Another Day

It started off as a nothing. The person who I'd had plans with cancelled on me. So I asked some other people. The first boy was busy, with this new girl he's seeing. The second had a Christmas Party. My other two usual cohorts had a long standing dinner arrangement. And then I put out general feelers. Someone, anyone must be free to hang out. I can't be the only one with no firm plans for a Friday night. And then the longer my phone sat silent, no buzzing to denote that someone would be keen to be in my company, I panicked. I feared my social circle was too small. That somehow I'd put all my eggs in one basket and was this it? I felt anxious. And alone. And ohgodwhyisntanyonetxtingmeback!

Is this what being single means? Relying on the pity of others? Scrambling to find friends who aren't busy with their own lives? Their own plans?

I hate being single. I hate not being sure of myself. I hate panicking because I don't know what I'm doing. And for a while there, I THRIVED on not knowing. I'd drink back some pretty coloured drinks and launch myself into the unknown. I'd collect a number here, flirt with this boy there, be spontaneous, implusive, and reckless.

But there is only so long you can spin that and still be standing upright. So I thought I'd stand still for a while. And here I am. And I hate it. I hate being a one, and not a two. And I hate that I hate it. I hate that because it's been so long I'm unsure of myself. That I'm relearning how to sleep in my own bed, that when I visit the bakery on the way home I'm only buying for one. And that I'm still buying too much food, because there's no one to finish what I can't eat. I hate that there are no surprises to be had, no conversations in the now non-existant car pool on the drive home. I hate that there are no comforting hands to be held, no hugs when I want to bitch about how hard my day was, no listening to the ins and outs of someone elses day. I hate it. And I hate that I hate it. I thought I was stronger than this.

And then, as I'm working myself towards a panic attack, my phone buzzes. And with a witty in-joke, I have plans.

And all at once I want to cry at the universe for providing me a friend, and hate on myself for working myself into a tizz and clenching my teeth at how stupid this situation that is ENTIRELY IN MY HEAD is.

I hate the being single means I'm not the confident happy-go lucky person I was, not matter how much I pretend I'm am. I miss the old me. I miss my old life.

And, most of all, I hate how hard moving forward is.