So the more I think about it the more I think I’m sticking to my guns on this relationship thing. Are there people that probably want to date me. Sure, but you have to draw the line somewhere. My latest observation. In the past few weeks I’ve regularly thought to myself oh he’s cute. Gone out of my way not to follow people around grocery stores and the like while secretly hopping I accidentally bump into people. Every, and I mean every single person that I peeped at some point or other their girlfriend showed up. If this doesn’t happen then they have a ring. I’ve gotten to the point where I almost actively and instinctively assume anyone I like is straight. Saves me stress and I of course immediately stop thinking about them.
I just can’t be bothered. I know what I want. What I like and I’ve got too much going on to be bothered with fantasising about things I can’t have. But I do it. I’m chronically depressed and if I’m not living in the world of the characters I write I’m living in the world I’ve fabricated for myself. I create imaginary scenes of being picked up. My Grammy awards speeches. Fake break ups and make ups. And a life with the type of person I dream of being with, who is usually flawed hence even in my fantasies there is a vast amount of imperfection. But the only difference is that in this world I ‘m happy with the type of guy I actually desire to be with.
If you read my books, it’s very clear what type of guy I find most appealing. Almost all my main characters are some sort of cultural mix ranging from Asian to European to Brazilian and of course Black. I’m down with anything that isn’t the norm black on black white on white, stupid on stupid, hot on hot smart with smart, so on and so forth. In my head there needs to be some sort of balance, chances are if English isn’t your first language the scales are already balancing in my mind.
But to the point of my subconsciously only like married or straight people, I wonder why sometimes. But then I know why. I live in a straight dominated world. I’ve suffered the same conditioning that straight people do, what is the ideal type of person, and I’ve taken all of that and formed my own idea of what will work for me, and true to form its exactly what people tell me Isn’t in line with what I need.
Hence I’ve spent an entire lifetime, of rather good relationships wouldn’t trade them for the world. Accept for one, but that idiots a bit of a subtle narcissist as in the type you can actually bare to live with and just ignore their condescending self-importance. But the point is I just did what was expected, gay boy bitching about being single if people want to date you date them. I’ve clearly learned a lot about myself following this method. And a lot about other people. Clearly there are shit loads of people out there who are just dating because people desire to date them. The need for companionship is just that strong. And yes this can lead to the best love ever, but so can actually wanting what you want and going for it.
So I’m taking my superficial, in some people’s eyes, criteria and I’m going to totally and fully accept that I know what the universe has for me. It is going to come, and I’d rather die alone miserable and depressed that to be in a relationship and still be alone miserable and depressed. So as unhealthy as it is to spend more time living in the made up alternative lives I create for myself, I’m taking this dive and slipping further into insanity. I just hate life too much and I at least deserve to have my make-believe times of happy. To fall asleep and hope that I can dream about the lives I create for myself. I have to believe it can indeed happen. If not, I might as well not even write because that also breathes in my world of make-believe.
So I’ll look at random people, cry on the inside, wish that it could be me, and hate myself just because that’s what I do. Then I’ll close my eyes and travel to a place where I’m not depressed where I don’t hate myself and the people I force myself not to check out actually try to pick me up. In this world I’m a happy albeit imperfect human being who actually makes money writing and reads his favourite novels in the arms of his BF while they are playing Xbox on the Livingroom sofa. Corny, simple and not the grandiose ideals of what I’m made to believe is love. But it works for me. Make-believe works for me.