I recently had coffee with an old friend, and we talked a lot about past relationships. So much so, that I’ve been dwelling on the memories of my relationships for days now. Truthfully, I’m sneaking up on two weeks here. Two weeks of late night insomnia, where my mind instead of doing the nice thing and allowing me to sleep, decides to remind me of every single person I’ve ever dated. Truth be told, it’s a long list, and sleep doesn’t seem to be getting any closer.
When I was younger, you could have called me “boy crazy”. I had a lot of crushes. Although, I was also shy, not having my first kiss until I was fourteen years old. An embarrassing affair at a friends birthday party, with all of my comrades watching hungrily to see if I’d mess it up. I did. Turned my head the wrong way, smashed noses.
In time I got over the shyness, and in turn learned how to kiss, I suppose. With my seventeenth year came graduation from high school, my first real job, and college. I don’t quite know how or when it happened, but that year I blossomed. No longer did I feel like an ugly duckling, or shy as a mouse. I grew more confident of myself, and finally started to understand who I was as a person. That’s when I started to really date.
As the World Wide Web grew more and more popular, and I was gifted a computer from my father, I found myself drawn to chat rooms where I could flirt more easily, having a mask of anonymity to hide behind.
By the time I went to university in New Zealand, I’d found my stride in the dating world. My best friend Carmel and I used to constantly joke that this year or next year would be the year we would find boyfriends. And while we always gave it a laugh, and crushed on numerous, I don’t think we were ever fearful of not finding a life companion. It was only a matter of time.
Fast forward fourteen years, and here I am at thirty five, still single. Not that I haven’t dated. I’ve held two long term relationships in that time, as well as dated countless others. Do not misunderstand me, it’s not that I fear commitment. It’s as they say, I just haven’t found “the one”.
For the last two years I could have sworn it had to do with my illness. I mean I did have all my hormones turned off due to long term pain management medications. Over a year of no libido is a long time. But now that I’m off them, and my hormones and libido are back in check, I can’t really use that as an excuse. Perhaps it was my insecurities all along that kept me alone. Confidence shows, so of course insecurities and doubt can show as well. Throw in a good dose of self loathing due to weight gain, and you don’t really paint a pretty picture.
So here I was, in a coffee shop, listening to my old friend talk about how they couldn’t find anyone to date who was worth it. And it catapulted my mind into a wormhole of every relationship, crush, sexual encounter, and glance, I ever had with another. Suddenly I was up at night wondering where I had gone wrong, if I should have given one a chance, or if I had wasted time with another. Your mind sucks that way. Anytime you want to sleep, it’s always there to count on with sneaky little unspoken comments like “they could have been the one” or “should have given that guy a chance” or “too late now”.
I hate my mind at 3am.
But despite my mind attempting to screw my sleep pattern, I did learn something of all this. My disease was never keeping me back. It was me. And all those other relationships and crushes and scenarios, well they didn’t work out because they weren’t meant to. My heart was still on reserve for the one who was worth it.
We can’t judge our relationship statuses on the timing of others. My old friends dating life might not be working because he’s yet to meet his penguin (yes, I am using a Never Been Kissed reference, deal with it). Carmel found her soul mate eight years ago, and married him last year. It doesn’t mean that I will never find love. It just means that it’s not my time. Both of my sisters have married already, one being ten years younger than I. Doesn’t mean I won’t. And it doesn’t mean I will. But I’ve got to stop thinking negatively about dating.
People say you’ll meet someone when you’re ready. I don’t think I was ready before. But that was then, and this is now.
I wish you would see the real me, the me that no one sees.
I wish you could see through the denial of what I have in your mind.
I wish you would see the me that struggles every day.
I wish you would see how hard it is for me to maintain this vision of wellness that you expect me to project.
I wish you could see how hard it is for me to live with this pain day in and day out.
I wish you could see your own fear that you push onto me when you tell me to get over it or just push through, like it’s just a bad day and not the disease that is killing me.
I wish you would believe me when I tell you the truth of what is happening to me, and what my doctors are telling me.
I wish you could see that I need you more than just in name, in title. That I need you to actually be a parent, a supporter, a friend.
I wish you would stop being passive aggressive when I tell you I don’t feel well, and not brush it off like I’m being lazy or dramatic or not willing to give my all.
I wish you would help me financially as much as you help yourself.
I wish just once you would ask me if I need help, if there’s anything you could do for me.
I wish you would see how scared I am.
I wish you would see how frail I am.
I wish you could see that deep down inside I’m just a girl who never asked for this, never wanted this.
I wish you would accept me for who I am, all of me.
I wish you could accept that even though my body has changed I’m still me, and that I didn’t want to look like this. It was out of my control.
I wish you could see past the weight gain, see past the medications, and the sickness, and just love me.
I wish you would love me as much as you love everyone else, and treat me as an equal, not an outcast.
I wish you would stop pretending to the world how great you are, how supportive you are, and show how really cold you are.
I wish you would tell everyone that I asked you for help and that you told me I didn’t earn it.
I wish you would tell everyone the truth, that you have not given me even 10% of the support I really need, even though you are one of the people I need it the most from.
I wish you would love me like everyone thinks you do, how you tell everyone you do. I wish it didn’t feel like a lie.
I wish you knew how hard it was for me to get out of bed today, how painful it was just to grip the sheets and pull back the covers.
I wish you could understand how hard it was to have someone help dress me, how hard it is as a 35 year old woman, to have someone else help me put my underwear on.
I wish you could see how I struggle to do even the simplest things, like pour myself a glass of water, or even lift the glass to my lips.
I wish you could see the real me, the one that is in pain every day and just wants this to end.
I wish you would treat me with the love and respect that I deserve, and give me the support you tell everyone you give, the support you have deluded yourself into thinking you give.
I wish everyone saw the truth of what is happening to me. I wish people truly understood and believed me when I tell them I am dying. I am truly dying. It could be a year, it could be ten. But the truth is I will probably go before almost everyone I know, including my parents.
I wish you would all just understand how hard that is for me to process. How hard I struggle with my mortality. How hard I struggle with everything.
I wish you all knew how little I have in this world. How I am close to bankruptcy, that I have bills piling up, and that I’m about to lose the roof over my head. I wish you could understand how many people I have in my life that could change my circumstances in a minute, keep me from homelessness, truly take care of me, but choose to do nothing. People who lie and tell everyone how supportive they are of me and understand how ill I am but would rather spend money on trips, shopping, eating out, and material things. If only they could look inside themselves and see that if they sacrificed one present to themselves, I could be housed for a year, or for life.
I wish you could understand how little and terrible they make me feel when I ask for even the smallest amount of help. I wish you could understand that they told me I didn’t earn their love or their help, and that they don’t need to take care of me.
I wish you could understand that this is my reality. It has been since before I was sick. That this is what I’ve dealt with for years.
I wish I wasn’t dying. I wish I could be happy. I wish the world I knew wasn’t the world I live in.
I wish a lot of things.