In my love story

Notes from January 2018 onward…

I was so lonely.

Especially if I was home alone, I would cry at various times. At night especially. I cried every night. I resisted messaging him at night time a while ago. I don’t know how long ago, but I got the habit to stick. Time with him has been so warped, a year and half is an undeniably long time, but with regards to our souls, it felt like I’d known him for centuries. Except recently he felt like this different person. Every week I would start feeling the distance. It happened to me with A. But this felt different, this felt like it was all in my head, our distance was in my head. Sometimes because I felt weak, and sometimes because I was the one who insisted we needed to stop, and often because it felt like the wrong time to talk since he had so much going on on his plate. Regardless it was hard.

I joined a few dating apps. The League, Bumble, Tinder. I would listen to girlfriends’ stories of fun dates, successful matches, pages of conversations. Trying to be strategic I would ask “which one do you think is the best”? Logically I knew I had to put myself in situations where I could meet someone. To open myself up. It didn’t matter what I used. But I wasn’t ready to meet anyone. I wasn’t interested to feel something for someone else. I concluded because I wasn’t on the right app it wasn’t working for me. The effort to leave the house for multiple dates, to make small talk, knowing I would find the smallest fault, would clog my throat; it seemed so taxing, stressful, below me. One day pretending I was helping myself, I was being independent and taking steps, I logged in. I made a better profile, made sure my pictures were cute. I couldn’t write an about me though. God I had trouble talking about myself to friends let alone thinking of what 500 words could explain why someone should date me. Sometimes I thought I should write something honest like: “looking for marriage and babies” or “basic bitch with blonde hair” or “newly single, extremely fragile”. Then I would imagine him reading it, and I would die inside. Of all the things to care about, I imagined he would read it. I would swipe through all the pictures, I would often open the app swipe left on 20-30 guys. Then in a fit of anger, or tears, depending on the night, click my phone shut and throw it to the side.

I didn’t want to meet someone online. It felt so unnatural, so meaningless but also so final. I just didn’t want to meet anyone. I often wanted to ask him if it was okay if I started dating. Or I thought of telling him that I was going to start using dating apps. I definitely wanted permission from him, I wanted him to give me the okay, or really fight with me over it, in some ways I inevitably wanted him to let me go.

He needs to let me go. You need to let me go. You can’t keep reeling me in like this and then not have time for me.

(May 1,  2018: inspired by Love Story, Indila.)

Miss Mess,

xoxo

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About iheartmess

A Middle Eastern Londoner 20-something living the 'western' life in between London and home.
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