My dear friend Blake challenged me to write this post... so here goes:
I quoted the other day from Crystal Renn's book, Hungry, about the "underlying promise of dieting" being that life won't start until we reach our goal weight, goal size, or just goals in general.
I have to admit that what I'm about to say is very personal, and kinda revealing, but again, it's that whole journalistic integrity thing.... I haven't had sex in 1277 days; 3 years and 128 days, roughly. I broke up with my last actual boyfriend in August 2002. I had a paramour for a few years, but that didn't end well. I dabbled here and there, but nothing serious.
I think there are many reasons why I'm single/celibate:
1. a fear of loving someone and losing them (i.e. my mom)
2. the fear of being hurt (and not wanting to resort to emotional eating)
3. omg, have you read the STD statistics? (especially 1 in 4 women and 1 in 5 men have HSV-2)
4. people in DC my age don't date, they have casual, no-strings-attached, friends-with-benefits relationships which are not relationships at all
5. I didn't think I had anything to give
6. I am wary when guys find me attractive (i.e. what do they want from me?) so i come off as hard to get, oblivious, or cold
7. guys seem to have a thing against women who live with cats (though Spike and Jack are awesome)
8. I love answering only to myself
9. change is fucking scary
10. I tend to go for men that are "out of my league"
11. guys love to put me in the "just a friend" or "one of the guys" friendzone categories and it's impossible to escape
Part of me sees all the pretty girls and there's a pang of jealousy--that it's not that hard for them to find men who are attracted to them and who treat them kindly. The more and more I talk to my friends, that's not the case. Just because you're pretty doesn't preclude you from a world of hurt. The pretty girls have boy issues, they're just a bit different.
But still there's the thought (and I know you've all had it too) that if I weren't fat, or if I didn't look this way, guys would like me or at least they would want to be in a relationship with me, not just want to have lights-off, don't-tell-anyone sex. I think the real statement behind all of those layers is that if I weren't fat, or if I didn't look this way, I would like myself. I would think enough of myself to feel sexy and believe it, not just strut my stuff, full of bravado. So I just don't put myself out there. I don't allow men to get close to me in a way that they could hurt me or even know me.
And that leads to more pathetic observations/conclusions/realizations/epiphanies: the other day I was having a session with my dietician and I offhandedly said that my refrigerator is my boyfriend. And then she said something that made me get really emotional, "I know you don't like it when I say this, but you go to the refrigerator to soothe, to seek comfort." (I have this weird habit of looking in the fridge even when I'm not hungry. It's partially boredom, but sometimes I really do think (despite knowing the entire contents of my fridge at any given moment) that a birthday cake, or a watermelon will suddenly appear in there). But in thinking back through my life, I would often go to the refrigerator when I was not just bored, but lonely (a word my dear Shakespeare coined). The thing I was looking for that was never in the fridge or the freezer was someone to ask me how I was doing, to give me a hug, to pull me close.
My dear readers, please do not think for a second that I think this is rational thought. I am an emotional eater. The source of my satisfaction has been what comes from the refrigerator. It makes absolutely no sense to feel emotional relief just by opening the refrigerator door. I know that. I truly and sincerely do. But well, my subconscious lags a little behind.
I know I have something to give at this very moment. And more importantly, I know there's someone out there that wants to receive what I have to give and his name is not Maytag.