Fun, flirty and under thirty

I’ve rejoined Tinder. It was on the insistence of a friend, so over some fried chicken, we made a profile for me.

The pictures look good. I think I’ve gotten the correct mixture of insouciance with some genuine information about me thrown in there. I tend to refuse to put down my job, because I feel like working in healthcare, it’s important to keep a professional appearance in all public spaces if I have my job title attached to me.

Some observations: lots of couples looking for threesomes. Lots of kinky people who use their kink as their entire profile. Lots of people who use ‘gym’ as their only hobby in life.

Some surprises: no genital pictures! Only one overt reference to someone wanting to have sex with me. Lots of people who are happy just to have a chat. No women who are matching back with me… Unsure what to feel about that last one.

This is the longest since the breakup that I’ve stayed on a dating app, so I suppose it shows I’m a little bit more ready. One man did ask me what I wanted, and I answered (with surprising honesty) that I wanted some flirtiness and some dates. That’s quite nice, really. To be ready for the idea of just hanging out with people and seeing where it might lead.

A friend came to visit today. She’s been in a relationship with her boyfriend for a few years, and they’re a little bit patchy at the moment. It’s been good to talk to someone about some of the shitty feelings that can crop up, even though we’re in different situations.

We went to see a fireworks display. I adore fireworks, and the ex used to love watching me love fireworks. It’s a time when I’d feel genuinely loved by him. I’d catch him watching me with a dopey smile, and it’s sad that I’ll never see him look at me like that again.

So I watched the fireworks feeling a little bit heartbroken. But then went to a shop and bought alcohol and chocolate with my two friends. We came home and watched a terrible Christmas movie (because November=Christmas apparently), and I was reminded that even if I’m not loved by him, I am loved.

Is it possible to be friends?

I saw him today. It’s been six weeks since he broke up with me, and I still struggle to call him ‘ex’ but that’s fine. I saw him because it turns out that his passport was in my house following the anniversary trip that we took in April, four months ago. We met for lunch and I gave it back to him.

(Thankfully because I felt like some kind of mafioso withholding it from him even though that was never my intention)

We updated each other on our lives. Not much to tell. His hair is longer, and I struggled not to brush it out of his eyes, or to dust the crumbs off his t shirt. It’s hard not to hold his hand or kiss his cheek, but I feel like that will get easier.

A couple of strange moments: he sat next to me rather than opposite me while we ate. He asked me to send him pictures of the holiday I’m taking next week with friends. I think we’re both finding it tricky to traverse these new boundaries and find out where this tentative friendship is going to sit.

So can we be friends in the future? I feel like we can, but I don’t know if that’s just because right now we miss each other and there’s comfort and history there. I’ve been told by four different friends that it’s not possible, but I think I’m willing to try.

It’s been four weeks

It’s been four weeks since he dumped me, and as strange as that is, I know it’s going to be okay.

He came over today. He gave me some clothes that have been at his house for years. I gave him a mug and a sex toy, which I feel accurately sums us up. It was meant to be a flying visit, maybe a quick cup of tea. He stayed for three hours and we ate lunch.

It’s still hard to traverse the new boundaries that we have. We hugged a few times. He held out his hand to hold mine when we went into the garden briefly. I squeezed a spot on his face (which was a normal thing we did – this isn’t a new post break up thing). There were differences in it – we sat further apart, we called each other ‘mate’. It was familiar but different.

He had wanted to give me photos of me that he had. We spent some time looking through them, including the ones from our five-year anniversary trip which was only four months ago. Four months ago we were happy in Denmark, and now we’re a bit sad in England.

It as good to see that he was sad too. I’d been searching for validation in new people on dating sites, but I think that the best validation was in knowing that he finds this hard too.

So we looked at photos.

We dated from the age of 21 to 26, so some of the old ones stored on my phone feel very old. We look younger (and thinner) and different, and it was important to see the happy memories and think on days neither of use had thought about for a long time.

I sent him a lot of photos of him that I had taken. He wanted some of the two of us – the cheesy couples selfies I’ve curated over the years. Again, it felt good to know that he wanted to see these and keep them.

Maybe he’ll delete them one day when this isn’t all so new and we’ve found other people to take new coupley pictures with. But it’s good to know that we are important to each other.

Do I want to date again?

I met up with him today. It was a source of anxiety, but at the practical level I needed to get my house keys back. On the emotional level I think I needed to see him to remind myself that we don’t hate each other, we’re still the same people and that maybe we could be friends.

But do I want to be friends? It’s been 8 days (8 days!) since the break up, and I have come to realise that no matter how sad or tearful I sometimes am, it’s not because I want him back. I wrote previously about the reasons that actually I have a sense of freedom and a burgeoning sense of excitement about one day finding somebody new.

Do I want to be friends? Do I miss him as a boyfriend or as a person? Do I just miss that sense of having somebody that was just mine and that knew everything about me?

I think that the very fact of having questions is the useful part of blogging. It’s really handy to write it out in slightly flowery language and try and figure out what I’m feeling.

So we saw each other. We had lunch. We chatted a bit about future plans for ourselves. He’s deferring his degree to focus on mental health, which is a massive and positive decision on his part. I’m waiting to see what is happening with my application to study a Master’s. He’s going to some events for his hobbies. I’m seeing friends on various places and hoping to make the most of this ridiculous British heatwave.

We split the bill in the restaurant. An echo of our first ever date. For the last five years, one or other of us has always paid the bill in full and swapped off for the next time. We got bubble tea which tasted horrible. Space Oddity was playing in the background and I sang along. He said the song would always remind him of me.

We said goodbye. We hugged and then both slightly ducked in for a kiss. We didn’t kiss, but there was a beat of tension when we realised what we had automatically begun to do. I made a joke about it. He laughed.

I pretended to laugh. I walked away and cried in my car.

I’m not a frequent crier, and I’ve forgotten how sometimes it feels like a release. I left the encounter feeling positive and lighter. I never once thought about wanting him back, or wondering if he cared or loved me. These were the things which I’d worried about, so it was nice to realise that although I was sad at the ending, I wasn’t sad that it had ended.

So this brings me to my question. Do I want to date again? As in, date again soon and now?

In seeing him, in a strange way it made me feel loved again. When I was a teenager, I never believed I would be loved, and just after he dumped me, I believed that he had never loved me. Seeing him showed me that although he broke up with me for our differences, there was a lot that he still liked about me.

To date again now would feel like searching for proof that I can be loved. It would feel like I was looking for validation, and there’s a part of me that would like to sign up to a dating website just to chat to strangers and feel that buzz of talking to new people. That might be all the validation I need at the moment.

I’m still the same person

He broke up with me on Tuesday. On Wednesday, I lounged around the house with my mother looking after me. On Thursday, I attempted to eat at a restaurant and promptly felt nauseous after every song in the background made me think of him. On Friday, I saw a light-hearted musical film and cried more than is appropriate. On Friday night, I prepared for my shift and now I’m here, on my break, eating crisps.

Crisps are an excellent thing to eat no matter what is going on in your life because crisps don’t ask you how you’re feeling.

On the Tuesday, I made a Facebook post about the breakup. It felt a bit strange to share something so intensely personal about 6 hours after it happened. But I couldn’t bear the thought that people at work would ask me about him and I would have to have the same awkward conversation about my heartbreak several times.

The upside of the Facebook post is that my wonderful, supportive, caring group of colleagues know and are treating me kindly accordingly. The downside is that for other people, this is a minor drama that they’re distantly aware of. It’s not impactful to them. It’s not important beyond the realms of quickly making sure I’m okay. This has forced the breakup to become normality, when for me, the thing that keeps gutting me is it’s new and longlasting strangeness.

I work in a team full of women. I can struggle and think of maybe a handful of single people, and one of those is because she is asexual and aromantic and has no desire to be in a couple with anybody. It’s hard to hear about people’s husbands and partners and boyfriends and girlfriends, when my best friend has left me. It’s tricky to hear stories about ‘aren’t men silly’ when my security blanket has decided not to be mine.

And I suppose that’s what this feels like. It feels like I’m exposed, and without that comfort of somebody who was ‘my person’ and dedicated to me. It really does feel like my security blanket is gone, because when you’re happily ensconced in a couple, there’s a certain amount of immunity from the bullshit that single people face.

In getting back to work, I’ve been forced to realise that I’m still the same person. I’m a health care worker, and my patients still need me and listen to me as ever before, because as far as they’re concerned, I am a concerned and available professional that’s there for them.

It feels strange to put on my uniform and put on my professionalism and embrace it like the facet of my personality that it is. It feels strange that I am changed and sad, when externally I look as I ever did before.

Ultimately, I take comfort in the fact that I can function. It’s good to know that I’m not useless just because he doesn’t love me anymore.

I’m less sad today

I woke up at 11am to my mother poking me and telling me she was going out shopping. I picked up my phone and I looked at rubbish and thought about my new reality as a single person, and just how strange and new that feels. I thought about the new freedom I have and how heady and terrifying that is. Then I had a wee and ate two apples (but not at the same time).

I’m not quite so sad today. I’ve watched my second Adam Sandler movie in two days and realised that his movies make me think about my dead father, which is a nice thing because it’s lovely to have little reminders of my dad every so often. Thinking of a parent’s death also puts a relationship break down into context, because neither of us have died and that’s pretty nice. I don’t even feel like someone has died today, so that’s also pretty nice.

Not quite so nice that my best friend has decided to leave me, but I think that’s okay.

Last night I downloaded Tinder and Match promptly freaked out. Over the last five years, I’m aware that the dating game has changed. I know that I’ve changed too, but it’s very different when you have the smiling pictures in dating profiles looking up at you at 1am.

I mentioned the headiness. It’s exhilarating to think of kissing somebody new, a faceless amorphous somebody who will hopefully not mind my chubbiness or my lack of willing to wax every piece of body hair I have.

He didn’t mind that, and it makes me sad (again) that he’s gone.

But, he was shorter than me, which is easy enough when you’re 5’9. And he didn’t earn much money, which worried a small and secret part of my mind that only comes out at night. He was white, and I am brown, which sometimes concerned me that he would never quite understand some parts of my history.

He was also kind to me, and he was talented. He showed me the delights of live music, and he introduced me to some friends who I hope I’ll be able to keep.

I deleted the dating apps. I’m not ready for somebody new, and I do want to grasp the freedom I have. I might well download them again in the future, but for now, I’ll try and enjoy the boundless possibilities in front of me.