stop giving me choices…

i think i may well have written this or something like it about a dozen times in the last 8 or 9 years.

that may not seem excessive, but when i add to that the fact that it’s running aound in my head pretty much every day, it gets repetitive.

almost everyone i know has found their one, with relative ease it seems. they’re all settled & happy, which is wonderful.
but i’m that desperate woman in her 30’s who’s womb is a time bomb.

and i get it, i’m not the most captivating prospect. i’m difficult. i’m too old & dated too many fuckwits to put up with even the tiniest hint of bullshit.

i’m mental. really, properly mental. if you’re in any doubt scroll back through a few posts.

i’m covered in scars. literally covered in them. that’s not a hot look in anyone’s book. actually, i don’t think that’s really the issue with the scars. it’s what they signify rather than how they look. they’re scary. i get that.

this isn’t a oh no, i’m a pariah, no one loves me thing. i know i’m not repulsive. i can be pretty damn sexy & on my better days i’m a cool person.

that may be part of the problem. i know who i am
and i undeniably know what i want.

try as might, almost, just isn’t good enough.

i have gone out with a fair few lovely men. smart, attractive, funny blah, blah, blah
but
they don’t set my world alight
to be as cliched as fuck, there are no butterflies.

i’m lucky. i’m grateful.
i have extraordinary friends.
a close, loving family.
a bloody roof over my head.
i have a lot.
i know.

i want more.

folk are so supportive. they tell me how fantastic i am. how much i deserve my happy ending. i’m sure you’ve all heard this stuff at some point.
it’s never too late
there’s someone for everyone
you just haven’t met the right person.

of course the glaringly obvious point is, i have.
i have met him.
i’ve known him
&
laughed with him
&
fucked him
&
loved him
for years. for forever, really.

i know he’s the right man.
he’s an integral part of my life. a person who gets me through some really shitty times in his own undemonstrative way.
the only man i could realistically see myself being happy with
the only man who ever made me feel i was in movie love.
the only man who didn’t tire of my weirdness
and
matches me pound for pound with his own variety of odd.

my friend. my lover.
the man i can not have.

there’s that biological clock
&
it’s deafening.
the desire for a child is all encompassing
time is running out
i’ve spent too long being crazy
&
dating the wrong men
&
trying to be brave enough to try again.

there aren’t any years left to waste.
i have to get my life in order
and
do it.

that probably means i’ll be having a baby on my own
i suppose that should be terrifying
it isn’t
i’m not scared in the slighest
raising a child feels inherently right
i can not comprehend of a life in which i am not a mother

he can’t conceive a future in which he is father.

i can’t have both
we talk abstractly about what we’re giving up
if we’d met earlier
if we both weren’t so damaged
how happy we could be together.
if. if. if.
those conversations occupy my mind
sometimes.
they circle my thoughts before i fall asleep.
but
that circle isn’t never ending
i can not have both
that’s were this love story ends.

i’ve made my decision.
i believe it’s the right one
it’s not simple
or
painless
it is unequivocal.

i think i have always held romanitc notions of fate.
it never occured to me that destiny would be so cruel.
that’s life.
you roll your dice
you make your choices.