The trouble with dating multiple people at once is that they can all dump you at once. That’s how it goes I suppose. Sometimes though I really wonder what the fuck? I’ve dated men, I’ve dated women. I’ve been in committed relationships and very casual ones that have lasted for ages. I’ve fallen hard for some people after one amazing weekend and still thought five years later that they might just call up one day and want me back. Other folk have been in love with me, and me not with them. The other way round. Every way round. Up, down, sideways.
I’ve had a sex slave-which was fun, but tedious in the end. I’ve had a fuckbuddy-fun, but emotionally painful in the end. I’ve had a long distance relationship-didnae work. I’ve had a committed relationship with a woman 20 years older than me, but we were both addicts and it didn’t work. Then another one with a woman 20 years older than me. And then one with a woman much younger than me. I’ve been a mostly lesbian woman having a relationship with a mostly gay man-didnae work. I’ve had opportunities for shenanigans with amazing women that I didn’t act on because I was so shy (I look back and think-WTF?!) there was a Montenegran gangster, a Jewish dentist, a Glaswegian Israeli, a Turkish bloke who had a foot fetish. A Hackney dyke with a tattooed neck. A Kurdish refugee who vomited when he first saw me naked (so that didn’t work). A gorgeous hot tattooed sexy amazing Liverpudllian lover who was great fun but it just didn’t work out. An Italian I was in love with who ditched me because he only wanted a black woman (he decided, after ages). Another Italian who shagged me sideways with no emotional attachment for a long time and it was great fun but I got bored of the kinkiness and wanted someone to watch Masterchef with. A gorgeous creative arty redheaded burlesque performer. A Scottish guy who loved me but wouldn’t leave Scotland. Another one I was insanely in love with and my heart still skips a beat when I hear his voice. He just didn’t want me. I’m still gutted. A gorgeous American woman who it just never happened with and now she’s married to another woman and I think maybe I never had what she needs so it worked out okay anyway. There was this gorgeous butch babydyke in Boston, god she was beautiful.
This is the tip of the iceberg and probably another whole blog in itself. From age 14 when I was crazy about my intellectual red-haired best friend and didn’t understand those feelings (who knew about same sex attraction in Scotland in 1988? I didn’t, and the internet hadn’t been invented yet and I don’t think there was a chapter on it in my parents ‘joy of sex’ book), till today, when I dated a blonde, bearded posh English guy who wooed me and gave me gifts and spent weeks sending me long seductive emails but then sent me a one liner saying he didn’t want to see me again, I’ve been searching and searching and here I sit, alone in front of Masterchef.
Mostly, there was someone I truly loved who loved me and that’s another story that didn’t work out and that I’m not going to write about here, because it’s too painful.
Mostly, I think looking back on all my shenanigans, I’ve had relationships involving love and those involving sex but not many involving both at the same time with the same person. That’s eluded me.
This is tied up with body issues right now because since losing lots of weight I don’t know where I am with it all. My USP used to be that I was a sexy confident fat lassie. That took me 30 odd years and a whole lot of wok on myself to come to fruition. Now I am a less fat lassie with fluctuating confidence. I used to feel good and subversive and ‘fuck you, look at me in all my bigness!’ when I was naked before my gastric bypass. Now I feel more like ‘oh shit I’m really floppy and have all this skin and everything wobbles.’ I look more attractive with my clothes on but not so much anymore with them off. That’s not the problem though, the problem is deeply rooted chronicly low self esteem. At my core, I think there is a bit of me that believes that if you love me, there must be something wrong with you. Then there’s that addict-y contradiction of ‘I’m the piece of shit that the world revolves around’: if you love me it’s because of my winning personality (because I am great) but I know you’re forcing yourself to fancy me physically because I am repulsive. Or it’s the other way round: I know you fancy me because you are a man who fancies big women, but you’re never going to love me because this is just a physical thing.
Some lassies seem to just be the type that someone wants to be with and vice versa. I joke that I’m a big breasted, bisexual nympho, I’m a catch, why does no one want to catch me?! Its true though, I don’t get it, I’m bamboozled and frustrated and lonesome and horny and just don’t understand. Eating doesn’t soothe me anymore. I’ve had to find other things. Sometimes Bach works. Sometimes swimming and cycling. Sleeping, a bit, when I can. Being soothed and feeling safe is the biggest thing for me since stopping drinking and smoking weed and getting into recovery. I’ve looked for it everywhere. Something to make me feel safe and calm. I know the answer isn’t chemical, or food. I suspect I might be searching for the answer for the rest of my days so I need to just accept it. I just don’t know.