Do I believe in leagues?
I used to, certainly. So many times have I seen a guy I liked, stopped breathing, run across a road to hide behind a car and hoped that my impending death from oxygen deprivation would happen before he saw me (inevitably it didn’t…). I remember when I was 12/13ish speaking to a boy a few years older than me whom I ADORED and literally freaking out, running away, crying and not leaving the bathroom for 3 hours.
As an emotional cutter, it was only logical that when it came time for boyfriends and sex and all that jazz I would immediately fancy the most attractive boys IN THE WORLD. I recently let out a picture of one of my exes and had 15 replies from twitter gays asking for his number/name/cock pics. He was (is) (was – he’s dead to me) hot. Jaw-dropping. But he was also a prick, who cheated on me.
It’s only recently that I’ve begun to understand how scarring both of my ex-boyfriends’, who I went out with for 8 and 10 months respectively, and who were both really quite spectacularly attractive, cheating on me actually was. I’ve spent nearly 18 months now convinced that every time I pick up my phone to text or ring someone I like, my interest in them is completely futile or absolutely unreciprocated.
I forgot that anyone might actually like me, because I forgot to like myself.
But then every so often I’m surprised. I’ll get a flirty message from a guy whom I like, or heaven forbid actually go on a date with someone who is “attractive”. I went out with a guy recently who was so my type – young, beautiful, funny (amAzing smile). He turned out to be a bit of a prick and I’m glad to have avoided him, but the principle sticks.
My problem now isn’t looks. I think I’ve reached a point where I know that some people like how I look. And if someone can’t see past the blemishes and tummy then they’re not worth my time. But I’ve recently taken to fancying boys who are incredible accomplished and talented, which means I don’t really appear on their radar. I have skills and talent, but in a fairly niche area. And, annoyingly, I very rarely fancy musicians.
I wish I were more of a slut. At least going home and shagging someone a few nights a week maintains a self-esteem. But I’m not – I’ve tried that. I just can’t do it without at least investing some kind of future in something. Even if on the strict understanding of being just ‘friends with benefits’.
Who knows. Maybe in the future I’ll have to put up with someone who loves me, even if I don’t always feel the same way? Or resign myself to forever fancying men who don’t fancy me? For the moment, I’m just going to continue picking up my phone, sending that text and seeing who bothers to say “yes”.