I Am Not Afraid Of Dying Alone

I’m a big, big girl in this big big world, it’s not a big big thing if you leave me. Oh 90’s pop music how you lied to me. Oh how strong and independent I thought I was. Lived in different countries, volunteered in India, faced my fears.

Except the One fear. The one fear that plagues and has plagued me for the most of my twenty nine years. The fear of being alone. Spinster. That word with its negative connotations reverberating. Bouncing. Tormenting. Every failed relationship. Every broken promise. Every friend who told you they were in love with you just to tell you that actually they want to get back with their girlfriends after they have had sex with you. As the years go by and these experiences mount up the word Spinster resonates louder. This time with a capital S.

Then move in the One. Or the one you thought was the One. The one you always wanted something with but the time was never right. The one that you always had feelings for, the one you weren’t going to let back in. But you did, didn’t you? And it was good. Perfect even. You could hear the word spinst…start to trail off, hibernate back into the recesses of your flawed, feminine mind. A mere whisper, only hinted at. No longer certain. You won’t be getting no cats no time soon.

Picture this. Him in a suit looking fine, you in your vintage Ebay wedding dress (because you know all that moneys going on the honeymoon South America bonanza). Oh how great life is. Until, just as quickly as it started, the rug is pulled out from under your feet. No warning sign. The ‘I love yous’ seemingly not enough as life takes him away. The word SPinster rears its ugly head. But this time with its SPitting, SPiteful SP. As you wail alone in your sad, empty, lonely room you lament at how he was going to be the only one for you. You curse the very sheets you both lay on as life throws the SP word back at you.

How can you possibly go on to love again? How can you give to someone else when every time you do a little bit of your soul, your self-worth goes with him?

In my early 20’s it was all so easy, feckless and fancy free, heartbreaker my mother did call me. Now I am getting what I deserve. All those men that loved me, whose heart I broke because I thought I could do better. I could find someone who made me feel good inside. Someone who got me. Someone who fit like a puzzle piece. Not someone I argued with constantly. Fights so fierce heavy objects were thrown at windows. Or the one I didn’t want to have sex with because he felt more like a brother. How dare I not want to have sex with a sibling.

Fuck me for being so picky. Now look at karma biting me on my ass (growing ever bigger with age). Sending me to my 30’s alone and undeserving of love.

A year ago, I didn’t want anyone. I was happy with myself. I didn’t want babies, I just wanted to enjoy my life, my way. Thing is, I still don’t think I want babies and I still want to enjoy my life. So what’s changed? Last year I was 28. This year with 30 looming I feel that I want the things I should want. I should want a mortgage with a husband (who I potentially don’t love anymore but hey as long as I’m not single) three kids and a dog. For you see, cats are only for those who aren’t married… dahhhling!

SPINster is getting ever louder. Tormenting me with its SPIN. According to Japanese culture, no one likes New Year’s cake after the 31st. 31 is a woman’s sell by date. I have two years left. With each failed experience I feel that my cake will be left on the table, like the Christmas pudding we buy every year but that no one really likes. Damn my overly rich fruitiness that is not to everyone’s taste.

I used to pride myself on being an empowered, independent woman. But with every, “Oh it’s nearly time for you to have kids,” and “It’s your turn next,” or “you better hurry up before it’s too late,” I feel societies expectations bear down on me with things I don’t even desire.

Excuse me for wanting to live a fulfilled, happy life.

Excuse me for being OK with my own company.

Excuse me for wanting love, but the right kind not the, oh we might as well kind, or the lets stay together for the kids kind.

Excuse me for not particularly wanting to procreate.

Excuse me for wanting to live my life with my own rules without the constraints that society has put upon me.

Each and every day these should be the words reverberating around my head, cemented. My values are the ones I should always remember.

Not SPINTSTER. MY self-esteem should not be attached to whoever I shared myself with last. It should have been there from the start. If it isn’t, well then I need to do a lot of soul searching and think about whether I am ready to share myself with anyone, or whether it’s time to do some rebuilding.

The word SPINSTER should not be the driving force in the relationships I choose. My age should not have spurred this change in my attitude to myself.

Do not call and ask for him back out of a fear of dying alone!

Do not settle due to a fear of having frizzy unkempt grey hair and 13 cats.

Ignore the spin, ignore the beginnings of the murmured spiteful, spitiing SP. Every woman deserves a choice on how to live her life without judgement or influence, housewife or career lady, single mother or single full stop.

There is nothing wrong with getting older. There is nothing wrong with being OK with your own company. There is nothing wrong with not wanting to get married and have kids. There is nothing wrong with cats (they kill rats I’ll have you know). Spinster is just another word with negative connotations attached to being a woman. Oh we get them all, bitch, whore, vixen, old maid, frigid, frumpy.

Ignore the negative attachments to what could actually be a rather positive thing, a life lived free from others expectations of what you should be doing.