Today was the anniversary of that day in 2011 that, while walking down to Oxford Street for some Christmas shopping, I managed to brood and get depressed about my love life, or lack thereof, only to get a lot of support on Facebook from my friends. But I’m not going to talk about that particular cathartic event tonight: no, instead I’ll be droning on about how wrong people can be about life.
There’s a friend I have who is more successful than me at most things, and more of a “bloke’s bloke”; on our first meeting he decided I was still a virgin, and continues to believe this even today (I’m saying nothing). Indeed, in spring 2011 he actually told me I should go and sleep with a prostitute just to get the “first time” out of the way, because otherwise I might meet the woman of my dreams but have her reject me because of my alleged inexperience, and recently, in light of the adventure holiday I’m going on next May, he reiterated this to me (only this time with a straight face).
Really? Sex is so vitally important that it can make or break a genuine relationship? And I’m somehow “letting the side down” because I haven’t had “enough” women, and don’t brag enough about my sexual conquests or act like I’m “entitled” to have sex on a regular basis? And this makes me worthy of contempt and derision from other men (and possibly the girl of my dreams to boot), and the only way out of it is to do it with someone I don’t love or even care about? Was he perchance speaking from personal experience, and trying to save me from his own personal agony…?
Now, I know I’ve moaned a lot about being lonely and unloved in the past; sorry to all those who have had to endure it, but it’s something I’m trying to stop, because I’m genuinely sick of being “that guy” who always complains he hasn’t got a girlfriend, and I don’t want to let it define who I am. Yes, seriously. I honestly don’t care how other blokes regard me, because the only reason I’m upset at my dearth of previous girlfriends is the fact that it means my life has been so very, very lonely, and that I haven’t been made happy and made someone special happy in return. And to make matters worse, as I get older I worry about being rejected out of hand purely for my age (though I appreciate women have it much, much harder in that regard — at least some men get “sexier” with age, witness Sean Connery). I’m not keeping score of how often I’ve scored, because the race doesn’t matter, only finishing, and I continue to hope that one day I’ll find my other half. I’m under NO obligation to “manly men” to “catch up” or “make ’em proud”, they can all go f*** themselves, quite frankly! (Well, I’m certainly not going to do it for them…)
Don’t worry, this is the only time I’ll even come close to moaning about my near-terminal singularity in this blog. Oh yes, I’d actually love to be feeling sad about a breakup or getting cheated on, it’d be a change from the usual depression — I don’t want to turn it off completely, because sadness is a part of life and, according to my counsellor, only people on drugs or completely oblivious to their own feelings never, ever get sad about anything. I saw her tonight for what will hopefully be the last time (because I think I’m well on the road to recovery), and she agreed with me about the friend probably having gone through a bad “lack of sexual experience” breakup in the past because of his vehemence towards me.
I guess in a wider sense, it comes down to the fact that I need to appreciate I’m not always wrong about life, and other people who give me advice are not automatically right; I may be a socially-retarded terminally-single loser right now, but I’d rather be that for now and grow from it (as I am doing) than risk catching an STD just for the sake of a “rite of passage”!
And no, I’m not saying who the friend is… but yes, he is still a friend for all he’s done to help me, in spite of impugning my sexuality (both in terms of experience and sexual preference!), and I’d still want to help him out in the future, as I owe him a lot of favours. Maybe letting him try to “help” me with my love life is an example of this, bless his little cotton socks…