The other day someone asked me what could possibly be so appealing about the junkie lifestyle…
I thought about all those lovely times spent in the beginning where I would get high with my husband and we would have days of paradise. We would laugh and kiss and run and play. We would playfully squirt water out of needles at each other and laugh more than we should. We would blast music in the middle of the night and dance while naked and sweaty and high as fuck.
We also felt a dirty satisfaction knowing that we were sabotaging ourselves. Ruining our lives. Irreparable damage. But we had such a hunger for it. In a sick and twisted way, we loved being on the streets and panhandling for dope money and smoking crack behind a building with our needle-exchange junkie friends and waking up dopesick and doing a big first shot so we could feel ourselves going from -50 to 200 in a split second.
It was all so wonderful in a sick fucking way. But it was mostly terrible in an even sicker way.
I’m single. I hate being single. If I could move on my own and see immediately after birth, I probably would have looked for the cutest baby with a blue wrist band in that holding cell for newborns and tried to cuddle with him. In the first grade I led a boy to the middle of a field like I was taking out a horse to be put down to tell him I loved him, then sprinted away like a maniac. I’ve always been boy crazy and actually crazy. I was #BornToThot.
In my experience, there are four types of girls that love being single; (1) the ones too busy/focused to care about romance, (2) the ones that just aren’t interested in relationships, (3) the emotionally damaged and (4) the sexually generous. I’ll admit that being busy is a great way to divert attention from my painfully empty love life, and in all honesty it’s probably in my best interest not to involve myself with lethally handsome assholes with my goals and commitments for the upcoming semester, but that sure as hell won’t stop me from being jealous of happy couples or wishing my pillow was a cute boy at 3 o clock in the morning. My experiences with guys have exhausted me to the point where I see a good looking stranger and immediately can feel the impending aneurism from the amount of time he’ll take to text me and lack of emoji use. However, I haven’t had my heart broken to the point of no return. I couldn’t pull off that aloof, detached Zooey Deschanel in 500 Days of Summer if my life depended on it.
I feel like I’ve already established that the thirst is embedded in my DNA, so I’m quite incapable of being a type two girl. As far as type four goes, as much as I love sluts and recognize their importance in the circle of life, promiscuity is vastly overrated in my opinion. I’m only human and no better than the rest of you heathens (in this respect at least); I want to take my clothes off and kiss tall boys as much as the next straight girl, but I enjoy consistency. I’d rather get my entire meal from Five Guys than go to Wendy’s for a good burger, BK for some quality fries and McDonald’s for a savory beverage, meaning that I enjoy walking hand in hand with the same person during the day with the same person that I spoon with at night. I like the thought of coming home to bae after a long drunken night more than ending up in a random guy’s room, questioning my health and my life choices the next morning, but that’s just me. If that’s what floats your boat, enjoy the ride my friend.
All of this to say that I don’t nor will I ever prefer being single to being in a relationship, and there’s nothing wrong with that. I have a persistent biological need for male attention and affection that I’m not really ashamed of.
When you’re single, people always tell you that it will happen when you stop thinking about it or when you least expect it among other pointless overused one liners, and while they’re probably right, every time someone says that I fight the urge to head butt them directly in the mouth. When will I ever not be thinking about boys and their big hands and their back muscles? That’s like telling me to stop wanting a puppy or to win the lottery.
I think being good at being single comes down to realizing that every guy with a beautiful head of hair and a pair of boat shoes isn’t going to be the Wall-E to your Eva, and instead of trying to force a relationship out of desperation, learning to wait for something worthy of your time. It comes down to learning to shut up about how much you wish you had a boyfriend no matter how true it is, and using the time you have to yourself to improve yourself, and not only become a better you but attract better baes. Think of relationships like a college degree; an associates degree takes less time, but the discipline and patience put into a PhD immensely increases the probability of success. (Not saying there’s anything wrong with community college, it’s just an analogy, feel free to unclench). There’s no shame in loving yourself by becoming the person you have the potential to be as you wait for someone to love you the way you deserve to be loved.