200: I Made Myself A Promise

I am not given to spontaneity but my short stint back on dating apps has induced just that. I deleted them all as a knee-jerk reaction. I can’t be done with this any more. I hate the way they make me feel. I thought I found someone and I didn’t. But I continue to swing back and forth between trying again and vowing singledom forever. And just when I’ve made up my mind on the latter something comes along to distract me and remind me there is always hope.

I have become resolved however. Going forward I am going to try and be the best I can, and I will freely admit to not being that person most of the time in the past. I want to speak my mind more and honestly, instead of hiding behind bravado and a veil of suspicion, to wear my heart a little more on my sleeve (I am usually very guarded) and to try not to distrust when I should be trusting. I can’t say it will be easy, but I promise to do my best, even if that’s just being honest with myself, since there is no one else to share it with. I also vow to call out the ghosters and the slow faders and draw very determined lines under each encounter that led me along to ensure there is no room for lingering hope.

I can be impulsive, erratic, and I am intensely passionate, but I do it with the best of intentions. I crave connection more than ever now and that makes me vulnerable to hurt. But this is progress for me. I have been shut down since August 2019, but life is too short and lockdown has reignited all sorts of feelings. Or maybe it’s the glass of wine I have in hand talking as I type this. It may be triggered by the slow trudge of a winter lockdown, but it is still me. Just slightly braver and looking for that one person who will make me braver still. Because I really am open to that change.

I was walking around the supermarket the other day and trying to fathom why I’ve had this sudden change of heart after so long protecting myself. Well protecting myself isn’t changing the narrative, and it isn’t making me happy. I need that intimacy, and it’s not necessarily the sexual kind. It’s companionship. Someone to cuddle up with on the sofa to watch a film, or hold a hand with whilst walking down the street. The warmth of another human being. Spooning. Boy do I miss spooning! I’m glad not to be crying now and glad that I can’t even remember the pain I felt in those days after Aidan vanished. That flicked switch stayed on for a while, yet another affirmation of what I already knew and I do curse myself for falling for my own narrative yet again.

Anyway. I’ve rebuilt my dating app profiles again. Hinge. Bumble. Badoo and Tinder. We shall see what the future brings.

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