Love rain down on me. Part II
Hey friend,
Here is part II of my essay about the search for love and relationships. If you have not read Part I, feel free to read it before.
Last week I told you the title was inspired by my favorite song by Jill Scott and Mos Def; well as it turns out, that song had two versions. What a dream what a treat.
(…)
Miss Doctor was still waiting for my answer, lips pressed, eyes darting on me, probably thinking "Well? it’s not that hard of a question ?”. Her whole demeanor made me uncomfortable, like it was mandatory to have been in a relationship and I was weird for thinking about it too long. It’s a straightforward answer for most people I assume, it is not for me. What if I was asexual or aromantic or something else not on the list? She’s a young woman, surely she must know these things are not so black and white for everyone? What kind of pressure is this? Mschewwww
“Erm, 4 years ago maybe ?” I muttered.
She unfrowned, seemed satisfied and moved on to the next question. I for one wasn’t satisfied to have to give relevance to that summer fling that put the last nail in the coffin where all my hope to ever be in a romantic relationship was buried, for what I hoped was forever.
Maybe what Miss Doctor meant to ask me about was the last time I had some sex. When was the last time I had some sex? Now this is an entirely different question. She didn’t strike me as the type of doctor that would conflate sex and relationships. Although, three years ago, when I told her I wanted to stop taking the pill because even if it is the only 'cure' they have for endometriosis, it was kicking my ass and I needed a break. She replied, eyes shining and all "why? You want to try for a baby ?" The look on my face was probably of extreme confusion. What fucking baby miss Doctor? I’m currently busy trying not to kill myself, as a matter of fact, leaving your office I will pass by the supermarket and buy a whole box of chouquettes that I will eat in one go, just so that my brain can release a tiny bit of dopamine. What FUCKING baby ?
Miss Doctor was progressive when I met her eight years ago. I chose her because I saw her name on a list of safe gynecologists feminists used to pass to each other in my area. We were a match, and she held my hand through the hell endometriosis put me through. However, she seemed to have become more conservative as the patient -me- got into her thirties. Weird behaviour.
If she had asked the sex question more clearly, the answer wouldn't have been as hesitant because I’m mostly abstinent these days, by choice but also not by choice. Endometriosis fucked up my sex life, my self-esteem took a dip, other chronic illnesses made it plunge even further and I’m only starting to pick up the pieces. But in that area, like in others, it seems like there's no going back to the before and I don't know how to build the after. That is the best summary I could have given her.
That being said, something funny happens every month. Ovulation hormones make me so rabid, that I’m forced to stick my head out and look left right left right, like a family of lemurs in Madagascar. Then, dating anxiety hits again and by the time my luteal phase is here, I sink back into the comfortable feeling of ́not wanting nothing with no one. Is it comfortable or is it just what I'm used to? I don’t have a definite answer to that question because some other times, when I hear people my age talking about their partners and being in love and all, I wonder how it feels. It must feel nice but I’m genuinely curious. Aren’t you annoyed to have someone in your house all the time? And in your bed? What if you come back from work and you want to cry in peace, take a hot shower and go to bed without talking to anyone? I used to believe those people were lying, only showing the good and hiding the bad and the ugly. The type of bad and ugly I can’t deal with because I feel different levels of pain about 100% of the time, so I don’t have a lot of bandwidth for other people's bullshit in general, barely for my own. Plus, I used to be more tolerant but my experience turned me into a serial blocker. I need to change (or maybe I don’t ?).
As the veil of depression was lifted, I realized that the situation wasn't exactly like that. Most women aren’t in real loving and fulfilling relationships because most women are in relationships with men. That’s a fact, let's not lie to ourselves, okay ? but not everyone is faking it. Romantic love does exist. I know the type I want is so rare and the type that wants me is even more rare, but it's out there. I’ve seen it bless other people. *starts praying : Nyamien I've seen what you've done for others...*
Indeed I came to understand that like in many things in life, love is a matter of luck, not a matter of merit or worth, as I believed. Some people have been lucky some haven’t. A lot of us happen to be part of the unfortunate group (support group anyone?). This will probably be the topic of a longer essay because I keep having this conversation with a friend, but I think a lot of women my age are having a hard time because they want the old school type of relationships ( everyone gets married because everyone has to get married, love isn’t a metric here) but they also want “real” romantic love and “ils vécurent heureux et eurent beaucoup d’enfants” (they lived happily ever after) type of thing. Both can exist together but it’s very rare.
I'm still a lover girl at heart though, even if my spirits have been beaten down and my body even more. I love seeing people in love even if I get a little envious. Personally, it took me three years and a lot of therapy to get out of my "shop’s closed, I will never try to date someone again" phase. I know life is random as a motherfucker, you never know what will fall onto your lap, good or bad. So although I'm more "out there", I can’t help but acknowledge the fact that the spark has left me. "I don’t have it in me anymore" I told a friend before my last ovulation week forced me to download Hinge for the first time. I stopped using it after two weeks. I really don’t have it in me anymore. Every contact that falls under the “romantic/sexual” umbrella just confirms it. Last week, for instance, unwanted circumstances forced me to contact someone I told myself I would never contact again. I didn’t block them though (see ? I’m trying to change). Anyways, this was useless because this person acted the same as they’ve always acted. This short interaction left me feeling awful about myself, like I had broken a celibacy vow with some subpar sex, like I had gulped down a glass of Vermouth after months of sobriety. Now I understand how it feels, and ew, I was disgusted with myself. But I forgave myself quickly, the book I'm reading about self-compassion helped me get over it faster than usual (See ? I’m working on myself). I'm just a babygirl after all, a simple human, and let she who is without sin be the first to cast the stone.
There's no shame in being a person looking for love, and as much as I am open to it, I admire the women who are actively out there dating, looking for their person. I admire the determination, because me? I can’t chase man, I’m sorry. I’m tired, my feet are always on fire, my whole body hurts, I’m exhausted, I want to go lie down and eat rice pudding please. Plus, for someone as rigid and always in control as myself., there is something freeing about deciding to let go. All that to say, If love wants me, it will have to find me itself, it will have to rain on me even if I'm inside, tucked under my duvet, reading another Tia Williams’ book.
If you liked this piece, here is an article by The Atlantic, that you might find interesting.
