Yesterday was my birthday.
I used to think that when I hit this age, I’d be feeling much older, fatter, and finally, (and apparently most importantly for women) weirder about being alone than I do. Because I already strongly suspected I wouldn’t be getting remarried, seeing as how I only lasted nine months at it the first time, and I also knew the chances of me actually finding a healthy monogamous relationship — or even a person I’d want to stay with long term — were pretty slim. Also, I figured by this age I’d be menopausal, at the very least.
However, I’m still skinny, still feel 35, still bleed like a scene out of Carrie every month, and still feel pretty and sexy as Hell when I look in the mirror (apparently, that’s not allowed, and makes me a narcissist instead of just in possession of a healthy self-image, one of the only healthy things about my mental state); the only thing I was right about is how I still can’t picture myself in a long-term monogamous romantic relationship.
The other day, I made the comment to a new friend, who doesn’t really know me or my relationship history very well, of something along the lines of “Romance, who needs it?” To which she replied, “Give me a break, obviously, you do!”
It’s funny how women project themselves, and societies expectations onto each other that way — because if she knew me better, she’d know how far from the truth that really was. My long-time friends all know how quickly I tend to sour on traditional relationships (Shanel, I see you nodding your head and smirking, Sister!), when I actually get around to deciding I want to be in one, which is far and few between. I generally go years between them, and then when I DO find myself in one, they’re almost invariably terrible decisions on my part. I tend to choose abusive, narcissistic men that are almost mirror images of my mother. My very dear friend Shanel recently said to me, “Maybe it’s time you need to face that you just aren’t cut out for the traditional, long term relationship thing. Maybe you’re meant to be single, and have lovers, and that’s OK.”
Clearly, I have issues with the whole “romance” thing. And when the new friend said that to me, I thought about it for a whole day afterwards, wondering why it struck me sideways, and why it bothered me. And I realized, it was because it was in response to an honest statement from me — “Romance — who needs it?” As if a woman saying that couldn’t possibly mean it.
It occurred to me that if I were a man, she wouldn’t have challenged me on it. People just always assume women “need romance” in their lives. For me, that’s simply not the case. What gets me into trouble is needing sex, and then misguidedly letting that bleed into relationship territory, when they — and I — are clearly not relationship material. Sometimes it’s my idea (well, when I was younger, like in my 20s), but usually it’s the man’s idea. I’m not good at traditional monogamous relationships, and they don’t tend to turn out well for me. It’s not that I’m against getting flowers and being taken out to dinner and all that romantic stuff, but what I DON’T need — or want — is the typical, traditional nonsense of romantic love, which tends to mean monogamy, sleeping in the same bed with someone night after night, going everywhere together, “meshing our lives” in every respect, and marriage.
That to me is suffocating — and every single time I find myself in that situation, I find a way to sabotage it, which eventually led me to realize, I just need to stop trying. I’ll never be that woman. I don’t know WHY I keep thinking that some day, someone will come along to change my mind, because every time I try to fit myself into that mold, it just backfires in my face — usually fairly spectacularly. But, you ask, is it that I secretly WANT that? I used to tell myself it’s what I wanted, but then when I had it, I did everything I could to get out, usually because the people I picked were abusive and controlling. And I felt, as I said, suffocated. The only time I ever felt remotely comfortable in a relationship that lasted more than a couple months was when I was in a poly situation, and with my “friends with benefits”, with whom I’ve had that particular arrangement since the late 90s. But marriage? I couldn’t stand it.
I couldn’t stand being asked where I was going, and with whom; being asked who was calling and texting, the jealousy with male friends whom I’d known long before I knew him, the expectations of traditional wifely behavior that I just couldn’t contort myself into — there were too many to name. I was faithful to this man, because I said I would be. That wasn’t the problem. But I will say that I doubt the marriage would have lasted, even if he hadn’t been constantly accusing me of cheating (which, again, I wasn’t). And, I’ve had the same problem dating women. Jealousy. Always with the jealousy. I don’t get it.
I’d rather be single, and have casual relationships, or open relationships, that manage that green eyed monster much more healthily than the traditional models seem to. I’m just not built to deal with jealousy in others, and I rarely feel it myself. I’ve been manipulated into it once or twice, but it had less to do with physical infidelity than emotional infidelity — in a relationship that was a huge mess in many other ways.
Anyway, the reason I was thinking about this is because I narrowly avoided a matchmaking attempt on the Paterfamilias’ part on my birthday, yesterday, when he invited a friend of his over for birthday key lime pie (because I prefer that to cake). Said friend has a little crush on me, has for awhile, and while there was about five minutes there when I would have entertained the idea about a year ago, that time quickly passed when I realized what an insufferable bore, not to mention alcoholic misogynist pig this person was. The Paterfamilias is notorious for these little matchmaking machinations, and I really wasn’t in the mood for it, in the least. So, I put my foot down and told him that there was no way I intended to spend my birthday with this person in our home, with me as captive audience, eating fucking pie as this man made inane conversation at me.
Fortunately, Joe had already figured out that I was not thrilled with the idea, and had cancelled the plans before I came to him to quash the idea. Thank goodness. I mean, this year is just one of those years when I am just not feeling very celebratory — I even turned down two invitations with people I actually LIKE spending time with. Which, in retrospect, was probably a bad idea. But, I’ve been pretty depressed, and it’s really hard to get oneself motivated, even for a birthday celebration, to get out of the apartment when one is this depressed. Also, the invites were for meeting at bars, and I really don’t drink, except on rare occasions, and I just didn’t feel like it this year. Especially when I’m feeling this down — alcohol always makes it so much worse. So, this year, I just spent it in, with the Paterfamilias and the cats, eating key lime pie and watching Netflix.
Not exactly the pinnacle of excitement. But, I’m in cocoon mode, right now. I’ll be starting new treatment with a psychiatrist soon, as well as getting my teeth fixed, and seeing a new doctor for my Ehlers Danlos, all this summer. So, it’s like there will be a whole new me, emerging, in a few short months. But until then, I feel like I sort of need to lay low. Heal from the shit storm of the past year. And it has indeed been quite the shit storm. I’ve been beaten up pretty badly, what with my illness getting worse, losing my job, my depression worsening, having to move, going through the Paterfamilias’ cancer treatment with him, which entailed a lot of organizational skills (and a lot of worrying) I’d not had to call on since my son’s illness, so many years ago…
It’s been rough. And then, I made the ONE stupid mistake of getting briefly involved with the Mad Genius, for a couple short months, then suddenly I “need romance” in my life? No, what I need is therapy. What I need is my Bipolar meds updated. What I need is to be reaching out to my friends more. What I needed, then, was to get laid (didn’t happen, thank god, what a mess THAT would have been). What I did not need was “romance”. At least, not in the traditional sense of the word.
I know myself fairly well, and I know that I am going to always prefer to sleep in my own bed, and be free to live my life on my own terms. It’s not that I’m incapable of compromise, or sharing, at least, up to a point; but women always seem to be the ones who end up compromising just a little bit more, making more room, doing all the sharing. I’ve had more than one abusive relationship, and I will never go down that road again, even if it means being alone. But, I don’t think it will mean that.
I think it will mean I’ll just have to find a way to incorporate sex and companionship into my life in non-traditional ways, healthier ways than I have in the past. Ways that I’m still figuring out. And, I’m in no hurry, because I still have a lot of work to do on myself, before I worry about letting anyone else in.
And I intend to take up all the damn space I need to live my life the way I want.
Bare Bones Blonde 
Leave a comment