Learning To Live With A Lack Of Love In Lockdown.

There's a lot going on in the world right now. Tens of thousands of people are being killed by the combined forces of a killer virus and government ineptitude, huge numbers are protesting in the streets, fighting against the prejudice and inequality that permeates our so called society, and members of the press are being shot in the face with rubber bullets in an effort to stop them broadcasting evidence of the excessive force that has led to them being shot in the face with rubber bullets. It's absolutely bonkers, shocking, not hugely surprising, inspiring, horrifying and quite tiring if I'm honest. Obviously, I'm not going to talk about any of that right now because it's difficult to arrange my thoughts and feelings about it all. And also I'm a self involved id monster. So, instead, I'm going to talk about lockdown and (sort of) finding peace with not finding love.

Look, it's a Bonksy. Hahahaha, Bonk.

Before we were all asked/forced to stay in our homes, it had become somewhat of a ritual to go out on a Friday or Saturday night, have a few drinks - maybe a dance - and fill my head with the possibility of meeting a special someone, or finally wooing an existing contact. The sacrificial part of this ritual kicked in on returning home alone, at which point I would slit the throat of my stupid, romanticised hope. Ordinarily a virgin is popped up on the altar, but I was increasingly close enough. Yes, I know this was a disappointment of my own creation, that the seeds of self created misery were planted in the soil of baseless optimism and sprinkled with the water of an inability to just go out and have fun without looking for something else, but what can I tell you, I'm a shitty gardener. Let's not even get into how it's very difficult for people to become attracted to you if the slightest hint of potential rejection means you don't talk to them.

This mild feeling of failure and loneliness would ebb and flow, but even at low tide I could see the psychological jetsam dotted along the shore. So when the pubs and clubs shut down, and socialising in that environment was made impossible, I actually felt a tingle of relief. At least, I think it was relief but I was wearing very soft boxers at the time, so it's hard to be sure. Anyway, it didn't take long to work out why I was feeling more at ease with my seemingly perpetual solitude: the enforced break from the pressures of what I considered the socially required act of finding a mate in a bar had provided a mental reboot of sorts. I suddenly became very aware of how easily the assumed norms of society, and media enforced ideas of romance and courtship, had shaped my feeble mind and sense of self worth. Pathetic really.

I think you'll agree, the change is dramatic. Look - I'm positively beaming!

I'm not saying I'm not still quite keen to get laid, or to create a meaningful, emotional bond with the layer (layee? Not sure. Both sound like one party is a bit too passive. Fuck it. Don't call her it! This is a minefield), but I will be able to better monitor and temper my internal response to that not playing out as desired. I think. Maybe. I blame movies and television and books, and porn, and almost everyone else I know being in relationships, and my misshapen ideas on what one even is based on past experience and everything I've just listed. And, well, I guess almost everything. But no longer. Now that I'm tuned in to it, I really can't blame anyone but myself for a flare up, which is annoying, but there it is. And when the pubs and clubs reopen, I will step confidently over the threshold, safe in the knowledge that at thirty eight and a half years old, I am slightly in control of my emotions.

Right, I'ma check Bumble.

Post a Comment