As a woman who has spent a major portion of her adult life alone, I am incredibly uncomfortable with the metrics of relationships. Explaining yourself to someone, naming your comings and goings, the inability to just pick up and leave when the mood strikes me; all of this makes me feel like my wings have been clipped.
I’m not the type of woman built for a relationship. It’s ill-fitting and unflattering on me.
Something about telling another person my agenda, as though I fucking have one, just doesn’t sit right with me. Even if I knew what it was, I wouldn’t tell someone. I don’t want someone expecting me somewhere knowing full good and well that if I don’t feel like fucking going, I’m just not fucking going.
I don’t like trivial conversation about nothing. I don’t like telling stories I’m not ready to tell. I don’t like not telling stories I’ve already told someone.
When I’m asked to compromise, I break out in hives. When expected to apologize, I start to feel clammy and nauseated. I know it’s going to make the walls begin pushing in on me. It’s going to become a fucking prison cell.
I’m a difficult woman, I’m aware of this. It’s why, regardless of my attractive/crazy scale being just at the balanced point, I found myself single at every major junction in my life.
I don’t like the way relationships consume you. The way they change you. It’s like they eat all the beneficial nutrients to life, and you starve yourself into the shape of a couple. A size ‘bonded unit’, so don’t even glance at the Juniors department, ma’am.
Then, there’s the ending. The separation of things, of friends, and all of the fuckery involved in splitting your lives after you swore that wouldn’t happen. How fucking inconvenient. How fucking headache inducing.
Everything about being involved with someone gives me the ick. It irks me to my core to feel like I’m not free to come and go as I please. I am fucking grown and owe absolutely no one an explanation. It seems so petty, but I would rather ask forgiveness then permission, even though, in reality, I shouldn’t have to ask for either.
Ultimately, that’s my issue. Forgiveness or permission, I won’t ask. I refuse. I’ll simply do as I please, and fuck your feelings about it, and this is why I’m much better on my own. I know I’ll buck. I won’t behave. It’s just not in me.
I’m not built that way.
This reminds me of a scene from Seinfeld between Kramer and Jerry.
“What were you thinking about, Jerry? Marriage? Family? They're prisons! Man-made prisons! You're doing time. You get up in the morning, and she's there. You go to sleep at night, and she's there. It's like you gotta ask permission to use the bathroom.
‘Is it all right if I use the bathroom now?’”
"Really?"
"And you can forget about watching TV while you're eating. You know why? Because it's 'dinner time!' And do you know what you do at dinner?"
"What?"
"You talk about your day! 'How was your day today? Did you have a good day or a bad day? What kind of day was it? I don't know. How about you? How was your day?' It's sad, Jerry. It's a sad state of affairs!"
“I'm glad we had this talk.”
"Oh, you have no idea!"