My entire romantic career peaked aged 12. This was my golden age; before my boobs grew over night, way before I developed a strong acne game and crucially, before carbs found me.
It was this precious time, when I had my first, last and only boyfriend. Dan. For three glorious months (four hand holds, two pecks on the cheek and a bunch of slow dances to Enrique Iglesias later) he was mine. An actual REAL LIFE boyfriend. He asked me out over MSN, it was dead romantic.
Sadly, we hit the inevitable three-month itch (seven years in school relationship terms) when a rumour reached me that Dan was planning on dumping me on Valentine’s Day. I was in total shock. Only the night before he’d sent me a heart pattern made of kisses on my Nokia 3310! Hastily, I convinced a girl in his class to dump him on my behalf during morning tutor the next day.
He was going out with a girl called Charlotte by break time. And that was that. I’ve been chronically single ever since.
I’m now 25 years old and the majority of my family are convinced I’m a closet lesbian because they can’t understand why such a ‘great girl’ has never had a serious boyfriend. My so-called friends constantly flit between either wanting to set me up with some other equally ‘great guy’ they know, utterly dedicated to my cause.
Or, they’re the first to thrust their fingers at me during drinking games, crowning me most likely to die alone with too many cats. Basically, you can’t get to 25 with no romantic connections to speak of, without being marked out as a freak.
Most recently I was the ninth wheel at a dinner party of four couples. The topic of conversation at the table focused on moving in together. I sat silently, shovelling more and more paella (panic = carbs) into my mouth with absolutely nothing to offer. Did I mention that I share the same birthday with famous fictional spinster Bridget Jones, BTW?
The thing that people never really seem to understand is that my chronic singularity is not due to a lack of interest or suitors. It’s me who is the culprit. I’m the one who is governing (and ruining, according to my mother) my own love life – not consciously, I hasten too add – but, it really is a classic case of, it’s not you, it’s me.
Because being the single girl has become part of my identity; it feels like an integral part of who I am, what I like about myself, my routine, my humour… you catch my drift. Most of the time I adore being single: going out and meeting new people, seeing my friends as much as I like and essentially losing the plot every weekend. Adding a boyfriend in to the mix feels like I’d have to compromise all that.
The thought of actually being in a real relationship is absolutely terrifying to me. I wouldn’t know what to do or how to be and I’d worry that I’d be doing it all wrong. This fear of the unfamiliar means I’ve found a way to end every teeny weeny chance of the beginnings of a relationship.
For starters, I’ve become obsessed with wanting what I can’t have. Other girls boyfriends, for example (though I’d never actively pursue them), or obsessing over guys that live too far away to ever make a relationship a viable prospect, even though I know that if they lived just down the road I wouldn’t have given them a second thought. Some people get a sense of security from being in a relationship, mine comes from liking someone and knowing nothing could ever come of it.
I recently found myself in unchartered waters, when I began seeing someone I’d previously been friends with. He was taken when we met (the dream), but after they broke up we ended up getting together out of the blue. Things starting moving quicker than I’d anticipated and on the most dreaded day of all the days (Valentine’s), he gave me a hand-made card and inside, was a full blown Mini Break voucher.
Naturally, I did the sensible thing: I freaked out and ended things a week later. This was just meant to be a bit of fun with a friend – no labels, no drama, right? It was also the clearest sign yet that I’m the one sabotaging my own love life. And as bad as that might make me feel when I’m at a massive couples’ dinner party, I’m doing it for a reason – because I’m not ready for a relationship yet. Why’s that such a bad thing?
My non-relationship status might mark me out as a freak, but the fact is I’m not ready to give up my single life for anyone, and it’s an empowering feeling to know there’s no real urgency to do so. So yes, I’m 25 and I’ve never had a serious relationship but that’s OK. It’ll happen when I’m good and ready.
Which leaves me plenty of time to snog a few more frogs until I find someone I’m willing to sacrifice my gold card Infernos membership for.
Like this? Then you might also be interested in:
Polly Vernon: ‘Being Fancied and Famcying People Is One Of The Purest Pleasures I Know’
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Follow Jess on Twitter @J_PRIZZLE
Picture: Matilda Hill Jenkins
This article originally appeared on The Debrief.