I informed my father of the new, rather lifeless state of affairs with me. I explained very calmly that this numbness, this pervasive lifelessness, is all for the best and it enabled me to get through my days so much better. I all but glide through them, feeling nothing. Of course, in explaining this, I had to explain also that I was facing the less lovely side of maturity and realizing I truly was incapable, despite all my valiant efforts, of compromising even a fraction as any wise adult should be able to do in my expectations of a mate, and therefore was halting the search. I explained to him that it had never worked, had never come close to working, and I wasn’t going to try any longer. He listened with sadness, but when I went to the bathroom when we finished our dinner at Spice of India, he started thinking, trying to save me somehow from the oblivion of my loneliness which I was embracing now. He offered to go onto Match.com and screen the matches for only likely possibilities. I sighed and told him he was welcome to but I couldn’t promise anything. After all, at some point, the effort would have to transfer back to me and I was letting go of that.
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So he’s been looking, mentioning it a couple of times casually, and tonight he and Mom called me with a narrowed-down list. I went along with them on my computer listening to their evaluations and feeling more and more compressed.
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And after listening to them explain how I could just email for a while and if I decide I wasn’t interested after all, there were some very respectable “outs” Match.com provides, I explained to them that I just didn’t see how I could go out and make a first impression as I am now.
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I have nothing good to talk about except my writing which has oddly become so much easier now that I am numb. I can’t be flirty and fun, and to tell you the truth, I don’t want to have fun, don’t want to make new friends or even hang out with the old ones because that puts me in danger of feeling good and if I can feel good, I can feel bad. I explained that this really is the only way for me to get through my days. I have five months left, not even considering a possible extension of my sentence if the heavens don’t open up and rain down miracles. This is truly the only way. I said my days go so much smoother, when I feel nothing. I tried to communicate the exclusivity of this numbness. I can’t just switch it on and off. If I open the door a crack, I might as well fling it wide.
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My mother asked if falling in love and getting married wouldn’t make my days easier to get through. I didn’t give much of an answer because I knew I had no answer she wanted to hear. At this point, no. I did say that if my free time became so much better than my days, if I came more alive, it would just be that much harder to go into work every day.
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We ended the conversation on a mutually discouraged note, for different reasons. I promised I would think on it and I think we all knew that was little more than lip service to quickly end a painful conversation.
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See, here’s the thing. Two things, actually. First off, as I told my parents, I don’t think I could go out and be charming and sociable and lure anybody in and I’d feel apprehensive about doing it if I could because I don’t want any good right now, aside from my writing. I have no belief or vision left and I am just surviving. This is what I have to do to do what I must.
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And the other thing is, what man wouldn’t feel cheated after looking at my profile – which was all true, just not true now – only to be met with what I’ve become? I’ve stopping wearing makeup beyond mascara and foundation – and those only because I must – and I am faced every day with finding in my closet stuffed with cute clothes only the most comfortable clothes I can wear with tennis shoes. I don’t smile much anymore. I am quiet and oh, so patient with the kids because I am dead inside. I am pale and hollow-eyed and this I see in the mirror with a distant satisfaction. Let them see. Let them all see. Let them see how they’ve ruined me and yet I am still flawless, no misstep to be found, no frustration to be seen, no yell to be heard.
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Who would want me now? Who could fall in love with me? They say be yourself, but how can you when the self you’re showing is a husk?
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