I'm

not in a good place this morning. I always get a bit worried when i wake up feeling bad as it's typical of the depression days. Yesterday was a 12 hour microcosm of the self destructive mess that is my love life. 10am I am wondering the freezing streets of the posh side of Earls Court distinctly feeling like I'd been hurriedly turfed out. A major contrast to the charm and seduction of the night before of candles and soft mood music and cuddles and gentle hair kissing. Wasn't meant to fucking happen. I intentionally didn't do my legs or wear nice pants! But I'm fucking starved of nice male attention. I tried to resist. But it was futile.

I can't go home. I wonder streets, I sip at a hot chocolate and do not touch a croissant I've ordered for an hour to stay out of the cold till the cinemas open and I can sit in the dark and warmth and try escapism for two or hours or a good cry whatever comes first. The film is shit. My phone rings and its my bro in law's number and my stomach knots, he only rings when sister is having a breakdown or other. Jesus, bout time you realised I'm the last person to help sort out anyone's life. Stop fucking falling for the fake cheery persona people. I can't ignore his call. I'm worried now. I go answer in toilet. Its just sister using phone, she's fine. Wow you sound rough she says. YEah, cold i say, and then some i say in my head. I walk out of film after paying 14 quid to see it. I think of other means to cheer me up. A hair cut? fuck it. A nice sunday roast? I turn into first pub. Eat in a corner alone, my hair still glossy from night before, eyes freshly made up to hide the earlier cry out. I notice guys look. Not necessarily in a good way, I can't be asked to hide my mood, I must look fucking tragic. And really I just want someone to talk to me. A couple of old ladies sit next to me and look and not even they say a word. The roast is shit. Sinewy. Time to go home, I'm sneezing everywhere.

But as i wait for bus, in complete self destruct i decide to text back The Musician, ultimate playboy, who shags and leaves repeatedly, just because maybe for an hour I won't feel so alone. In meantime, for an hour my best mate, but obviously not close enough that I tell her truth about the men I've slept with etc, calls and admits she colluded in an intricate set up with this "nice suitable boy" that has been keen on me for sometime and my family etc. I guessed it was a set up, but brushed it off at the time as a major coincidence. Nice enough but bless him he's just not remotely attractive to me, not personality wise, not physically, and now he's played the ultimate dangerous game of getting my friends and family involved which only serves to take me to a very very bad place where It's a decade ago and I'm constantly being cornered into meeting these men I can't stand and eventually somehow I'm engaged to one, and I wish I'm dead cos I'm too polite to say no, and eventually I'm in hospital for two weeks with stress related illness. To put into a nut shell. I know I'm not over any of that. I know I'm 32 and would love to find someone right for me and I know it's not happening but illustrating to me how the people who love me are also worried about me dying alone and then doing another "setup" type scenario with the kind of "suitable boys" my folks love is just the worst thing you can do to me. I got off phone and just curled up and strted to rock. I'm not even the "nice girl" they think i am. Bloody hell. If they had any glimpse of the reality of my sex life of last 7 years, it would actually kill them. The Musician texting goes into overdrive, I don't think its even about comfort sex now, its about punishing myself, a sexual equivalent of cutting, or maybe just oblivion, 2 hour film escapism. I fucking don't know. Eventually I'm too ill with cold and lack of sleep and I go to sleep. And thankfully nothing happens last night with him. Fuck I need to get to work.