I no longer look for the reasons we’re going to fall in love, but rather the reasons it won’t work out, both now and in the future. I calculate all of the risk, even though I’m horrible at math, and it always adds up to zero. Your relationship with your mother. My staunch agnosticism. The way you raise your voice that teeters on being scary. My oversensitivity to every sideways look or off the mark comment. Demise is headed our way after the second round of drinks.
My embarrassment of snoring is soul crushing. I don’t want to sleepover at your place or have you stay at mine. I remember many nights sleeping on my stomach, pillow over my head, facing away from someone, listening to their breathing to see if they’d fallen asleep. I was aware of their movements and thought they’d awaken because of me. All of those hours of lost REM and I slowly start to lose my mind. I’d rather sacrifice my health and sanity to ensure someone else’s. Knowing that makes my empty bed a savior.
I don’t consider myself that great of a lover. I haven’t allowed myself to figure out what I really want or how to ask for it. It seems no matter how many people you sleep with or how long you’ve been with someone, it’s possible to still not totally know your body, even when you’re over 30.
I’m not a huge animal person and I’m not sure I want to get married or have kids. All of the dog and cat lovers and all of the guys who want to be dads are not that desirable to me. Sure, I once got on prescription medication so I could adopt a cat with my then boyfriend, but I’m not sure I’d do that again.
I’d rather stay at home then go on mediocre dates. I get that it’s a numbers game. I get that I’d probably have a better chance of meeting someone if I put myself out there. But I can’t handle the disappointment. My mind, body, and soul are not built to sustain a process that wrings them all through a meat grinder every time I encounter someone with potential. If I keep dating, I won’t have the capacity to hope anymore.
I’m relieved to not have someone I’m waiting to hear from, someone whose words and actions I’m constantly analyzing, to be afraid I’m going to be dumped every waking moment. There is nothing more freeing than not being beholden to someone whose attention and love you want more than anything else. The uncertainty of whether or not I’m going to hear from someone has kept me up at night, driven my friends crazy, and may have even cost me a job more than once.
I don’t have it in me to like someone more than they like me. I can’t continue to have the same conversations with people not looking for serious relationships or only want a rebound. I’m not interested in being someone’s side girl, number two, or back-up plan and I’m equally disinterested in putting someone in that category. There should never be runner-ups in relationships.
I don’t want someone holding up a mirror for me to see my lack of ambition, desire and motivation. I don’t want a partner who wants to know what I want to DO with my life. It’s hard enough not being able to answer that for myself, let alone feeling like I owe someone else an explanation.
My inner demons of depression and anxiety are not things I feel like putting on someone and have seen them destroy relationship after relationship. I’m an emotional eater. I avoid confrontation to the point of self destruction. I do all kinds of things in the privacy of my own home that would have to be hidden or swept under the rug, done when someone wasn’t looking.
I’m good at being alone where my thoughts and actions aren’t completely influenced by considering someone else’s opinion of me, their validation, or their happiness over mine. I’d give everything away to be with someone, allow myself to be taken advantage of, because I haven’t figured out how just being close to someone isn’t enough.
I’m not someone I’d want to be with.