Ridiculous.

It is ridiculous. It is ridiculous that I am wide awake and thinking about her and she is fast asleep.

It is ridiculous how invested I am and how she wants to be invested but is too afraid to put her closely guarded deposit down. (God I love a finance metaphor!)

It is ridiculous that I, an adult, can’t just go up to her and tell her how I feel and kiss her.

It’s even more ridiculous that I contemplate doing that on a daily basis and yet when I see her I can barely muster a smile.

It is utterly ridiculous that I tell myself that I can be the one to make her happy and confident.

Ridiculous.

Advertisements

He.

He will say good morning to you, ask you how you are and how your weekend went. He’ll make a joke about how tired you look and then he’ll imagine forcefully grabbing your tits.

I’m not the one. I’m too nice and too young and too emotional and lacking in the genital department.

He could talk you into bed in seconds and I haven’t been able to talk you into a pub after two years.

He’d treat you like shit and leave you hanging. I’d treat you like a goddess and message you three times in a row.

This next month I’ll probably be heartbroken. He’ll be smug and you’ll be wounded.

Evening.

Dear Mindfuck,

Dear is too formal and Mindfuck is too informal.

Hi Brainsmush,

Is that better? Who the feck knows.

You’re probably sat at home on your sofa right now watching tv and snacking. I’m trying to get to sleep but evidently it isn’t working.

I feel like I’ve got a lot to lose. I’ve got my pride and my bravado and a hell of a lot of weight.

You have more to lose and I understand why you’re clinging onto it all.

I can’t and won’t guarantee you that this will be easy. I’ve learnt from my therapist that nothing can be guaranteed. 

She has a point.

I will not make promises that I can’t keep. With that in mind, I promise you these things:

  • I promise that I will always be grumpy before 6am.
  • I promise that I will always be allergic to cats and covered in their fur but that I will always consider getting more.
  • I promise to take note of the little things – like how your eyes seem brighter when you have no make up on.
  • I promise to be annoying and needy and ever so slightly immature.

On paper, we don’t make sense. It’s a good thing that we aren’t just fictional characters. I am not your ideal man and you are not my ideal woman and yet I feel like a nervous teenager when I see you.

I’m ready to lose my bravado.

Love, Similar Mindfuck 

And right now.

And right now I’m overwhelmed and it’s stupid. I want to tell you that I already feel like I’m in too deep but you’ve barely dipped your toes in the metaphorical water and I feel like you’d drown.

I get the impression that I’m suffocating like a water surge. I’m overpowering and constant and that shit is heavy.

Water is heavy. I am heavy. I am water.

You’d be rolling your eyes at this analogy so I’m glad you’ll never read it. 

I am honestly so genuinely thankful that you’ll never understand the extent to which I like you.

I mean it’s painful and eventually it’ll take over my ability to talk to you like a normal human being but right now it’s manageable and I can put more than four words together and they make sense.

I’m inclined to say that sometimes you’ve felt the same way but also I’m aware that you probably haven’t. 

I just kinda want you to realise how incredible I think you are. 

Here’s the thing.

Here’s the thing.

I want to hold you.

Maybe not even in a sexual way.

I want to hold you so much right now.

I want to take away that fear that I hear in your voice. I want to stomp back in time like Godzilla and right the fucking awful wrongdoings in your life.

I want to hit her so fucking hard that her teeth fall out. I want her to feel the fear and pain and shame that you’ve felt most of your life.

I want to make you smile. That water spilling out of the corner of your mouth kinda smile. I want to take a picture of it and frame it and look at it every time I doubt myself.

I want to be the person you message at 5:18am bleary-eyed. I want to be the person you message at 11:32pm drunk. I want to be the person you message when you’re happy and when you’re sad and when you’re inbetween.

I want to be the one who changes your mind and softens you. Don’t put up such a wall. I don’t want you to be Trump, I want you to be anything but.

I want to be the person you’re proud of. I will find ways to make you proud.

I want you to want to hold me. To love me. That’s the thing.

Tinderphobic.

Has anyone had any genuine success on Tinder?

I joined Tinder a week ago, mostly out of intrigue, and so far I haven’t been impressed.

Firstly, it wouldn’t let me sign up without connecting to my Facebook profile which is bloody annoying as it shows my first name; which I never answer to.

Secondly, I hate having to crop pictures; most of my pictures (when cropped) are so zoomed in that all you can see are my eyes and porous nose. No-one wants to see my cavern ridden nose.

Thirdly, and probably most importantly, it all feels very synthetic and an awful lot like objectifying. I wouldn’t normally decide whether or not I wanted to talk to someone based on 4 poor quality pictures of them and a 203 character profile. I am the first to admit that I’m not massively photogenic but am I a good catch? Hell yeah! (I’m so modest too, always an attractive trait!) 

Have I had a nice conversation on there with someone nice? Yes. But do I want nice? No. I want that instant spark and connection that I’m not sure I can get staring at my smudgy phone screen.

Sorry Tinder, I’m swiping left to you. 

Closure.

Closure is a weird thing. It’s refreshing and daunting at the same time. It’s final. It’s formal. It’s such a fucking relief.

A lot of people relate closure to grief or a relationship. My personal closure is a combination of both. I was grieving for a relationship that I could not have.

Ask any of my close friends and they will tell you that, for at least five years, I have been infatuated with a particular woman.

She was my teenage lust obsession, my muse and my adult mindfuck. 

I genuinely thought that one day she would wake up and realise that she had been madly in love with me for years. In reality, she has never looked at me that way and never will. She loves me, there is no doubt about that; but it isn’t the way I wanted her to.

I used to be wide awake at night, crying because she didn’t like me. I’d freeze when I saw her at school and if she spoke to me I’d stutter and stammer and say offensive things so she didn’t think I liked her. I was besotted. It was love. Not just a crush and after some time it became more than lust. That kind of heartache so young was harrowing.

As an adult, our relationship changed. We became closer and my love for her grew stronger and more real. I no longer admired her from her pedestal position; I was realistic about her and what the future held for us. I still couldn’t let go but I managed to distance myself from my feelings.

Until recently.

My feelings, however irrational and pathetic, returned at full force and consumed me. I couldn’t and didn’t want to deal with them.

Until today when fate intervened and I was finally given closure. I can’t explain why it’s happened. Stupid amounts of coincidences happened and they felt right. They were telling me to let go so I did.

This closure lark is great.