On occasion, I am asked why I am still single (it has been six years). Every now and again, I get told that I should try my luck on dating sites by well-meaning friends, some of whom have found really good and long-term relationships through them. Some of them have even suggested Tinder, and time and time again I get asked “What have you got to lose?” I won’t lie, sometimes it’s maddening and exasperating as I try and explain that while no, I don’t suppose I DO have anything to lose, it’s simply not happening for me. It’s not who I am.
So just for fun, let me explain to why I’m still single, and more to the point, why I’m going to stay single.
Chapter 1 – “Game”/Confidence
How honest do you want this? When I was 14 years old, my confidence was CRUSHED by a girl at school, and I mean, slaughtered. Like, humiliated in front of nearly 30 classmates. I had already figured out that I wasn’t going to be the proverbial ladykiler, but this booted me into hiding in the corner and I pretty much stayed there for the rest of my life. I never developed the part of the brain that deals with going about getting a relationship or even a date, every time I’ve discovered a girl was interested in me my first reaction is always disbelief, and every girl that’s ever got anywhere with me has had to make the first move, or ALL the moves. We’re talking a small number, obviously. What happens if I go on a date? I’ll tell you – I sit there assuming she’s not interested, if we get on I’m going to assume I’m being friendzoned, and I’m going to miss any and all signs more subtle than just grabbing me. Which is exactly what my last ex had to do for me to understand I was being pulled. So from the off, I’m struggling. I can’t play “the game”, I certainly can’t do “the chase” and in very general terms, I haven’t got a clue what I’m doing.
Chapter 2 – Fear of rejection
I’ve got a crippling fear of rejection. My history of having a thing for a girl and doing FUCK ALL about it is lengthy. On the small number of times I’ve been able to actually make the closest I can to “the move” i.e. let someone know I’m interested, usually involving a small amount of alcohol (see Chapter 1 – Confidence), it hasn’t gone well for me. I never dealt with a lot of rejection when I was younger because of the aforementioned hiding in the corner, but the handful of inevitable knockbacks I’ve had in adulthood, preceded by my KNOWING that I was going to get knocked back, made me think “Fuck, I wish I hadn’t bothered.” To the point where I stopped bothering. I’ve been on one date in the last six years, and I had to find out after the fact that the girl considered it a date. Which explains how I was able to ask her out in the first place – I didn’t even know I was asking her out! Naturally, in the aftermath, I decided I quite liked her. And did nothing about it. Because. So, you can probably imagine the thought of sending hopeful messages on a dating site to receive zero or negative replies, or clocking how few “matches” I get compared to how many “likes” I’ve done (swiped right, is it?) makes my fucking blood run cold.
Chapter 3 – Trust
I hate to cover old ground for any of my friends that read this who might have heard this, but here goes. When I was 23 I got into a relationship. I had been friends with the girl on and off for six years, and had long thought that she could have been perfect for me but had done nothing about it (see Chapter 2 – Fear of rejection). Going in, I had developed a pathological fear of being lied to, cheated on and eventually left. I had crippling doubts that any girl temporarily interested in me couldn’t possibly remain so (see Chapter 1 – confidence) and it would all go terribly wrong leaving me a heartbroken mess. The girl had gone through a messy breakup and been cheated on, but we had been friends for so long that when she told me she thought I was special, I believed her. When she said she wanted something serious, I believed her. She used words like “love” and “forever” and “hero” and “soulmate” and we lived together, took holidays with her family and talked about getting married. You already know where I’m going here…. after four years when we split up for good, I found out she had been cheating on me. Somebody I had known for ten years, who I thought I KNEW and had shared the entirety of who I am more than anyone ever in the history of my life, cheated on me and ultimately left me a heartbroken mess, just as I had always feared. I hadn’t dealt with “a breakup” in my teens, I was twenty-fucking-seven, and my biggest fears were realized. I won’t bore you with details about how hard I found it to go on for a while, but as much as being single sometimes bothers me, do I want to expose myself to the risk of THAT kind of pain again? Do I fuck.
Chapter 4 – Girls
Jesus, I’m going to regret this one, aren’t I. Despite what you’ll come to read below and the idea that “beggars can’t be choosers” – I’m actually stupidly picky. I mean, I don’t think I ask for much, but if what I ask for isn’t there, it’s dead in the water. All I truly look for…. first and foremost, she needs to make me laugh. If I don’t catch myself laughing at what comes out of her mouth or things that she does, I almost never have any interest. As important, I have to make her laugh. Once I let my guard down and let the real me come out a little, if we’re laughing at the same things or at each other, that’s golden to me. When all the other bullshit fades away, if we’re laughing together, that lasts, and that’s what attracts me. On top of that… butterflies. It needs to be said, but there needs to be that “something indescribable.” I settled on “butterflies” and I don’t necessarily mean physical attraction, just that … I don’t know. Catching myself smiling about something she does, says or is, just that little voice inside that says “I like being around you.” Probably not making it clear but… yeah. If you really twisted my arm and asked me about the physical, then dark hair, pale skin and eyes I lose myself in will never hurt, but by no means have my inappropriate crushes over the years been limited to that description.
Oh yeah… the inappropriate crushes. Meet girl, decide she has what I like, struggle to deal with the fact it simply isn’t happening. Occasionally just because she isn’t going to be interested (see Chapter 2 – Fear of rejection) or 99% of the time because she’s taken already. Because I’m just that picky. But you know what? I’ve been single that long, that I’ve given myself the right to be picky. I’m hardly going to stick my neck out now unless I’m 100% in the “I like this one” stakes.
Chapter 5 – Failings and Shortcomings
Please don’t write this off as an inferiority complex – I reckon I know what girls like, and I don’t have it. I have zero confidence in my looks and positively negative body con. I’ve struggled with my weight my entire adult life as a guy that likes sedentary pastimes and snacking and whose asthma has always made exercise problematic. And to be blunt, if I’m not going to the gym with someone, I give up too easily and get depressed. Of course, having spent my whole life watching the girls I like being with the good looking guys (see Chapter 4 – Girls) it’s become too easy to just accept that I’m pretty screwed anyway (see Chapter 1 – Confidence). As for the rest… I don’t have any money to speak of, my interests are few and niche, and as far as that unconscious “suitable father” theory goes, it’s pretty clear that I’m not really an actual grown-up. I can’t look after myself, much less anyone else. And guess what? Doubts about whether I’d be any good at looking after the kids we probably weren’t going to have anyway was one of the reasons thrown at me the last time I got dumped, and if I ever had the chance to get over the myriad of things I hate about my own body, I’m likely to never get over the fact my one long-term, serious, grown-up relationship came to a crashing halt because she decided she wanted to fuck other guys. I don’t think there’s any coming back from that.
Biggest problem I have, I think, is that girls see through me. Within hardly any time, due to my inability to play “the game”, a girl figures out that I don’t really manage the “go out a few times and see how it goes” thing, and if I’ve figured out that I’m interested enough to test the water, chances are I’ve already decided I’m interested in something serious, and that scares girls away. I’m hardly ever, truly, thinking “we should go out sometime” – I go from zero to “I’d like you to be my girlfriend” in hardly any time. Even though (see Chapter 3 – Trust) I’m never actually going to allow myself to actually pursue it unless the stars align and I trip into something that gives me genuine hope (see Chapter 4 – Girls) but that doesn’t happen for me. Never has, never will.
Best of all, the fact I’ve actually taken the time to think about all this and put it into words should tell you all you need to know about the state of my brain, and girls want a man, not a fucking project.
There you go, I think that covers it. I’m fucked. I’m not going on dating websites, I’m not going on Tinder. I’m not doing fucking anything. Please, don’t think of any of this as being me “giving up” or being down on myself. I’m 33 years old, and I know who I am. It’s taken many years, I freely admit I’m a little broken, but I KNOW WHO I AM and I’ve accepted it. So please… don’t try and help me. Don’t tell me what I need to be doing to improve my situation, don’t try and set me up with your friends, just leave me alone.
Please don’t tell my mother any of this.
Pastries And Cakes 