So I have an confession to make. I’ve hinted at it here and there but I’ve never said the words totally bald and clear.
I have never had a boyfriend.
Just seeing those words as harsh black marks against white makes me feel physically sick – makes me want to shove them down and hide behind a less blunt half truth.
I am twenty eight years old and I have never had a boyfriend.
There are very few people who know this about me – my mum thinks I’m coy and hiding a whole barrage of exes behind a barrel, my recent friends think there must have been a before, and my ancient friends think there must have been an after. Even some of my closest current friends are only allowed to know half truths – I talk of old exes when it would be more accurate to describe them as fleeting acquaintances – all be that of a sexual nature.
Only two very old, very good friends that I’ve clung tightly to through the years know the full truth.
Why am I so scared of the truth?
Because I find it overwhelmingly humiliating.
Because it squats inside of me like a festering toad that I’m scared of letting people see.
Because in many people’s eyes it would paint a picture of me that I am not prepared to be – that I don’t think I am.
Would it make people see me as uglier than I am, would it bring in to focus some terrible psychological ineptness that would explain such a righteous departure from the societal norm?
You can be sure as hell it would put men off – who wants to road test the twenty eight year old relationship virgin? There must be some reason that other men have steered clear before after all.
Just writing these words makes me feel hugely and inexpressibly sad. And they make me feel like a freak.
I’m the girl that men are prepared to sleep with but never date.
How has that happened to me?
over and out.