Head V Heart; No-Score Draw

So, you’ve read my first post where I introduced myself and told you a bit of background about how I came to be writing this blog. Now we can move on to the fun part; laughing at the tragedy that is my love life. We’ll examine it in minute, excruciating detail, all in the name of self exploration.

I have reached a stage of salty acceptance with my terminally single status, and I do everything I can to look on the bright side. There are many benefits of just unsubscribing from (in my case) men. Maybe it says a lot about my history that the first benefit that comes to mind is the zero percent chance of having your heart ripped out of your chest and mashed up like a ripe avocado. Add lime to taste.
Single means safe. I mean, there’s only so much upset one can take before you just have to be sensible, walk away from dating, and focus on yourself. Do some yoga. Reconnect with nature. Write some poetry.

Bollocks; you’ll find yourself at the bottom of a wine bottle like everybody else.
But what if you can’t quit the search? What if you’re a heart on your sleeve romantic who’s addicted to the feelings that dating brings? Jelly snakes in your tummy (like butterflies, but for people that are disgusted by dusty winged creatures), daydreaming, and that fizzy feeling when you get a text. Dreamy! Exciting! Who doesn’t want that? So it comes as no surprise that it’s a tough addiction to kick.

It’s been fifteen hours and seven years, since my last long-term boyfriend took his love away. And nothing since, has compared 2 him. No seriously; he was a fucking prick, ask my mum. Maybe I’ll tell you about him on bin day, when I take out the rest of the trash. Anyway, since then, I have had a few short-lived relationships, but nothing that has worked out. And it’s not for want of trying. There has been a string of boyfriends that have each taken a small bit of me with them when they left. Most of them have been get-over-able, because that’s how life works. They can’t all be ‘the one’. But I think a lot of us have that one ex that really left a gaping wound in our heart, and I’m no different.

The pain of someone you love telling you it’s over, is devastating. Sure, it’s not the end of the world. I am of course still here and have moved on. (My brain right now is like, have you? Because you’re still talking about him mate.) Yes, I have moved on, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t still haunt me. I don’t think much prepares you for that particular rug being pulled from under your feet. One minute you’re the happiest bean going, and the next… well. We’ve all been there.

And so the battle of Head V Heart ensues. Not that kind of head, you filthy bitch.
Head wants to cut off completely from being hurt. Let’s do all we can to avoid that pain. Why would we put ourselves through this gut-wrenching agony once more? You’d have to be a total dick to let anyone get close to you again. You’re strong. You can do this.
Heart, however, lives in a fucking dreamworld. Heart overrules Head every time without fail. Heart is on a suicide mission and continuously stands dangerously close to the cliff edge after drinking too much tequila. Heart is a dickhead.

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As a result of this ongoing internal battle, I change my mind approximately 37 times a day about either finding someone to love, or being single forever and ever and ever. It’s quite exhausting, and really, I have other things I should be more focused on. Honestly, I got Lego Hogwarts for Christmas and it’s still in its box.
Ultimately, Heart wins, so I revert back to my dating apps, or my outrageously bad flirting (get drunk, zone in on unsuitable, out of my league man, say things that sober feminist me would kill me for, get shot down, repeat), or my excellent plan of waiting for a message from a beautiful man to appear in my inbox, telling me that he’s loved me for years and would I do him the honour of….. oh for fucks sake, obviously that’s not going to happen.

Occasionally I get chatting to guys on dating apps and occasionally, it results in a date. The last date I went on was up there with the worst of them. It was October last year and I was excited, because he was cute, and it was Hallowe’en month, and the night felt magical. I walked into the bar wearing a new dress, feeling really good, ready to date the fuck out of this date. He was already there. We locked eyes across the room. Before I could even smile, I caught the expression on his face and knew I was not the girl he was expecting. Sometimes it takes just fifteen seconds in someones company to know if you like them. This was 0.15 seconds, and I knew I had been written off before I’d even said hello.
I’m really aware of how this sounds dangerously close to me being bitter because a man didn’t fancy me. I promise, it’s not that. Sometimes, the profile with which someone presents themselves with is just… not what you were expecting. That’s a curse of online dating. It’s a risk we brave singletons take. And I mean that both ways. I am very aware of guys thinking I’m some slimline mega hottie from my profile, because of the nice pictures of myself I have chosen, whereas really I’m a bit of a chonky gal who looks like an alien without make-up. It’s cool, aliens are fun and I eat what the fuck I like. I was mostly offended on behalf on my new dress to be honest. I digress.
The date was terrible. We clashed on every subject, particularly mental illness, which he insisted was made up and people could just ‘get over’, if they wanted. How had I got this dude so wrong, and how had I ended up on this date?! I’ll tell you why. It’s because despite Head realising early on that this was a bad match, because of course before we had met, many of his messages had bought their own red flags, Heart was there for it. Heart wanted the date, and Heart was desperate for it to work out and for him to be a Lovely Boy TM. Fuck you, Heart.

No matter how much I tell myself that I’m OK on my own, I’m strong, I wanna lay diagonally across my bed every night, and I never want to be a Mrs. Anyone, I still seek out the best thing in the world; love.
I feel like it’s detrimental to my existence. It distracts me from the other things I wish to achieve in life in every way. I’m either searching, mourning, or trying to prove to myself that I don’t need it, and it’s so time consuming.

So how do we kick the habit when it’s clear it’s just not happening? Well if I had the answer to that, this would be a totally different blog. It may already exist, and if it does, you can find it at http://www.completebollocks.com.
I don’t think we can kick the habit. I think the idea of being part of a couple is so deeply ingrained in us as humans that it’s something we will always seek, even when we’re adamant we don’t want it.

When you reach the salty acceptance stage of singledom, as I have, things become less about longing, and more about living for now. I know I sound like a motivational meme prick, but hear me out. Maybe we won’t ever meet the one. A bleak prospect, sure. But, we can still go on the dates. We might make excellent pals instead! Or we might have terrible times, which we can tell our friends about. What I mean is, don’t stop living because you’ve suffered a knock-back or 17. You’ll miss out on so much life if you do.

If we can just get past the idea that our happiness only presents itself when we are one half of a couple, we might have a chance of finding genuine happiness in being whole on our own.

Stay strong, Singletons! Next time, let’s talk about how to date yourself.

Much love, Chip xoxox

This post was sponsored by an entire bottle of Prosecco and 57 cigarettes.