The 'C' Word.

Found here.

It's the time of year when we reflect on things that have passed, and think about what's to come. Even if you're not making resolutions, you're probably thinking about things you want to do differently this year, or achieve, or simply to be a better person. You know, that ol' chestnut.

I want to talk about the C word. Celibacy.

Even saying the word feels awful. It's funny how such an intrinsically pure, chaste word can feel so shameful and dirty. I imagine that admitting to someone that you are celibate, for whatever reason, somehow evokes a much worse reaction than if you were to admit to being a promiscuous sex addict. You'd probably get less understanding, anyway.

The definition, in most English dictionaries, is as follows:

Celibacy [n]

the state of abstaining from marriage and sexual relations: a priest who had taken a vow of celibacy

So. By definition, celibacy is a willing thing - you make a conscious decision not to have sex, therefore, you are celibate. But, what if you are someone like me; Someone who would, actually, love to be having sex, but somehow isn't, and amazingly, hasn't for over 3 years. What then? Am I to be defined as celibate? Or just having a very unlucky, admittedly occasionally self-inflicted, 'dry patch', as it were?

Even admitting this to you, dear readers, as an anonymous, faceless girl, is difficult. I have told my close friends, as and when the conversation arises (usually to gasps and desperate faces of untold pity, sometimes even disbelief, which is nice), but I'm not particularly proud of it, so I try not to tell anyone, if I can help it. It's not a religious decision. It's not an 'I hate all men', decision (I don't, some are lovely), and it's not a I-still-hold-a-candle-for-my-ex decision. I think. I'm sure if you sat me in a psychiatrists chair you'd get all kinds of crazy shit coming out. Let's not dwell on that.

It's not even any kind of decision, really. Not consciously anyway, I think. I hope. Otherwise I'd be effectively sabotaging myself, and that's not cool. But it's difficult. Especially when we live in such a hyper-sexualised culture, where seeing sex on telly, in adverts, hearing about it in songs, in magazines, in the clothes we are force-fed by the high street and sex oh-so-readily-available on the Internet is so completely and utterly normal that anyone not having sex every minute of the day is bound to feel like they're missing out. So what of us? Of me, and countless others, who aren't having sex, not because they don't want to (we do) but because we can't just fling ourselves at anyone, no matter what Rihanna wants to make us believe?

And this is why I'm grappling with the C word. The clue in the definition is abstaining - and to abstain you have to make a conscious decision not to do something. Well, I haven't made a conscious decision to never have sex, but I do know I hate one night stands. I can't sleep with any random guy, hot or not, that I've just picked up in a bar. I cannot, and will not. It's awful, and frankly, a bit rubbish. I like sex. I bloody love sex actually, from what I remember of it, and I'm no quiet mouse in the bedroom, (as previous housemates can attest to, I'm sure...) but I like to do it with people I'm comfortable with. Who I fancy a bit, and who I've known for more than five minutes. I don't think I'm the only one, right? I wish I could do one night stands. They seem like a lot of fun. On the telly, etc. But all the ones I've had have been terribly disappointing, if not a bit weird, and often leave me staring at the ceiling at 5am praying for daylight to come. Perhaps I've just been with the wrong people. Perhaps it's me.

So, by making this decision to only have sex with people I have some sort of valid relationship with/have dated a few times/etc, am I effectively abstaining? Because these people I speak of, that I am only letting myself sleep with, don't exist. Not at the moment anyway, and they haven't for three years. I say to myself that it's through no fault of my own, just a catalogue of errors*, but surely, I have myself to blame? If I really, really wanted to sleep with someone, wouldn't I just do it? Wouldn't I just go out and find someone? It's not particularly hard. I'm certainly lucky enough to look alright in the face department, I'm not obese (unless Christmas has had it's wicked way) and I own clothes and I wash myself, so someone would, statistically, take me home. Surely.

 

(*It's more bad luck really. The last guy I slept with, it all went a bit wrong, halfway through my third year at Uni, so I put men to the back of my mind and focused on my degree for the last 6 months of my time there. After graduating I moved back home for a year - no chance of pulling anyone while living with the parentals, away from all friend contact. After that I moved to London - where I have been for 18 months - and then started dating, properly looking for someone. Not found them yet.)

But I don't want to just 'take someone home'. So this strange 'Accidental Celibacy' thing seems to have crept up on me, and I'm a bit worried it's here to stay. I'm now not only petrified of being single forever, I'm petrified I'll never have sex again. Double paranoia. Pass the paper bag. Oh God.

So what to do? In the spirit of New Year, I should probably try a new tactic. Maybe I should try the whole one night stand scenario again. *shudder* Not that I'd have any idea how to actually make that happen. I'll carry on with the dating, hopefully get past 4 dates (that's not a rule or anything, that's just the highest amount of dates I had with someone in 2011...) and something will happen eventually. Right?

 

Here's to actually having sex in 2012. Cheers!

The Story of a Single Girl; or, how this blog came to be.

So. I've been umming and ahhing about whether to start this blog for a long time. A few of my friends were all in favour of the whole anonymous blog thing - I have some amusing stories that they agree need to be set on the world. These will come, never fear. But, at the same time, I'm quite a busy girl. I already have my own website/blog (it's not huge, it's not famous, it's often neglected, but I won't share it as I obvs want to remain anonymous!), a full time job, a busy social life, and actual dating to fit in, let alone writing about the actual dating.

However. I've always felt that writing was very cathartic to my woes, and it's quite nice to start something new, fresh, secret and exciting to channel my thoughts into. The anonymous thing is quite exciting (I feel like I have a big secret!), and it also means there's less pressure, and no preconceptions that I feel I should conform to when writing. If I wasn't a graphic designer/creative, I probably would have gone into the writing/journalism side of things anyway. In short, words are good to me. I'm not putting any restrictions on myself; I will blog as and when something exciting happens. That might mean I blog 3 times a week, it might mean there is radio silence for a month. Never fear. I'm probably just swearing off men for a while.

The downside of trying to keep this anonymous is that while most people like me who date will share very similar experiences, anyone who knows me in my 'real life' and stumbles upon this blog may very easily work out who this is. We'll see. Hopefully they are nice and don't rumble me in public. I want to be anonymous more for the privacy of the people I date/have dated/been with, rather than myself.

Here's your backstory about Single Girl:

I've been single for just over 4 years. Christ, I think to myself, nearly every day, that's a heck of a long time. Then I do that mental chalkboard wipe thing and plaster a smile on.
My last relationship ended very badly, in 2007. Very very badly. We were together for about 2 years, and when he broke up with me, out of the blue, he admitted he had cheated on me over the past year with 3 different women. (I later wondered if this number was actually higher, but realised that wasn't actually the point...)
It took me a good year to get over it. Sometimes I'm not entirely sure if I ever will get over it, entirely. First love and all. I struggled with lots of dark things, and being at Uni didn't really help some of those dark things, but in other ways, being at Uni was the best place to be. But in the end, I came through, and was happy again.
Then I fell into the trap of sleeping with one of my closest male friends. Let's call him Edward. At first it was just fun and he helped me get over my ex, (we'll call my ex Robert) but I quickly started falling for him and he... didn't reciprocate. In fact he carried sleeping around with other women (he was one of those) and it all got very very messy. In the end, I told him that I loved him (fail) while in bed with him (more fail) and he said he 'didn't want a relationship.'

1 month later he was in a relationship. Not with me.

Woe. Despair. Crumble. Funnily enough, we still talk every so often, as friends. I'm not sure I ever let on how much that hurt me, to his face anyway. I see his girlfriend when I see him. She's lovely, and I don't hate her at all. (OK maybe I hate her a bit. But for completley unfounded reasons. The best girl won and all that.) This was just under 3 years ago.. and since then I've graduated, moved back in with my parents for a year, finally got a job in London, moved out of home again to London, started dating in London. Incidentally, Edward and girlfriend also moved to London at around the same time. So yeah, I still see him very rarely. It's difficult not to want to see him more. Not because I still love him (I don't) but because... we had a very close bond, a different bond to anyone else I've known, make or female. We are, to be clichéd, on the same wavelength. I don't think he agrees.
Tricky times, all not very conducive to finding a boy-type.

At the beginning of this year, 2011, my new years resolution was to 'not be single by this time next year.' A brave choice, but 10 months later, I'm still single. I signed up to a few online dating places, and have had sporadic dates, but pretty much all disastrous. This is my last attempt at getting some fun out of my situation, and taking my mind off the ever-increasing thoughts that I may die a cat lady. (I don't own any cats. Yet.)

I'm not a stunning girl (although have been told I am, which is nice, but I'm sure that's only in the right light with the right mascara) but neither am I a troll. I'm a middle of the road, averagely pretty, hourglass-y figured (not fat, not thin, booby, waisty, bummy) mid-20s type who is super bored of being single and really just wants to find a nice, engaging guy to visit galleries with, go to gigs, complain about the tube with, wander round local cafes and have lots and lots of sex with. How hard can it be?!

So this is my story of trying to find him. I hope you like it. It's all true.