach flipping kisses. My fragile ego gets a boost from being looked at the same way Homer Simpson looks at beer. The couplings may last a few weeks or months but I always end them before any declarations of love are made. I try to keep civilian casualties to a minimum.
There’s nothing wrong with serial dating, it’s just not right for me. I have a whole set of emotional baggage, am damaged from years in an abusive relationship, have low self-esteem and a habit of picking men who need to be “fixed”. So many men have gone on to marry the girl they dated immediately after me that I should start charging for my services or open a Centre for Wounded Males. Need the rough edges of your potential life partner smoothing out? Send them here, I’ll happily talk through their daddy issues until the early hours or buy them beard oil when their face is rough enough to sand timber. Once they’re feeling better about themselves I get bored and inevitably boot them out of my life. I will pick fights or change my behaviour, letting my dark side out and quickly extract myself from the relationship. I’ll tell them we can stay friends, without meaning it. If I stay friends with them I am treated to happy status updates, engagement announcements and wedding pictures. I don’t need to see that shit. Most of the time I block their number and social media profiles before they’ve even had a chance to digest what’s happened.
Why don’t I settle down with one of these suitors? Well, the person they are dating doesn’t really exist. The perma-grinned, perfectly made up girl who will laugh at their jokes and is never too tired for sex is pure fantasy. A friend once compared this version of me to Disneyland, somewhere that’s great fun to visit but eventually you get tired and want to go home. Once the initial high of the first flush of attraction wears off I suffer crushing low mood, debilitating paranoia that I’m about to be hurt and am a weeping wreck. That’s when I know it’s time to end it.
I did come close to falling in love when I met a guy a couple of years ago who was funny, sweet, already in therapy and wasn’t scared of my darkness. Eventually I got scared he’d hurt me so I pushed him away. It was a test, I wanted him to fight for me, but he didn’t. We reconnected this year and after a few flirtatious coffees where we struggled to keep our hands to ourselves we ended up in bed. It should have been Happy Ever After except for one thing – he has a live in girlfriend. I would love to say our hookups ended as soon as I found out I was the other woman but they didn’t. Sadly my moral compass must have gotten lost in my last house move and I let things continue longer than they should have. Told you I was damaged.
But no more, I’ve gone cold turkey. Full on man detox (mantox, if you wish). I need time to heal. I’m losing the fake smile and suppressing the overwhelming desire to please everyone because I am hollow after years of giving parts of myself away – my heart, my money, my time, my energy. I’ve got nothing left to give and after putting myself last for almost 10 years I am going to claw back some of my dignity, self respect and maybe I can start to forgive myself for the way I’ve treated others. And myself.