Alone Together

My boyfriend and I never argued before we lived together.

Obviously that is a lie.

My boyfriend and I definitely argued before we lived together but, in all honesty, only maybe enough times properly that you could count it on one hand.

I have one vague recollection of being in his bed one night and deciding that I was going to leave and getting up and putting on all my clothes and moving to his living room where I acquired my boots and then holding one of the aforementioned boots in my hand and being so tired that I let it just sort of fall to floor and went and got back into bed and that was basically the end of it.

I'm all about making a point, unless I'm very tired in which case I'm all about sleeping.

That was probably about as bad as it ever got.

The fighting before we lived together had mostly been about this one particular incident where he hurt me real bad. And even then it was rarely fighting, it was like, 'oh hey, let's sit down and talk about our feelings in a mutually safe and respected space' by which I mean, he knew he'd fucked up and was willing to take the blame for it.

As soon as we lived together the fights became actual fights. With tears and shouting and raw anger. Very suddenly we both stopped being nice to each other. It's difficult to guess at what caused this exactly, maybe something to do with just being too fucking tired to maintain the thin veneer of politeness, maybe something to do with him feeling like he was being attacked for being himself (whereas before our main source of contention had revolved around the shitty thing he did), maybe I just turned into a total fucking psycho.

Or perhaps a combination of all three.

My feelings are so fucking exhausting. They consume every inch of me. I feel things all the time. Like ALL the fucking time. Almost constantly. The times when I am not feeling something very intensely and thinking about things very intensely are all too few and far between and usually when I'm asleep (even then, I'm not safe from FEELING things in a complicated dream environment). It's wearying. However, at least I know how wearying my brain is because it lives in my head, no one else has the luxury of seeing how I made 5 out of two plus two.

I never thought however, even given my endless capacity for introspection and over thinking pretty much every action, look and spoken word; and his temperament for anger that we would end up having one of those fights that happen in a street (like, OUTSIDE where other people can see), in broad daylight, when both of us were completely sober. (To be fair we've never had a brawling, drunken street fight at 2am either, which can only be a good thing, but I feel like that's more dignified in a twisted roundabout way - maybe because you can blame it on the booze rather than just being emotionally unstable?)

This all came about because I felt like he didn't truly appreciate how fucked up I am thanks to having to endure four years or so of being made to feel like the world would be a better and easier place were I not in it. I had a whole shit-tonne of bad feeling placed upon my chubby teen shoulders and was made to carry it at the exact point in life when it takes all of one's effort, intelligence, and strength just to get through the fucking day. I was an outcast at school and I was an outcast at (both) of my homes and, it kills me to say it, but that still bleeds into my life now. I spent most of my adolescence feeling completely alone. So when I tearfully walked away from him when we were stopped after an exhausting half hour of "but that's not what I meant" on a leafy street on a cloudy day, it wasn't because I was trying to goad him, I wasn't trying to get him to follow me, I wasn't making a statement, I was just... alone.

He had a fairly nice family life, I didn't so much. Normally that is not a problem within the confines of our relationship but, for whatever reason, on this particular day, on this particular street I didn't feel like defending the fact that I think at least one of my step-sisters is somewhat evil and he didn't feel like defending the fact that he doesn't think any of my step-sisters are evil, in fact they all seem pretty much alright to him. It was the most pointless argument in the world, but it connected to my deep dark past and therefore it destroyed me.

'I am not coming after you' he shouted at me as I felt my shoulders slump and my heels turn. I somehow managed to put one foot in front of the other again and again as I tried not to have a panic attack. He is supposed to make me feel less alone, not more! I thought to myself, not with anger but with a huge overwhelming sadness. I walked and kept walking as I tried to figure out where would be the best place to cut myself; on my arm would be more visible but easier to access if I found something sharp enough on the ground in the next five minutes. It would be more sensible to wait till I got home and find a knife and cut my leg, then less people would see it. I felt myself falling deeper and deeper down the rabbit hole. My parents would be pretty upset probably but the harder thing to handle if people discovered my cuts would be their pity and disappointment. I used to be a fuck up but now I've got my life together and it would somehow feel like I was letting everyone down who'd seen me go from a hot mess to a self-sufficient, useful member of society. I thought about the logistics. What it would be like to be an in patient in a psychiatric hospital. Would I be admitted even? The NHS is stretched already, particularly where mental health is concerned but maybe it would be easier to just give in, in the long run. Let my crazy run completely free. Stop battling it and just give in to it, other people do this all the time. It might be nice to hand over the keys to being responsible and sensible and just go full out mental...

On and on it went. My mind kept coming up with ways to justify the horrible hurt I was intending on inflicting to myself.

He rang and rang but I was too busy thinking about the best way of starting my nervous breakdown. I kept crossing roads without looking, half-heartedly hoping a car would smash into me.

Suddenly I sensed heavy footsteps behind me and felt a hand grip mine tightly. We looked at each other and said nothing but kept walking and walking.

I cried tears of relief this time.

I wasn't alone any more.

A Love that's Real

It didn't start the way most great love stories start. They had met and then they met again and that regularly continued, they agreed fairly early on that they wanting to keep doing this 'meeting up' thing forever and forever.

It wasn't like the love story that you read about in books and gaze wistfully at in movies. Epic, tragic, unrequited love. The sort of love that crosses oceans and desserts and ends with armies fighting one another and gallons of bloodshed.

This love was far more real than that.

She couldn't remember the exact moment she first thought it. In some ways it felt like it had always been there, and then, slowly (or quickly depending on your viewpoint), over time it had been discovered as an essential truth that neither could ignore. They kept digging into one another's life's and thoughts and opinions and kept coming up with interesting artefacts that just confirmed what they already knew; I love this person. The love kept growing as more things were discovered; silly things like crisp flavour preferences and sexy things like where on their bodies they could be touched to make them moan with pleasure and deep, dark things like the ways in which their exes had fucked them up. As more time was spent with one another, more things were revealed. They felt themselves growing from it; walking taller, feeling stronger, acting better. This wasn't a love that overwhelmed or destroyed or required the hacking off of chunks of one's soul to keep alive.

This love was far more real than that.

The montage sequence of their lives showed them walking along a beach at night hand in hand and smiling, kissing one another tenderly on the cheek on a German train, laughing till she had tears in her eyes in a restaurant due to his Alan Partridge impressions. All these moments were clearly crystalised in her mind but even then, between those highlights that their love also shone through brightly. These were the times when their love became more than just the sum of its parts. Just being in one another's company, being tender and understanding to one another, making one another laugh. Just sat in her flat or his. Saying nothing or saying everything. Just allowing themselves to be together. These times couldn't be described as 'exciting' but neither were they boring. They were a slow burn. A simmering passion and fascination for one another; a conversation that never stopped, a comfortableness that came in silence, they sappily stared into one another's eyes and said the words again and again that seemed woefully inadequate to describe their feelings; I love you, I love you, I love you.

Theirs was a love that was real.

It was made more real through it's imperfections. He hid things. She pushed him away. He stayed regardless. They talked and talked and talked until things became better and then they talked some more. In therapy she had learned that honesty is the only thing that works. Lying to yourself, tricking yourself, keeping things hidden from yourself might be easier in the short term but honesty will always out. It finds a way to escape and it will burn you alive. She knew honesty wasn't a short cut to happiness; but it was the only chance you could ever have at beginning to approach happiness (even if in the short term it requires you being burned alive). So together they stood hand in hand and did their best to learn. They agreed to walk through the flames of honesty together and managed to walk out the other side still in like and in love and still holding hands.

She knew they'd have to do this many times through their lives if they were to remain together but if they survived the flames once, she felt certain they would survive them again and again.

For theirs was a love that was real.

It was a love built on all those words mums tell their daughters that relationships should be based on; friendship, respect, trust. They would walk to the ends of the earth for each other, do anything for each other. But neither would ask the other to do anything. Just by knowing they could rely on one another meant nothing needed to be proven. There were no mind games, just frank open discussions. Manipulation wasn't required. (Why would it be when they felt like this?) She realised now that the thing that had felt missing all her life, a thing that she didn't have a word for, she had now found. It was a thing that set the universe into alignment. The crazy that she had laboured through before in previous relationships seemed extra-perplexing in hindsight - why would you put yourself through the stress of a relationship unless you had all this amazingness to back it up? She asked. It seems obvious now but I honestly don't know, he replied. She believed that the crazy they'd experienced before came from trying to bridge the gap between what it is and what you want it to be. That gap has to be filled with something and crazy seems like the obvious solution at the time; it's such an excellent distraction technique you never have to face the fact that what you're putting yourself through isn't real. There were no gaps or cracks in this.

It was a love that was real.

Sometimes jealousy would creep it's way into her brain or his. Previous paramours, hook ups, flings, long term loves. All these fed the paranoia pixies that each resided in both their brains. They shot the pixies down with truth and understanding. They didn't need to hide anything or pretend to be fine. They just discussed how they were feeling without accusation or recourse long into the night. She knew the pixies would always be there but their power was lessened greatly by not giving into them, by acknowledging them, by wanting to ensure they were kept to a bare minimum in the other person's brain too. They spent hours in bed, trailing their fingers along one another's bodies and turning each other on, feeding their burning mutual attraction. Talking breathily about their deepest fantasies, enacting those fantasies out. She felt relaxed and happy and sexy when she was with him in a way no one else had made her feel before. She knew now that this was what it was always supposed to be like, it seemed silly on reflection but without anything else to compare it to she had put up with much, much less. It every conceivable way she had put up with much, much less; mentally, physically, emotionally.

But she didn't need to put up with less any more. She finally had a love that was real.

Berlin

There are no short cuts. That's the first thing to know.

Well, I mean, yes okay, literally there are short cuts. There are alleyways and side streets. You can duck into the u-bahn and pop out the other side, no ticket required. You can skip merrily from one side of the Tiergarten to the other. You can zip behind the back of the central train station to get from Alexanderplatz to the Brandenburg Gate.  But in life, where it counts, there are no short cuts. I know where literal and metaphor meet (I had a great big literal/metaphorical wall carve me up and represent ideology and be the cause of actual human deaths - I get this) but the metaphorical is where it counts most really. And in that space here's the one thing I've learned if you care to listen: there are no short cuts.

I think it's fair to say I have been through a lot. Been the epicentre of a lot of fucked up shit. Also been the site of some truly wonderful, exciting, joyous occasions. Good people have lived here and evil people have lived here, but, as is generally the case, many many more people have lived here that have fallen on the spectrum between those two states. It's an ever moving target with most of them. Rarely do they think about where they fall on any given day but I can feel them struggle with their dilemmas incessantly; moral, logistical, banal, life changing; dilemmas are being fought within people's consciousness constantly. Sometimes they genuinely don't know which path to take. Sometimes they know what the right thing to do is and yet still can't bring themselves to do it. Sometimes the right thing means losing out on other Good Things. It's hard for them, not that I could help even if I wanted. I've found the best thing to do is just let them fight their own battles whether it be individual, ideological, or political. The only thing I can do is be here. Silent but alive.

I don't remember when I came into being exactly. I guess there's a part of me that believes I've always existed but I know that's not true. But then, you don't remember being born do you? When did you know you were alive? Can you imagine what the world was like before you existed?

Exactly.

I started small, really small. A few tiny wooden houses that had little windows and low ceilings. You would not recognise me from the rows of apartment blocks and skyscrapers that exist within me today. Life was slow and steady back then, the dilemmas people faced were no less complex, however I think they had less time to dwell upon them. The main priority was survival rather than introspection. I personally like to keep a balance between the two, though I have a certain luxury in knowing I will always exist. Like I said, I've been through a lot. I've had to endure huge chunks of me being destroyed, bombings, riots, separation, all of it. The one thing that remains constant? Regeneration when the fighting is finished. I always continue growing no matter how much damage there has been. However bleak the outlook, I always come out stronger eventually. It's sometimes difficult to hold on to that fact when things do get bleak and black and sad and angry, but deep down I know: I'll come out ok. It might not happen quickly, or in the way I would wish, but I'll still be here; existing. Molding myself around what people need and being molded by people depending on what the circumstances dictate. It's a symbiotic process. It couldn't be anything but.

The other thing I've learned is that categorising the people here in any way, shape, or form whatsoever is pointless. They are all little unique snowflakes I like to say (with a pinch of knowing sarcasm and a dollop of genuineness). However, you can't get away from the fact that the snowflakes all look and behave pretty much the same if you're not examining them up close. I think people forget that; from far away they all look the same, up close they are all unique. But they meld together so easily and that is required if anything is to change - snowflakes can't change the world alone. But when they all get together they can transform me into something beautiful.

It's difficult to categorise me too. I see this as a point of pride. Start at my centre and walk fifteen minutes in any direction and you'll find a different feel, look, and atmosphere had you chosen to walk in the opposite direction. I like that about me. I enjoy the opulence of the Reichstag just as much as I love the graffiti that adorns the walls on my crumbling outskirts. Most other cities don't wear their history on their sleeve quite so defiantly as I do; it's just one of those things that I like about myself.

I live and breathe and exude everything my inhabitants need me to. I'm there with them when they feel completely alone, when they're joyful, when they're angry, when their babies are born and their loved ones die. I'm always here offering what I can - which is myself. Being here. That's what they need of me.

I got here by stoically playing the long game: there are no short cuts.

Dear Me

Dear Future Me

I have only been with my boyfriend for around four months. I am 28 and this is the longest relationship I have ever been in. I am completely in love with this man, he makes me feel safe and loved and myself. More myself than I've ever been before.

Or I should say he made me feel safe and loved because he told me a couple of weeks ago that he had been in regular contact with this girl who he was fucking right before we started dating and she sent him dirty pictures of herself about two months ago (they were for him to 'remember her by' as they had been working together and that was their last week in the same office).

This has made me completely lose my mind.

In the interests of full disclosure, when we began our relationship I was also seeing other people for the first month and a half but was completely open about this fact (and in fact he ended things with this girl after our second date while I continued to see two other men right up until we slept together for the first time). He has said the contact he was having with this girl was 'banal and mundane' (things about work, about her boyfriend - yes she has a boyfriend) and I believe him (obviously excepting the dirty pictures she sent him of herself, which in my mind is the sexiest pictures anyone has ever taken of themselves in the entire history of the world).

We have talked this through endlessly. Why he kept things from me (not really sure - but mostly didn't want to hurt me, he knew this girl didn't mean anything to him so why risk upsetting the girl who *does* mean something to him), why he didn't tell her to stop texting him or tell her the pictures were inappropriate to send (not really sure - but mostly didn't want to upset her. And I sort of understand this because those guys I was dating to begin with both got in contact with me a couple of months after I broke things off with them asking to meet and saying no to that was incredibly hard and not something I think I'd have been able to do without two years of therapy behind me. But then, the point is I *did* do that because I knew it would upset my boyfriend to meet up with these people), why this hurts me so much when he 'technically' hasn't done anything wrong (I think I'm lacking - I'm not the sort who'd send unsolicited dirty pictures of myself to an ex lover, I imagine she's thinner, prettier, better at sex than I am - I feel betrayed, I thought he was the honest one and could teach me to be the same). He has not once made me feel stupid for being upset, he's been incredibly supportive and understanding in a way that no one in my family and no one I've ever dated before has been for me.

So why can I not let it go?

I have tried focusing on the positives; life will get shitty and he's proven he can be there when you need him to be, he's shown with his words and actions time and again how much you mean to him, he knows he's made a mistake and is sorry and won't do it again. I have put myself in his shoes and think I understand how and why he let this happen; that he was cowardly, yes, but not malicious. This wasn't done for kicks it was done out of a misguided sense of trying to keep the path smoothest for everyone involved. I have tried to put myself in her shoes and end up feeling sorry for her - she's sent pictures of herself to other men they worked with as well (and, might I reiterate, she has a boyfriend herself) which suggests to me she's the sort of person who has this unending desire for validation - something she doubtless never received from her father if my calculations about human behaviour are correct. She's broken and trying to make herself feel better as best she can. We have all been there surely?

So why can I not let it go?

I feel like I'm ruining this thing; this thing that seems precious and rare and beautiful. I'm ruining it by thinking too much about how he's hurt me, I'm ruining it by being fine and then suddenly not being fine, I'm ruining it by the (overwhelming at times) desire I have of wanting to run away as far and as fast as I can (my daydreams have me quitting my job, leaving my home and going to Africa to work in an AIDS clinic to while away my days focusing on other people's real problems, rather than my imagined ones). Why can't I just accept things for how they are? That this happened and he's admitted it, told her to not contact him (now), and wants only me. It's not even like he's done anything that bad so why can I not just let it settle? I'm starting to honestly feel unhinged, suicidal thoughts that I thought I'd banished a long time ago are starting to creep in to my brain. I hate myself. I thought I'd healed the broken person I was. I thought I was ready for an adult relationship and all that entailed but I'm wondering if I'm just not someone who can handle love. That I'm better off alone where hurt like this isn't an issue.

I think I was being too naive before to think that this thing was perfect. By revealing all this to me does it not make it more real and by extension even more 'perfect' (whatever that means) than before? He's revealed he's an imperfect creature but so am I. So are we all. But how do I make this stop hurting? How did you work out and work past betrayal? What do I have to do to let all this go?

Yours
Past Me

Dear Past Me,

Here's a thing I know seeing as I used to be you - you're looking for a magic, instant solution that's going to erase all the hurt and put you right back where you were before you found out you and your boyfriend are both human.

Good luck with that!

I don't mean to be facetious (I do a bit) but it's just not going to happen. You know that's not just going to happen. You spent the last two years of your life coming to terms with the fact that that's not a possibility. What I want you to do now is slow down and breathe and take in the view around you. Stop worrying about becoming me, where you're finally stable again, and focus on being you right at this second. Let's examine the facts: You know these feelings don't just disappear. You know they have a right to be felt. It's all very well going around putting yourself in other people's shoes but have you thought about putting yourself in your own shoes? It's okay to be angry, it's okay to be hurt. Whether or not you feel your response to all this has been proportional (and I know you don't) is not really the issue at the moment. The issue is what do you feel? Don't turn away from that. Don't push it down. Just let it happen. You deserve that much at least.

Right, that's the hardest bit out of the way. Actually letting yourself feel the things that you feel. So what next? Well, this is the second hardest bit - showing your feelings. Notice my turn of phrase there; I don't just mean talking about your feelings in a calm rational manner, but showing them. You're becoming extremely adept at the talking about them; "It made me feel x when you did y" but, although this is an important skill and that cannot be understated, it's just a part of the process to help you. It's what will form the bedrock for the actual showing which is where you'll start the healing. I know that's going to be difficult for you. Showing your feelings means showing yourself means making yourself vulnerable. And you hate that. You've spent a lot of time trying not to do that, but making yourself vulnerable is where you get the things that mean the most: Love. Truth. Meaning. Healing. Growing. These all come from allowing yourself to be vulnerable. There's also that other flip side of the vulnerable coin: Hurt. But is this guy not worth that? Do you not want to take the leap with this one far more than you've ever done before? Not just because he's better for you than the others but because he's willing to take the leap too.

And what does the leap look like? Well I've been disingenuous here slightly because it's less a leap and more a continuous road. Something that can be skipped along happily at times, that you'll just quietly trudge along at others, and occasionally something that'll be incredibly treacherous. You'll get through or round this or you won't but if you do decide to slay the dragons/reveal the wizard/escape from the townspeople then your only chance at triumphing over these challenges will be to team up and do so together. I understand how difficult that will be for you as you've come to rely solely on yourself but when you're tired, or sad, or angry, having another person there to share that with you and help you through it is not a sign a weakness but that of strength.

I think the other part of this you're finding difficult is the idea that, not only is there a magic solution to this problem, but that when you're fine with this you'll be fine forever. It's not going to work like that, however much you wish it would. You will be fine, then you won't, then you will again. The thing that gets you through that? Keep talking, keep showing, keep respecting yourself and him. This is how those metaphorical dragons get slain. They'll only overwhelm you if you pretend they don't exist, if you stand up straight - with him, and wield swords of truth together it'll increase your chances exponentially at destroying them. Maybe you won't kill them completely, maybe they'll come back in a different form. Whatever happens as long as you stand side by side to fight they'll never win.

That perfect love you thought you had? That wasn't real. This is what real looks like. Real is the thing you've always said you wanted. So allow yourself to have it, warts and all.

Yours,

Future Me.

I Was a Camera

Act I: The Arrival

I feel numb.

That's the first thing I recognise. The first truth that emerges. Slowly my eyes open and I try to make sense of the cacophony of sights, sounds and smells. A jumbled whirring of noise and colour, shapes and discord.

I remember something; a man. I can't make out his face but remember intently looking at his hands - stubby fingers topped with bitten nails that are holding a hand rolled cigarette.

'Sprechen sie deutsch?' A voice comes to me out of the ether and I try and focus on the direction from whence it came.

'Err... nein' I reply. My tongue feels heavy and too fat for my mouth.

'Oh good!' Comes the reply. 'My German is horrendous, though I am learning - just terribly slowly - but it's nice to meet someone who's even more alien than me!'

'Where...where am I?' My vision starts focusing more clearly and I can make out an impossibly glamorous woman who must be in her early twenties louchely decorating the end of the bed I am currently lying upon.

'Fraulein Thurau's guesthouse my darling, we found you slumped in the doorway late last night, well, early this morning. Passed out completely! Don't worry, I have been there myself...' she winked conspiratorially 'I always recognise a soul in need as a result. Can't tell you the number of situations I've been in where I've needed a kind stranger to set me to rights again, so I asked some passing gentlemen to help me bring you in and here we are! I've convinced the Fraulein that you're an old friend of mine who took a funny turn so she wouldn't ask too many questions... not that I don't have a few questions myself you understand.'

I try to hoist myself up so I can take in a better view of my surroundings. I couldn't tell if it was the speed and volume with which this creature on the bed was talking that was making me dizzy or if it was just a natural side effect of... well, of what I wasn't sure. Of whatever had caused me to be here I supposed. In this unfamiliar, odd, colourful room. Filled with colourful but odd and unfamiliar things I noticed. A gramophone? A fur coat draped over a chair? There was a painting propped up against a wall that looked like a genuine Gustav Klimpt...

'So what brings you to Berlin? Seeking fame and fortune? Been left bereft and broken hearted? Just wanted to be where all the action is? I would class myself as a little of all three truth be told darling!'

'I'm... I'm not sure... I still feel a bit dizzy'

'Looking at you, I'm guessing you're one of the broken hearted. There is nothing wrong with being a romantic my darling but you've got to learn to be pragmatic at the same time. A girl can't trust anyone but herself. That's always been my motto and it's seen me through thick, but mostly through thin!'

I said nothing but my heart twinged as she said all this. Another truth was trying to break free and see off the feeling of numbness but I fought against it. Whatever it was could wait until later when I had my bearings a bit more. It seemed she was waiting for a reaction so I laughed politely. Her expectant eyes seemed satisfied by this and she relaxed her heavily made up face into a smile.

'Drink darling?' she enquired.

'Umm... Water?'

'Psscht! Water! Not in this room! How about a scotch? That should put colour in your cheeks again darling!'

I acquiesced sensing that it was easier to comply than argue where this individual was concerned.

'Do you want a drop of water with it?' she sort of lightly said this, completely oblivious to the fact she'd denied seconds ago that such a liquid would ever be allowed to pass the threshold here.

'Sure' I replied, smiling gently. More of me was coming back now. Memories started rushing in to fill the gaps all at once: the man with the bitten nails gesticulating wildly with his cigarette, me hurrying past him and tripping over his feet or a tree root or something? It was all... it felt like one of those dreams that's very real at the time and then you wake up and think you're being silly for believing in it so much. It was like that but without the feeling silly.

'What year is this?'

'What year? Oh dear, maybe scotch is not a good idea for you after all' she said handing me a glass but furrowing her brow as she did so to let me know the level of her concern (I suspected the level of her concern rarely raised itself above a furrowed brow and a sidelong glance). 'It's 1931 darling, the most exciting time to be alive and we just so happen to be in the most exciting city to be alive in! Berlin has everything you could want, need, have ever dreamed of, never will dream of. It's fabulous!'

I downed my scotch in one go.

I had travelled through time.

What the fuck.

Act II: The Adventure

Margot was the perfect tour guide. If I were so inclined then I would have believed meeting her was fate. She was the perfect host to the Weimar Republic way of life. Known by everyone, adored by most (though not all); she knew where the action was taking place - and more often than not she was the cause of it. It took me a while to adjust. It wasn't just the shock of being in a different time; it was like a completely different world. The air itself felt different; crisper somehow, with a colder edge even when the warm sun danced around us. The smells were unfamiliar; everyone smoked for a start and tabacco seemed to be constantly lingering around me - it was like a ghost that followed me everywhere I went. Inside, outside - it was always there. Although German was the preferred method of communication it didn't really seem to matter where one was from. Even an English lass such as myself who would have been an enemy of this country little over a decade before (and soon to be so again as only I knew) was welcomed and encouraged to join in. Everyone under thirty seemed to have this mad passion for being alive. There was a constant whirr of activity - putting on shows, writing, debating, drinking, fucking, loving; everywhere you looked everything was attacked with an intense fervour. I guess they had seen with their own eyes the brevity and fragility of life and decided to make the most of it.

It was thrilling to be around.

There was no way that I, molly coddled white privileged and middle class I, could understand what these people had been through. Not just losing an entire generation of men - fathers, husbands, brothers, friends - but the years of hardship that came after it as well. When money cost so little that it would take a wheelbarrow of notes to buy a loaf of bread. When we have everything we could ever desire at our beck and call nowadays it was incomprehensible to me to think that most of the people stood round me had endured a poverty so consuming and insidious that they could not, would not, take anythign for granted.

And yet here I was; it front of all this spectacular derring-do, watching people genuinely live for the moment, watching them 'persevere and continue working' as the Max Planck adage goes, and I was nursing a broken heart.

My lover hadn't died, he hadn't run away, he hadn't been beaten to a pulp by creditors coming to collect what they felt was owed them; he'd just broken my heart. Very simply that was what haunted me. Such a boring, usual story; he'd betrayed me and it hurt. I was tired by even the idea of it. Everyone gets hurt in some way at some point in their lives but I hadn't seen it coming from him. All I wanted was to not be thinking about it any more. Margot sympathised for all of five minutes and then felt that I needed to 'get under someone to get over him'.

I wasn't so sure but smiled and nodded just to keep her happy. Although it seemed silly to be in a hive of decadence, fun and creativity and not sample some of the delights that were on offer I was happy to just observe these frolics, I felt no desire to become a part of it.

Which ran quite counter to the ethos of the Weimar children, in their dingy little shabbily chic clubs filled to the brim with the freaks and the geeks who drink and laugh and frequently fuck - those that didn't fit anywhere else in the world (though I was starting to suspect no one felt like they belonged anywhere and that was part of why they'd created this completely new society, to build a home for those that felt like they'd never had a home before) - who seemed to be all about living fully in the present. The past was boring and ugly. The future, well that would take care of itself (...to a degree I felt like telling them). The present was were it was at. Working, playing, they were considered of equal value. They wanted to do as much as they could, create as much as they could, lest it all disappear in front of their faces again.

Of course it wasn't all fun and games, the air didn't just hang heavy with the stink of cigarettes but also political ideology. Not everyone had taken the lessons of the first world war to mean the present should be celebrated and enjoyed. That one should pursue one's passions and create as much art, science, music, psychological theory, thatre, comedy, as one could manage. Some people decided that fear and oppression would save them. These people, I suspected, also seemed to feel rudderless and metaphorically homeless. Instead of building a new way of being like Margot and her friends were doing they wanted to take from what other people already had. They weren't about building from the ground up, they just wanted everything they'd never had and didn't care who they had to hurt to get it. They wanted the easy option rather than the more difficult, working for it and earning it and making it yourself option.

I worried that this was also my way of dealing with pain and fear and hurt. Wanting everything to be better right now and not caring about how I got from here, where it hurts, to there, where it doesn't. Any time I felt these thoughts get too heavy for me to carry Margot would appear and make me feel light again: 'Christopher Isherwood is here darling, didn't you say he's a writer you admire? Let's go talk about how devine it is to prefer boys to girls'

And so we would.

But no matter how impressive the person she introduced me to I still found myself watching more than joining in. There was an essential part missing and I didn't know what it was. My heart ached and I didn't know how to heal it. I was starting to suspect that this adventure was caused by me desperately trying to escape. I had willed myself away, hidden myself from the world I knew. That's how it felt. I was in the place and time I'd always wanted to be. And now I was here I realised how futile that was. However exciting it may have been, how ever many lost souls there were crowding the cabarets and bars, this for me was all wrong. I needed to do the harder thing, the thing the Weimar freaks were doing, what Margot was doing; live in the present. My present.

And work at this until it's worked out. Build something new and fabulous that was like nothing that had gone before it. Persevering no matter what had happened before.

That was my only option.

Act III: He Returns

I don't recognise him at first.

He stood under a tree in a shady spot maybe 20 paces away. He seemed to be picking at his hands while a hand rolled cigarette dangled from his lips. It was the focus he was giving his hands that drew my attention to them...

And then suddenly it all came back.

His hands. His cigarettes. The stumble I'd taken.

He looks up at me and a flash of recognition passes through both of us. It's him. My lover. The one who betrayed me. He's found me here, in the past.

He walks up to me slowly, shyly, 'Hi', he say softly. 'I have been looking everywhere for you.'

'So it would seem' I ravenously search his face with my eyes. The slight stubble, the squareness of his face, those dimples. I devour every inch.

'I would go anywhere for you. I have gone anywhere for you. To here, where it's impossible for either of us to be. I'm sorry for what I did, but we can work through this.'

'How did any of this happen in the first place?' I mean both the betrayal and arriving here. I find each of them equally perplexing.

'I don't know' he sighs. 'But I think we can figure it out together. I think we can figure anything out together.'

I launch myself at his face and kiss him hungrily.

Persevere and continue working says Max Planck. Whatever it is, whatever you want to achieve; persevere and continue working at it. That's the only way. That's what the kids of the Weimar Republic are doing. I pull away from him and see his beaming, beautiful smile.

'Where shall we go now?' I ask.

'Anywhere you want. We can go, anywhere you want.'

Persevere and continue working.

Always.

Betrayal

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" he said.

"It's fine" she replied thinking; "it is not fine"

They talked about it endlessly in the following week; crying at times, laughing at others. She felt safe and sick. Broken and whole. She loved him and hated him all at once. Thoughts compulsively went round and round her head. What had this girl looked like? What did she sound like? Was she tall or short? What had she looked like when she was fucking him? Swirling thoughts that wouldn't let up. Working herself into a lather she imagined him holding this girl, looking at her appreciatively as she walked away from him, telling her how attractive she was. Things he'd said and done for and to her. In her head this girl was perfect. Small and slight; long dark hair, pouty Lolita lips, breasts high and firm leading down to a taut stomach and shapely legs. Sexually knowledgeable and aggressive (she would have to be sexually aggressive to be the sort of girl that sent unsolicited sexy pictures of herself to other peoples boyfriends). Laura was not sexually aggressive. She was unsure of herself and despite many compliments from past (and the current) suitors about certain physical attributes and her skills in the bedroom, she was not a conventionally attractive woman and she still carried the weight of being a virgin into her twenties around with her. Time and practice had filled in certain gaps in the meantime but she had never really lost the inferiority complex that comes from being a gawky, inexperienced, frightened-of-the-world teenager. Laura was sure the girl was a conventionally attractive girl who, though clearly in thrall to some serious daddy issues, would never have stood at the edge of a dancefloor feeling fat, unattractive, and unloveable as Laura had spent most of her formative years.

These thoughts gripped her from morning till night. Brushing her teeth, waiting for a bus, washing dishes after dinner. She'd be stood there feeling fine, or just stood there existing feeling neither fine nor not, and suddenly the thoughts of the girl would start swirling and drag her to a dark, dank place. A place she thought she'd never have to go again once she met him. Now here she was, standing on the precipice between sanity and the alternative and was not sure which way she would fall. Reason dictated stepping back into the realms of logic ("he didn't do anything once we were together properly, he only kept stuff from me to save upset, he didn't tell her to get lost because adults aren't taught how to create boundaries anymore"), emotion urged her to jump with wild abandon into the pit of self-destruction ("how could he not know this would hurt you? Thus he must have done it to hurt you. You're better off on your own. You will never live up to this girl. You're worthless to him, he's proven that. Give up. Give in"). She felt herself caught between these urges, these voices, unable to choose between them.

She'd said 'I forgive you' and meant it but now felt nothing but anger. She wanted him gone. She never wanted to see him again, then, just as suddenly, she loved him with all her heart and could not imagine her life without him. Flipping between these states like switching between channels on the tv. She hated her brain: 'just pick one!' she screamed internally, but it seemed impossible. Her heart and her head would not settle.

Laura knew this was what would be the end of them. Not his initial stupidity, but her inability to let things go. To settle.

This was the worst betrayal of all.

The Drop

The bridge that leads to the drop is rickety and old. Vines wind round the cracks of the planks that offers a walking platform (of sorts) and through the ropes that precariously hold the bridge together, seemingly keeping everything from disintegrating completely. It always seems to be swaying gently in the breeze, making little groans as it does so.

It is not a safe place.

I'm not normally one for exploring too far but there was this meadow I used to cycle to with Lorna on those eternally warm summer days in between finishing school and starting college, that was the first time in my life I'd felt completely free. I had no schoolwork, a part time job I loved in a record shop (that gave me the most disposable income I've ever enjoyed before or since) and nothing to do but plan picnics, teach myself how to smoke, and laze around with Lorna discussing boys, and tv shows (sometimes both; especially in regards to Queer As Folk and how it made us strangely aroused to see two guys fucking each other's brains out). Those few months have taken on an ethereal glow in my memory; draped as they are in sunlight, the smell of rollies, and the feel of wild grass tickling my neck as I daydreamed hours and hours of my life away. It was as close to perfect as I'd ever experienced.

It must have been on one of those meadow picnic trips when I finally stumbled across the little overgrown rocky path that lead off the back of the meadow towards a wall of imposing and beautifully solid trees. As I said, I'm not one for adventure really, but maybe Lorna had said something that had upset me and I'd decided to take a wander rather than tell her how insensitive she was being (confrontation remains one of my least favourite activities, though I've got steadily better at it as time has passed). Stinging nettles resolutely planted themselves in the soil on either side of the path which made it quite difficult to see but once I had tread delicately through them, careful not to make contact with the bare skin of my legs, it opened out and I was able to stroll confidently along through this glen that offered shade and the distant sound of bees buzzing from flower to flower. The fact there was a path at all suggested others had come across this place before and tread the ground down to offer a safe passage though but in all my years of going there I've never encountered another single soul that I hadn't invited along for the ride myself (if I was slightly less pragmatic I'd think there was a kind of universe time-share system operating that ensured only one person or group at a time was able to find it but this seems unlikely). As I got to the other side of the glen, sunlight and warmth suddenly broke through and I found myself stood on a patch of mossy grassland next to a small ravine. This is when I first saw the rope bridge located about 10 foot downstream of where I was standing. On the other side stood another impossibly deep wall of trees and as I have no sense of direction I wasn't sure what could possibly lay beyond it, what it was connecting to, or why it was there. I felt like it was one of those important moments that you want to remember forever so you start taking a note of your surroundings. The smells and sounds and sights. I tend to live in my head a lot of the time so every now and again make a concerted effort to remain conscious in the present moment. It seemed like there was rushing water nearby but as the ravine's stream was nothing more than a trickle, I wasn't entirely convinced that wasn't just the leaves of the trees rustling to the front and back of me. I could hear birds twittering all around me. I made no effort to walk towards the bridge but sat down briefly on the scratchy grass that lay beneath my feet and breathed in the smell of earth and sun before slowly wandering back the way I had come.

When I showed the bridge to Lorna on a later date she'd rushed towards it and set off to the other side while I trailed behind frightened of falling in or it not taking my weight. I remember being angry with myself for showing it to her because of course she'd be brave and need to see what was on the other side. I was happy to have just found the thing and look it at from afar. 'Come on!' she'd cried. 'It's fine, look!' I smiled and waved her on, hating myself for being too cautious all the time. She galloped away and disappeared through the wall of trees until I heard her suddenly gasp. She just as suddenly appeared again and ran back towards me with an intensity in her eyes I'd never seen before. 'Seriously, you need to come over to the other side. This is going to blow your mind' I shook my head slowly and grimaced, 'No way man, you're not getting me on that thing'. I said this with an American accent like I was a character in some schlocky movie to lighten the situation but I'd meant what I had said. No way, no how. She grunted in frustration and ran off again. 'Suit yourself!' she called. I turned around defiantly and made my way back to the meadow, waiting for at least two hours in increasingly angry silence before realising she wasn't coming back. For some reason this didn't worry me as I struggled to wheel our two bicycles and picnic detritus home. I grumbled and cursed her under my breath the entire way for leaving me to clear up her mess and take care of her stuff. It never occurred to me to either just leave her bike there or be concerned for her safety. I knew she was ok. She was more than ok, she was doing what I couldn't.

That was probably one of the last times I saw her in a friendship capacity. College started and we drifted off and were absorbed into different social groups (her - the pretty clubbing types, me - the freaks and geeks). We never really discussed that day in any great detail and she never told me what lay on the other side of the bridge but there was something irrevocably broken in our relationship; she had jumped out of the nest, suddenly ready to fly. I was still sheltered and too frail to consider taking such actions. We would chat of course, should our paths cross as we wandered between classes and the cafeteria, and smile and nod and agree oh yes we really should meet up properly soon I will call you but neither of us ever bothered. There was no point. She had a knowledge I didn't and neither of us were comfortable with that.

It wasn't until a couple of years later that I thought about that place again. It was an unseasonably warm day in May and I suddenly got the urge to revisit this specific little hidey hole of my past, so packed a picnic and excitedly told my boyfriend of the time (who, four years later would turn out to be gay, making mine and Lona's breathless description of homosexual sex a little less exotic and erotic to me forever more) that we were about to embark on a 'great adventure'. He seemed unsure but followed me along the winding country lanes that led to the meadow while I chattered inanely about the days Lorna and I had shared out here. When we got to the meadow we enjoyed our lunch of French bread, sliced meats and old English cider and lolled around, making out as our bellies swollen with food rubbed against each other, coming up for air every now and again and to pick stay hair strands (mostly mine) out of our mouths. Eventually the alcohol and sun got to my head and a wave of bravery overtook me. 'Come with me' I ordered as I stood up and started walking towards the nettle laden path entrance. My boyfriend followed without much question and we walked in near silence though the glen until the bridge appeared before me, just as suddenly as the last time I was here. 'I going to walk over that' I said out loud. Not so much to him but to myself, ensuring that a pact was made between me and the universe. One that I couldn't shimmy out of.

The first step on the bridge was tentative and I felt it start to bow under my weight. I debated stepping back off it to collect my thoughts but knew that if I did this I would lose my nerve completely so, even more tentatively, placed my right foot in front of my left. I did this again and again until I had reached the other side. The hard ground surprised me as I had resolutely not looked down all the way over (the ravine was narrow and not that high - six foot by twelve maybe? High enough that it would hurt to fall, though probably not lethal; and wide enough that you wouldn't be able to grab hold of the sides if you were in the middle and the bridge decided to release itself from its tethers). I stood there for a second with this dawning realisation of how deeply I was breathing and suddenly starting to wake up to the sounds and smells and sights around me. My boyfriend tapped me on the shoulder and startled me back into the present moment completely. This was an adventure and I was glad he was with me. We walked into the trees (which up close was a little less wall-like but still fairly dense) and quite suddenly found ourselves standing on the edge of a deep drop into a watery abyss.

'Shall we?' I asked.

'Shall we what?' he countered.

'Jump!'

'Go ahead if you want to'

'Are you not coming'

'Ha!'

And I don't know what it was; the adrenaline from making it so far, my lightheaded combination of cider, sun and kissing, but I took a little run up and flew into the air and then kept falling and falling till I felt my toes, then legs, then body make contact with the water. It hurt a little and I had a brief seconds panic of not knowing which way was up but I soon bobbed to the surface, laughing manically. I could make out my boyfriend's figure at the top, shaded black against the sunlight but wasn't too concerned about him. I swam around and luxuriated in the warmth of the water and my own sense of daring. I could do these things. I did do these things. I was a golden god! (Of course this feeling somewhat dissipated as found myself with scrapped knees and bloody fingertips as I struggled to climb up the almost-sheer rock face; which may be a slight exaggeration but it was definitely bloody hard). When I reached the top my boyfriend was nowhere to be seen and I finally realised that what I had thought of as Lorna's rejection of me because I wasn't free and brave like her was probably anger that I'd left her to make her own way home after climbing out of a lagoon with no climbing equipment. I smiled to myself at the solipsist impulses of teenagers and trudged back to the meadow where luckily he was still patiently waiting being much more of a gentleman and friend than I have ever been to anyone.

Subsequently I would occasionally take the guys I was dating to this little secluded meadow spot that was great for kissing and talking in the afternoon summer sun. Sometimes I would show them the bridge, sometimes not. A couple were even daring enough to walk across to the other side with me and peer helplessly down at the drop below. No one ever offered to jump with me though, even the ones that said they loved me. The itch to do so again still stayed with me but having done it alone once was enough. I knew I could do it if I wanted to now and I wanted to find the person that would follow me and help me climb out (and vice versa). Doing something like that alone was important but I knew it would be more sensible (in a sense), more fun and much easier with someone else. So I secretly tested them in my head; if these guys loved me or cared for me like they said they did they would have offered to jump I had decided. Because they sat impassively back it meant they weren't really in this thing. It was all for show. They talked the talk without walking the walk (or, in this case, jumping the jump).

Then I met him.

He was different to everyone else I'd ever met from the start. We'd met when I was hungover and tired and didn't feel that I was wearing quite the right outfit for an evening in the pub (black knee length dress with a deep 'v' neck that put my breasts a little too prominently on display, biker boots, thick belt, make up a little too pink) but I immediately felt comfortable with him in a way that I don't normally feel with new people. We arranged to meet again and again and slowly but surely I realised I had met someone whose weird fit my weird perfectly (I don't mean that in a dirty way, but if you're going to read it as such then that side of it was pretty darn perfect too). Here was this imperfect yet delightful creature that had grown up and developed completely independent of my existence and yet whose imperfections tessellated with mine in such a way that I could never have imagined possible.

What's funny about meeting someone like this is that not that you suddenly 'get' song lyrics or poetry like everyone says you will but you understand why things happened the way they did much more clearly than before. It puts everything into context; I had to not fit certain people in certain ways (even though that hurts like hell at the time - why... can't we get along/doesn't he like me like that/does he make me feel like that?) in order to appreciate just how special this particular man actually is.

The relationship itself unfolded at its own pace. For the first time ever I wasn't in a rush to define anything, to say 'I love you', to hear 'I love you'... I knew that it would all happen eventually and I was happy to just sit back and let it play out the way it needed to. But it was maybe three months in and I decided to take him to the drop. I kept telling myself that this wasn't a test, that if I was testing him slightly it wasn't fair to do it so that he didn't even know, that no matter what happened I still liked him loads and he felt the same way about me.

But I knew this would determine everything.

The meadow was as quiet as ever and we sat there for hours talking and smoking, just as I had with Lorna all those years ago. When the sun stated to dip a little lower I found my nerve and lead him to the path, through the glen, over the bridge, and to the drop. We hardly spoke a word all the way. As we stared down together he looked up at me, made eye contact and sort of nodded.

Together we jumped.

Bursting Open - Act III

Act III: Our heroine steps into something great

After the Floyd encounter (maybe 'incident' would describe it more accurately, given it's connotations to negative events) I had a thing in my head that because my body type is a little 'juicier' no one would really be interested in me and that was what had ultimately put Floyd off (give me a few days and it's always my flaws that I'll concentrate on, rather than the fact that I wasn't at all interested in him either). I've always considered myself 'unconventionally attractive' (in that I'm a Nottie rather than a Hottie) but through a combination of an 'interesting' sense of style (i.e. using bright colours and shiny things to distract and baffle the opposite sex), my 'quirky' personality (I like some things that girls are not commonly known for liking), and sheer force of will there have been a number of guys over the years who have shown interest in me that I'm pretty sure would normally not go for/flirt with a girl who looks like me. I was relying on these cheap tricks to get me through the dating jungle that I was in the process of tentatively entering, whilst still being dragged down by the voice in the back of my head that was cruelly whispering 'yeah, fine they like you online, but you are still too fat for anyone to fancy you so might as well forget it". It turned out that the cruel, whispering voice could go and suck a fuck.

I arranged a meet up with 'Tom'. Older than me, a mature student in a creative field, in his photos he had a beard and a nice smile and could write in complete sentences. All bonuses. He also passed the test of obviously viewing my profile, taking in the words on said profile, and contacting me with a friendly, direct message that got straight to the point of asking me out. I had previously been conditioned to enduring the 'beating round the bush' game for; often times, years on end, which is not nearly as fun as it sounds. I was nervous as I got off the train to meet him, especially as that pesky cruel whispering head-voice was bothering me, but as soon as Tom and I found each other the voice immediately shut up. We chatted and flirted and I got too drunk and told him more about myself than I was comfortable with. Which may be part of the reason that the best first date I've ever had did not turn into the best relationship I've ever had. In subsequent encounters I was immediately on the back foot, shyer than I normally would be, feeling a little more vulnerable and raw than I would have liked. Which did not encourage a love connection. He also seemed to be an amalgamation of every other guy I'd ever dated, a totally unfair assessment but an off putting one all the same; firstly there's the older than me thing, he had a somewhat complicated and sad past, he was into the sort of obscure music that record geeks love, he knew more than I did about world politics and could talk confidently about it. Previously all these things had attracted me to guys but I was looking for something different this time. I didn't know in what way different but just... not that. None of these traits are bad but they clearly hadn't worked out for me previously and I felt like I'd made all this effort to change myself only to go and repeat the same mistakes with the same type of guy again? No thank you. All of this however is just another example of my fondness for the beating round the bush game: he was (is?) a lovely, interesting, funny person that I got on with really well. But, in the words of everyone's favourite ScarJo movie: I Just Wasn't That Into Him. And I think this is an important lesson to have learned, sometimes the 'on paper' guy who has all the things you've thought you might want is not the guy that is the best match for you. A relationship that works requires plenty of magic sparkle glue that binds and bonds. The magic sparkle glue cannot be manufactured manually, you can't wish it into existence, it's sort of either there or it isn't. In this case, it just wasn't.

Next we have Dick. Dick was... well, I know at the time I enjoyed his company else I wouldn't have gone on five or so dates with him but now, on reflection, I really don't know why. I can look back and go, that was fun, we laughed a lot, he was clever and witty, but that's all struckthrough with a thread that goes 'I also fuckin' hate the guy'. Which is so harsh and so not like me. But it's also so true. My main attraction to Dick (HA!) was that he was a lecturer. I had had the World's Biggest Crush™ on one of my lecturers at university and I had this fantasy of getting to replay that WBC™ with actually fucking the lecturer this time. We'd drink red wine and discuss Foucault by candlelight and maybe I'd go to his office during uni hours and a couple of his students who had a crush on him would see me and be all jealous and I'd be the winner! Of life! And of love! And... it wasn't really like that. I probably, at some point in my life, could have convinced myself I fancied this guy but I now know myself too well and as a result we never even kissed. The fantasy was always just going to be a fantasy (I sort of know now that even if I had got to do things with the aforementioned lecturer I actually fancied then pesky reality would have intruded upon that too. The world in your head will always seem more exotic and exciting than the world you live in, the trouble is the world in your head lacks the one thing that truly makes things interesting or exciting: being real). So, yes, he was never going to win this purely by virtue of the fact that he wasn't a dapper, charming man with dark shaggy hair and an Irish lilt to his accent who could sweep me off my feet and take me away from all this - I don't think that man exists anywhere but in my head to be honest - he was this nerdy, fiercely intelligent, ambitious, tee-total vegetarian that came across as being really angry at the rest of the world. I think that undercurrent of anger I was able to dismiss at the time, but it helps explain why I now look back on my time with him and feel uncomfortable about the whole thing. I felt I was constantly under surveillance, like he was waiting to pick holes in anything I did. Asking him 'what shall we talk about then?' was answered with 'why do you find it so hard to cope with silence'. Reaching in my bag and putting on lipsalve was accompanied by his observation that I 'sure do that a lot'. When he contacted me subsequently to ask if we could be friends and I politely (I thought) declined I got a response made up of multiple paragraphs as to why and how I was wrong to decline ('or, you have in fact just proven my point and removed any ounce of guilt I may have been feeling' I thought). I was able to talk to him, and share things about myself with him, but I never felt fully myself with him and, as shallow as it sounds, I was looking for someone that would go to restaurants with me and share a bottle of wine and happily go for a weekend away with me to a European city. He could do the restaurant thing (always ensuring I paid my half of the bill of course. Which, look, I'm a feminist, I will always offer to pay half but on the first date you're going to have to at least pretend that you're going to pay the bill. Or, if I protest at you covering it all, say 'you can pay next time'. Not look at it and go 'that's £18 for your share I think'. That shit won't fly son, the world is an unfair place and to redress that balance I expect you to offer to pay for our first meal together) but he had never drunk alcohol, never taken drugs, didn't like travelling. All of these things were alien to me. Tom was too similar to what had gone before and Dick was too different. Like Goldilocks I wanted to find someone who was just right.


And find him I did.


Harry. It turned out later that we'd only exchanged messages for a couple of weeks. It felt like much longer. But that's precisely how the relationship developed. It felt like no time at all had passed when I was with him and yet that we had known each other from since the dawn of time. It may be that, now, looking back, I make this narrative that joins he and I together in an all encompassing, unending, eternal love. That our love had always existed and was just waiting for us to discover it eventually. That our first date was a powerful knock to the system and managed to realign the universe into where it should be. That the phrase 'soul mate' was invented solely for us and are the only words that come anywhere close to describing what we have.

Realistically, I'm not sure it was as cut and dry as that. 

Harry and I had an above average first date. We relaxed pretty quickly in each other's company, seemed to share a lot of similar interests, laughed and chatted and were roped into doing an impromptu pub quiz (as is the norm). He gave me the weirdest pecking kiss at the end of the date (and then mimed shooting himself in the head as he walked away, as I was to find out much later) which I interpreted as him not fancying me. This was backed up by it taking him a WHOLE WEEK (one! whole! week!) to text me and ask me out again. By that time I was already on my way to a third date with Tom, had set up my first date with Dick, and was starting to think I would maybe see if there was anyone else out there I could add to my roster. I was also *just* on the verge of texting Harry to tell him I was cool if he didn't want to do the dating thing but was also in this to make friends so would be pretty happy if that was all he wanted. Maybe it was this, the fact that I could see myself being friends with him over and above anything else that started the magic sparkle glue in motion. This just wasn't the case with anyone else I dated - either as one offs or repeatedly - I clicked with other people but didn't necessarily want their friendship and yet with him I did. I mean, it just so happened that I also found him super attractive (but more so from the second date onwards where he was more himself, than on the first when he was on his best behaviour, if that tells you anything) but he was also just a really awesome person that I liked loads and loads. After that second date, where we stayed up till 4am talking (when I asked him 'what shall we talk about then?' he'd reply 'I don't know!' and I'd go 'I don't know either!' and we'd laugh and talk about how rubbish we were at making conversation) and kissing (properly this time) I was pretty much the smittenest kitten that ever existed. I knew in my heart of hearts that he was the one I wanted to be with. There were two things that stood in the way: he had just ended a four year relationship and I didn't want to be rebound girl, and he was potentially moving away.


So continue to date the the other guys I did. As a form of protection if nothing else. I struggled with that decision quite a bit. On one hand it seemed unfair to string other people along if my heart lay with someone else. On the other hand I went into this wanting to see what was out there and let time figure out who would be the best match for me - and that was exactly what I was doing. It seems so obvious what the right choice was now, with the benefit of hindsight, and thankfully I did make the right choice, but at the time I agonised constantly over what was the 'right' thing to do. And I also realised why I had never dated three men at the same time before - I just wasn't cut out for it. It was *too* agonising, and complicated. Plus I was having to be 'ON' all the freaking time. When I discussed with my bestie that I was supposed to be seeing Tom that night but Harry had just asked if I was free and I really wanted to see him instead her advise was; 'well I don't fucking know, I wouldn't get myself into this situation in the first place'. (I saw Tom, I didn't want to be the sort of girl that broke dates if a better offer came along).


This was a path I would have to navigate alone clearly. I decided to trust in time to reveal the way to go. And it did.


After Harry's and mine forth date I only saw Tom again to break up with him using the tired, sad excuse in between that I was busy (which I was, just dating another guy). On Harry and's and mine fifth date I introduced him to the wonders of cheap red wine made drinkable by the addition of cola (which is also my fav summer drink) and finally confessed to Harry I was seeing other people and he confessed to me he'd already had a rebound fling and what we were doing was in no way that in his eyes. This, as far as I was concerned, removed one of the obstacles from our path so tumble deeper down the rabbit hole I fell. On our sixth date he took me out for dinner (and paid!) and said I should continue to date the other guys until we'd gotten to ten dates. We laughed about this being like the plot to 40 Year Old Virgin ('except no way am I a virgin!') whilst both feeling weirdly sad about the idea. BUT, this in itself convinced me that he was in this for me and was willing to put his wants to one side to ensure I was happy. I knew how that worked the other way round but not someone doing that for me. I admit a swooned a little. The night before Harry's and mine seventh date I went out with Dick for the final time and kept going to the loo to check Harry's facebook page. This was where I realised I was stringing people along and needed to stop (and was also worried Dick would start to think I had bowel problems). The following night, on our seventh date I told Harry I didn't want to date anyone else, he told me he didn't want me to date anyone else either and that he was going to stay here and not move away. The magic sparkle glue sighed happily and we went about the business of getting on with the rest of our lives. Together.

"Real love doesn't make you act crazy. The reason we act crazy when we are infatuated is because we want it to be real so badly -- we want to jump over the distance of time that makes real love what it is... That's the trick of romance: The crazy infatuation love is so much brighter and turns so many more corners so quickly. Much more exciting than the real thing. But real love, at its finest, makes you feel like you are bursting open, like this: Like hearing a beautiful song, or reading a beautiful poem, or hearing a wonderful story, and the tears come and you don't know precisely why. It doesn't hurt; it hurts in a way that isn't hurting, that we don't have a word for. Largeness. Enormity. It takes a real strength, a real grace, to stand up straight in the face of that. Especially if you're not familiar with it."

          ~ Jacob Clifton

Bursting Open - Act II

Act II: Our heroine actually steps outside

I had agreed to pick up Floyd (we'll call him Floyd) in my car from the train station (just because that was a relevant landmark and not to ensure all modes of transportation were witnessed that evening. There were no plans to glide past a bus depot later on). I had told a bunch of people were I was going and with whom but as I pulled up it occurred to me that I wasn't actually following the rules of safe internet dating. You're supposed to meet them in a neutral place, surrounded by a lot of people, with adequate access to sneaking away should things take a turn for the weird. By allowing a man I didn't know into my car (where pushing him out of said car would be tricky given that I have the strength of a kitten and can barely manage to change the radio station when driving without crashing, let alone thwart an attack and keep things road steady) I felt like I'd already failed the first test which is; don't get yourself raped or killed. As these thoughts only occurred to me as I pulled up I thought it better to just go along with it and not to voice them hoping that it would probably turn out okay and not with my rape or murder or murder/rape. You know things are going to go well when your first thought on meeting someone is, 'I hope I don't get murdered or raped tonight'.

Floyd was my first date in two years (actually probably more as with the previous one we never did what you might call 'going on dates', unless accompanying a man to a psychiatric institution for admission counts as a 'date'?) (But I think that would be opening up the term 'date' pretty broadly so let's go with no) and he was absolutely perfect as the 'first date in two years' guy. In that I had an absolutely abominable evening. Like, the worst. And it wasn't even the worst in a 'I got a bunch of funny anecdotes out of this terrible thing that happened to me' way. Just in a 'that was the longest three hours of my life' way. Which is the worst way.

As soon as he got into my car I knew I had no romantic interest in him whatsoever. But you can't really say that to someone as they're getting in your car; "um... stop right there. Am sure you're a perfectly lovely human being but no. Just... No". So get in the car he did. I smiled and made a crack about 'ooh this a bit awkward haha' and then proceeded to find out exactly what the word 'awkward' actually means. Every facet of it. It's smooth surfaces and rounded curves. I came to know it intimately like I had never known a word before.

I am quite good at connecting with people quickly and easily. I can't do it in groups. Ever. But as a one-to-one thing I know I can be relied on to open people up, make them feel pretty comfortable talking with me, and frequently enjoy conversations with people from all walks of life, whom I have nothing in common with, just because I operate from the basis of 'let's find out more'. Finding out more is pretty much guaranteed to lead you somewhere good - to a place where true connections are made.

Finding out more about Floyd is the most impossible task I have ever had in my life.

I asked questions, he answered them. He asked me some questions, I answered those. This continued throughout the evening. Now, you, dear reader, may be thinking 'well, that sounds suspiciously like a conversation' and yes, it was. But imagine a conversation stuck in the tone and feel and spirit of a conversation that takes place within the first five minutes of meeting a stranger you have no chemistry with. It's stilted, it's somewhat unnatural, no-one knows where to look. It was like that. For three hours.

Now, part of the problem started before we even met. When Floyd first contacted me he asked fairly quickly into our messaging relationship if I wanted to maybe go and see a film with him. I told him that the only film I really wanted to see at that precise moment in time was only showing at a cinema a thirty minute drive from where we both located. Because of this I then suggested meeting in a pub in the town where we both lived instead. He remained fairly adamant about the film thing (JESUS FLOYD! IF YOU LIKE FILMS SO MUCH WHY DON'T YOU JUST MARRY THEM?) I saw this as a bit odd but not 'squirming out of the date' worthy so went with it. Maybe it would be better not to drink I reasoned. Maybe it'll give us something to talk about if we get stuck I logic-ed. (Hmm. Maybe past-me. Maybe). Then I suggested collecting him from the train station and driving there together about an hour and a half before the film started so we could talk. I think Floyd found this a bit odd but not 'squirming out the date' worthy himself as he was a bit 'well... okay' about the whole thing. I had been labouring under the impression that dating was about getting to know people you were attracted to (however remotely) and figuring out if you like each other enough to continue that process until you decide you don't want to do that any more (correct me if I'm wrong). Part of that (I had assumed) would involve conversing with this other person so you could make better judgements about whether to continue/when to stop. Floyd didn't seem to view it that way given his reluctance at arriving there at an earlier time than would be needed to just see the film. He seemed to view dating as sitting silently in a darkened room with another person sat next to him watching a projection of other people having conversations.

Or, it was just that Floyd had joined a dating site because he wanted someone to go to the cinema with occasionally (seriously, Floyd, you can go by yourself! If it means that much to you just go by your freaking self!) without having to worry about all that ridiculous 'talking' and whatnot. I'm not unconvinced this was the case.

So I'm already a bit unsure even before we start as to what's expected of me. But I go with it, obviously, this is new easy-breezy me. Me just taking things as they come. Hey world, no pressure! Let's just see where this goes! me. The Bizarro-World version of me in other words.

My life previous to this had been ruled with an iron fist by plans and lists. Delicious plans and delectable lists (even now, I feel my heart beating faster and my mouth start salivating at the phrase). Plans and lists which actually ended up holding me back rather than pushing me forward my therapist felt. She may have had a point given that I would spend hours and hours coming up with these incredibly detailed and intricate (well, there is no other words for it) works of art that would be impossible for anyone to live up to. Once I let a few things slip I would then be paralysed by the fact that I wasn't keeping up with what I was meant to be doing and then I would just sit very still in the middle of a room doing literally nothing at all. They were the worst motivation-masquerading-as-a-motivational-tool any human had ever invented (I can remember reading about Arnold Rimmer's studying technique in the Red Dwarf books where he would spend months and months making revision timetables that would divide his entire day . But becasue he'd spend so long making these beautiful timetables it would get to three days before the exam and he'd find he'd not done anything but make this revision timetable that was now completely useless. I can remember reading this and thinking 'hmm... that sounds like fun!' which I don't think was the writers intention). Yet I clung to the lists and the plans like a koala to a tree. Nails in deep, limbs wrapped round with surprising force. My plans and my lists were my life. Until, all of a sudden, I found that my life was my life. Which seemed to make more sense.

So, yes, I was quite chill about this first-date-in-two-years. A little bit excited even. I wasn't expecting anything but I knew I have this superpower of putting people at ease in one-to-one situations in my pocket, and I always enjoy finding out more, so even if this guy seems a little odd what's the worst that can happen? I thought.

Well.

For a start, the complete lack of enthusiasm Floyd approached the art of conversing with. When we got to the cinema (which has a rather splendid cafe/bar) we got a drink and I sat on a sofa thinking he would sit in the seat next to me. No. He sat in the seat opposite me and then leaned as far back into that sofa as it is possible for a person to be. Which didn't really encourage the chat. He sighed and methodically answered questions. We discovered we had literally nothing in common. He'd played up his interest in pop culture and was more of an outdoorsy running-jumping-going on boats type. This is not the type I am. It quickly became apparent he wasn't over his ex-wife (EX-WIFE? He's a proper grown up and only a year older than me!). The car ride was laboured enough trying to think of things to talk about. Now we were sat opposite each other in the quietest cafe I have ever been in, where I was acutely aware the staff were listening in to every word we awkwardly said. It was clear even just looking at us that we were somewhat mismatched. Floyd was wearing the uniform of every late-twenties male regular Weatherspoons goer. I don't even know what you would describe my look as but 'guaranteed to get side eyes at a Weatherspoons' is as good a description as any.

Which is not to say I was judging Floyd or thought I was better than him in any way. It was just clear to everyone (including the both of us I think) that we had absolutely zero chemistry. I have personally had more chemistry with people's grandmas. And yes, as the noted philosopher Paula Abdul taught us; 'opposites [can] attract', but even then, if that's not the case, I pride myself on being able to find common ground with anyone - however the common ground I managed to slowly eke out of Floyd was probably not even big enough for the both of us to be stood on it at the same time comfortably. This was not a love connection.

To top it all off as the film commencing time approached a woman came and sat next to me on the sofa and read her book. Now it was not just the staff, but other patrons who were aware this was a first internet date and how horrific it was. 'Shall we find our seats?' I suggested, just for something to do. Soon (twenty minutes later) the sweet, sweet adverts (the only time before or since I have thought of them as thus) rolled up in front of our eyes and I knew I'd now get a good two hour break before having to endure more benign and uninviting chit chat. Just like when someone is being tortured and then they get put back in their cell; there's a pleasure and a pain in this reprieve. On one hand you're not having to endure the torture any more. On the other hand you know it will begin again soon enough and you'd just rather die here and now instead. It was a bit like that.

Eventually the moment I'd been dreading arrived. The credits rolled. I bustled us out of there pretty sharpish establishing that I'd loved the film and he'd thought it was depressing, in the process. I drove him back to the station, this time no longer really concerned about making conversation. (This was an unmitigated failure so there was no point expending any further energy in pretending to be polite). As he went to get out of the car a curious thing happened. He sort of edged nearer to me and lingered in his seat saying something about 'doing this again sometime'. I smiled sweetly and made noncommittal noises and unconsciously moved myself nearer and nearer to my door until I realised I was plastered right against it. He may have seen my eyes screaming 'LEAVE MY CAR NOW PLEASE' as he did eventually extricate himself from the passenger seat and stand on the pavement.

It was over.

Thank fuck.

As I drove home I had one thought running through my head 'if I can get through that I can get through anything'. Floyd had really been the perfect host in my return to the dating pool. I'd had no chemistry with him, he was obviously not interested in me, and yet I was fine! It wasn't a big deal! I didn't feel heartbroken that this hadn't worked out, just elated that I was obviously repaired to the point that a date could go badly and it didn't upset me. I got through the door and checked the dating site on my phone. A massive grin spreading over my face as I read the rambly, drunken, overwhelmingly charming message I'd got from the one guy on there I was really excited about.

This was all just starting.

To be continued...

Join us for Act III: Our heroine steps into something great

Bursting Open - Act I

Act I: Our heroine steps outside of herself

I am not the sort of girl that ends up dating three men at the same time.

I am the sort of girl that guys say "oh you're in our top 3 of girls we work with and want to sleep with" but then never ask out or try and sleep with (it occurs to me now that it's possible this was the come on line itself and by responding with "hahahaha shut up dickwad" they never felt cause to lead it on to anything further).

It started as a game: how many dates can you collect in as short a space of time as possible? A lot it turned out. More than I was physically capable of arranging in fact. I don't even know why I decided to do this. Something to do with distraction thought my therapist. I was more of the opinion that I was experimenting; seeing how far I had come. I had spent so long being miserable and now finally finally felt like I was getting somewhere. This had been a slow then a sudden process:

not ok, not ok, not ok, not ok, ACTUALLY YES I'M FINE, not ok, NOPE THAT WAS JUST NORMAL FEELING SAD - I'M STILL FINE AS IT HAPPENS. LET'S DO THIS.

I worked really really hard to get my shit together over the course of two years and suddenly turned around one day and found that, although not yet together per se, my shit was starting to get a little more organised (I am, obviously I hope, talking metaphorically).

So I decided, let's start dating again. Just to see what happened. I was expecting... nothing. For the first time in my life I made myself available romantically with no end goal. (That is a nice way of putting that I had previously slept with a handful of guys I had no interest in, pined after a bunch more that had no interest in me, and rounded this off by destroying every facet of my emotional core with the last guy I dated. You know, the usual) The way I wanted to play it was casually date around (the key word here being 'date', do not replace it for 'sleep') for about six months or so and then sort of stop to look around and see where I was with it all.

It didn't really end up that way.

I should preface this by saying I have always been terrified by commitment. I was never the little girl that grew up wanting to be married. I didn't play games with white tulle I'd found in my mum's sewing basket and hand picked flowers from my neighbours garden. I didn't daydream about what my wedding would be like. I panicked attacked the idea of having to be the centre of attention in a stupid white dress that was uncomfortable as all hell and tying myself to another person for the rest of my life with no real hope of escape. I definitely did that (though only later). But I certainly never found myself doing the former. Some of that might be to do with having divorced parents but I didn't do any of those 'normal little girl playing at weddings' things before they were divorced either so that little psychological insight seems somewhat null and void to me. It's just something that's not in my genetic make up. I get (thankfully now, quite mild) panic attacks whenever I hear that girls of my age grew up dreaming wistfully about their one-day beautiful white wedding. My games as a child were all intergalatic space wars and international kidnapping rings. I was the hero, never a bride; never even a bridesmaid. Falling in love, being whisked away by the charming prince - none of that has ever appealed to me. I've always dreamed wistfully about running around space kicking ass.

But I say all that and yet, and yet, there must have been something of that which appealed. Was I just kidding myself previously; thinking I didn't deserve such devotion from another human being so not entertaining the notion of it? Were all these unfulfilling, unsatisfying dalliances I'd indulged in since my late (very, very late) teens a form of protection? Was my choosing the wrong men (or allowing the wrong men to choose me) a way of making sure I never had to deal with the reality of romance?

I carried these questions around with me, examined them, looked into and around them, and then left them discarded on the floor. Who gives a shit now? I thought. Let's stop thinking and start doing and just see what happens with this.

So I set up an online profile on a free dating website. It took me less than half an hour to fill out. I set it up with the intention that I would come back to it in a couple of weeks and start doing things 'properly' but, for now, it was worth just setting it up so I could cross that off my to do list (one of life's greatest thrills is crossing items off a to do list. Something which, yes, I believe I did mention in my online dating profile). It was late so despite the immediately addictive properties of looking at boys and rating them based on their faces, grammatical errors, and things they professed to like; I went to sleep not really giving much thought to what lay ahead.

When I woke up the next morning I was awestruck to discover I had been contacted a lot. Like, a lot a lot. By loads of different guys. The majority were; 'hey baby xxx' and 'hi beautiful xx' but it was still a thrill. I suddenly understood better why girls felt the need to snog other girls in nightclubs or flirt outrageously with people they had no genuine interest in: GETTING ATTENTION IS AWESOME. Like, really awesome. To begin with. Then, maybe a little annoying, but still awesome in its own way. For the first time in my life I felt truly desired. And special. And it was awesome. Now, logically I know that these 'hey baby xx' messages were probably sent to every single female who appeared on the site. I was not really desired or special. These guys had not bothered to read my carefully constructed (in around 20 minutes) profile. They were just throwing out their bait and seeing who nibbled at it (so to speak...). I suddenly found myself bouncing around with confidence. I was one of those girls who men like. Not one of those girls who men think are sort of ok but could do with losing some weight, or one of those girls who are too weird to consider as a serious option. I was ok! Men, who it would be kind to say had somewhat broken English skills, were contacting me(! ME!) for dating purposes.

Then it got really fucking annoying.

I started off feeling the need to reply to every person that contacted me and was spending upwards of 2 hours a night just keeping up with the correspondence (this is in addition to the multiple times a day I checked the site on my phone just to see how many people were looking at my profile - to begin with on average 80 a day (EIGHTY!! A DAY!!! Why aren't all 80 contacting me? I'm awesome? Because you might not be every single man's type or he's shy or you're mental; you're already struggling to keep up with the correspondence, why would you willingly invite more of that? Because! Men!! EVERYWHERE MEN MORE MEN MORE. Shut the fuck up, you crazy person. Point taken.) This figure dwindled within a couple of weeks but I still remember the thrill of clicking onto my the app on my phone and seeing I had new messages or more views or had been added to someone's favourite list. I hadn't let a man touch me or even really talk to me for about two years at that point (well, not one that wasn't gay or a friend or related to me - and I hope, again, it goes without saying that any of that was strictly platonic). It was a thrill; getting chased, being made to feel wanted, being made to feel like maybe I was one of those 'normals' who are normal and do normal things like have boyfriends and go on dates and don't spend an inordinate amount of time in their heads thinking about episodes of Gossip Girl.

But then, then, it got really fucking annoying. There are only so many hours in a day, as you might well be aware. A large chuck of those I have to devote to earning money so can buy ridiculous dresses and piles and piles of books. Another large chuck of them I have to devote to sleeping, because sleeping is the best. This leaves with with but a few hours that I like to fill up with lounging, cross stitching, and staring idly into space thinking about Gossip Girl. These are my most precious of hours. And here I was struggling to keep up with my lounging schedule due to the influx of interest from the opposite sex via the internet. having responded to yet another 'hi baby xx' message with 'Hello Good Sir, What a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I see from your profile you enjoy kayaking and mountain climbing? Both of these pursuits sound like my own personal vision of hell! What's the closest you've ever come to death? Yours sincerely, Me' (or something equivalent) I just decided out loud to myself 'fuck that shit'. I was only going to respond or encourage guys who actually interested me and who were interested in me enough to make references about stuff in my profile. I wasn't going to hate on the other players (don't hate the playa, hate the game) but I was going to ignore the shit out of their messages. This pairing down process was actually pretty easy and fun. I had leaned two important rules of dating very quickly:

1. Put your dating beacon on and they will come a-flocking (that's f-l-o-c-k-i-n-g)

and

2. Don't put more time and effort in than they have ('hi baby xx' leaves me to do all the work! I would be left to ask questions and encourage discussion only to get one word responses back. What the fuck am I supposed to do with that then? Ask more outlandish questions? One-sided conversations are not enjoyable for me!) (I still honestly have no idea how that sort of conversation is supposed to work or how these men end up picking up chicks. Maybe they don't? Maybe that's the point).

But with that came the next stage: Meeting Guys. Outside of the computer. Where the trees and coffee shops are. The actual real life world. Shit.

To be continued...

Stay tuned for Act II: Our heroine actually steps outside