I'm Lonely.

I only really write when I’m lonely. 

Or sad. 

Or depressed. 

Happy times, happy thoughts rarely ever motivate me to write. 

I did try a gratitude journal once, though-because I’d read good things.  About how gratitude journals can change perspective, shift reality and cure depression. 

I wrote faithfully every day. 

I was grateful for ladybugs, and flowers, and warm weather and rainbows-ad nauseum.  I wrote and wrote and waiting for a gratitude epiphany.

I’m still waiting.

I don’t know why I’m lonely.  Well, that’s not true-I’m lonely because I’m alone.

I want to be cared for.  I want to have someone to turn to, to cry to, to share my day with.

It’s not that I don’t have friends or family-some very, very good friends and some very, very good family-it’s just that all of them have that person in their life already.  For better or worse, they have that husband, wife or long-term partner.  That person that caused them to go from being a single entity you invite out for drinks to being so-and-so AND so-and-so you double date with.

I am simply of that age where everyone else in my circle has coupled up.

And I want that too.

My friends are great but, truthfully, I often feel like they don’t really have time for me-not in the way that I need, anyways.  If I have a bad day, I have a list of people I can call-all of whom will be wonderful and supportive, but all of whom may or may not have the time to listen because they have a spouse or kids or a significant other that takes precedence. 

I want to have someone to take precedence.  I want to be someone's person who takes precedence. 

I want to be one of those people who has THAT person in their life.
 

Is that wrong?

I don’t know why I don’t have somebody. 

I have been single for 12 years.  TWELVE YEARS.  In that time I have had 6…maybe 7 dates in that time.

I feel very, very embarrassed to write that out loud.

What’s wrong with me?  There must be something wrong with me, right?

I feel sure there must be.  I feel equally sure I need to figure it out and fix it or risk being alone forever...right? 

But I’ve run the gamut.  Am I ugly?  Am I too fat?  Am I too insecure?  Do I not love myself enough, thereby making love from the outside impossible to its way to me?  Am I somehow damaged inside so deep down that I’m not even aware of it?  Do I somehow unknowingly or subconsciously not want to be loved and so I’m putting that out to the world like a giant “Don’t LOVE ME!!!! STAY AWAY!” red flag waving for only potential love-matches to see?

No, no, no, no and no.

I mean, at least...I don't think so.

To the first count: I’m not drop-dead gorgeous, by any means, but I think I'm cute.  I'm at the very least not ugly though, truth be told, I take a horrible photo-EVERY single time. 

NO, really.  

I know some people say that, but in my case it's true.  It's like some kind of weird reverse photoshop magic wherein I look regular in person but like a disfigured hippo in photographs.  Everybody sees it, it's not just me.

But even if I were ugly, I see plenty of ugly people who managed to find someone to love them.  Just today, in fact, I was watching an episode of 'Stalked' wherein this really, really unattractive woman was stalked by a decent looking (albeit crazy) man and I thought to myself, 'wow...she's really unattractive', and my next thought was, 'See?!  Even unattractive people can find love'...

Ok, sorry.  That's not the best example.

But you know what I mean. 

We've all been there.  You're walking the mall or the grocery story and you see a lovey-dovey couple walk past and one of them is substantially less attractive than the other.

Amiright?

Those couples give me peace.  I think, 'ok-it's not my looks because clearly I'm better looking than the ugly half of that couple and I'm still alone...'

To my other points...I am a bit fat at the moment, but that hasn’t always been the case and even when I was super skinny I still couldn’t find love. 

I’m definitely not insecure-maybe I used to be, but not anymore.  I feel pretty good about me these days-not great, but certainly not so fraught with insecurity that I’m sure that’s what people see.  In fact, more often than not, I get the opposite feedback from people when I do confess to an insecurity or two in the form of, “really? You always struck me as so confident."

And I’m certainly not damaged goods.  I mean, I’ve got some issues here and there-nobody’s perfect.  But for the most part I feel like I’ve worked hard on myself and had some good therapy and feel like I've worked out most of my major kinks at this point in my life. 

This is where my mind takes a dramatic turn and I think, OH MY GOD. 

I’m in denial.

Clearly I have so many issues that I’M NO LONGER AWARE THAT I HAVE ISSUES.  

And, CLEARLY, those issues are so great and so profound that they are, like, sending out 'issue-vibes' to men like a beacon, warning them to RUN LIKE THE WIND...

And then I re-read this whole blog post and realize that I'm a giant narcissist and clearly that's the problem...