Oh God, not this again.
How can I win when I already lose in love, like? Or whatever tf Ice Spice said.
Issue 013, check it out in its entirety here
DATING IS WEIRD, LIKE.
As I mulled over yet another fleeting crush that I daydreamed would be endgame for me, I processed a few thoughts about dating. I believe no one is more excitable about the concept, than a person who spent their teens reading of crushes turned to year-long relationships, and or pining for Betty to reunite with Henry in Ugly Betty. But I’ve become entirely too conscious of my dating decisions as of late.
Though I’m incredibly cynical about love at present, I’m still moved - and often live by - the notion that it’ll probably happen for me one day with the perfect person and at the perfect time. That hopelessness, fed to me through my favourite on-screen depictions, is what keeps me going on dates with poor matches to fulfil the desire of perhaps a totally chill situation becoming not so chill and actually very serious. That’s where I live. In the realm of delusion and with all my eggs in disarray, as I’ve no fridge nor basket to place them in.
My dissonance in the dating world and the imbalance between, "oh this feels like the one" and "nope, he obviously hates me," is, unfortunately, a regular feat on my dating CV. The switch between excitement at them potentially being the missing piece to my 540-piece puzzle is so heavy, that I’ve not felt the joy of just being in the dating scene for quite some time now.
VULNERABILITY SUCKS
I’m just going to say it, I hate that you have to be vulnerable in order to get to know someone. The idea that there are now 10s of dudes who likely recite my funniest anecdotes and a handful that have seen my crevices through a microscopic lens, is nothing short of horrifying for me. While I may have written an entire book about my life without shying away from the really very gritty parts of human fault, finding the right time to tell someone I’m horribly anxious about men:dating due to a near non-existent relationship with my father, is quite the obstacle. Instead, I allow myself to get into a variety of situations inked with go-with-the-flow in invisible pen, despite being entirely too insecure about this ideal now that I’m a little older.
In ancient times, when my abs featured in every Instagram post and my forehead didn’t wrinkle when displeased, I was much more open to casual situations turned long-term. I had come to be comfortable about just going with the flow, as I was unsure I could process real emotion without the safety net of it not being that serious. That barrier offered me comfort in the fact that if I had already mentally ended it, then I couldn’t get hurt. The anxieties simply didn’t exist because I wasn’t able to find fault in being with someone just for now and instead, enjoyed little infinities with fleeting crushes. But with less time spent in clubs and more time spent in sit-down bars and restaurants discussing marital arrangements and pre-schools, I’ve nothing of note to contribute beyond that book I wrote that time and let’s face it, no one throws book showers. Though they definitely should.
So here we are, at round no. 345256 in the quest to find a rare Pokémon. Sitting down with fresh and beautiful faces to run through my likes, dislikes and most interesting stories like the hellscape that is the job interview process.
When I finally crack the code and find a crush - one worthy of daily checks of their Instagram profile, meme-specific text messages and indirects about MCMs on social media - I do everything to hold onto that lil flame because I absolutely love having a crush. I long for nothing more than a distraction that feels equal parts anxiety-inducing as it does exciting. Finding joy in the little things and enjoying the three-storey home I rent in Crushville, blissfully unaware. The love sweet spot that sees me fantasize about how things could be if I simply voiced my interest, versus the idealised version of them that I daren’t ruin.
Much like my 12-year-old self, when I do set up shop in Crushville, I begin to trick myself into believing my crush wouldn’t dare ruin the ceramic vase I handcrafted with them in my mind. He’d sooner lay down and die than do me any harm. Leaning into the delusion of any crush being the one, I adorn the little lies I tell myself to disprove the theory that they’re not actually into me. With everything from, "he said he’d call back so I’ll draw on my brows just in case" to "of course, nothing happened with them, why would he lie?" I find tremendous comfort in those little lies as they put me in a safe space where delusion is my only ally.
When I think about relationships and dating, I’m always a little flabbergasted at how blindingly stupid I am in the crush phase. Their words, though very clear, read like the pages of English Literature where every other word has a hidden meaning. I’m no fool, of course, I know that what they say is what they mean, but oh to be so swept up in the theatrics of an on-screen depiction panning out IRL. Where I’m the main protagonist and my love interest is plagued with issues we somehow figure out together later down the line. It's simple our eyes met, we were overcome with love and the rest was history in the movie Delusion: Volume III, out in cinemas now.
Every time I venture into the datingsphere I loudly proclaim that this will be the last time. Until ultimately I realise that I maybe do enjoy the rat race, albeit a little. The coy looks at one another, soft first kisses, subtle shoulder touches that feel like the first time you’ve ever been touched - all of it. Though this fantasy very rarely lasts beyond the euphoria and excitement of being interested in someone new, for me. The rest soon fades away as I come to the harsh realisation that my crush isn’t reciting his lines exactly as written in the script I’ve curated for us. Soon enough, the love glaze dims and I realise that dating is just a series of little highs.
Today I understand that my anxiety around dating seriously, is a direct result of my 'disorganised attachment' issues. I'm frequently insecure over the unknown and now, in knowing that, have set myself a valuable boundary. One where I allow myself to be corny with whom I see fit and or distance myself where necessary. Instead learning to indulge in each interaction without feeling overbearing or entirely too much in my actions with a prospective love. After all, one person's nuisance is another person's, 'I just love your quirks.'
To lovers lost, lovers past and phat asses.
Love, L x