“Guys are like buses”

You wait forever for one, then 3 come along at once!

Well, not exactly. The SJA guy, went missing on me for a few weeks. Well that solved the dilemma of what to do about him, as it didn’t feel quite right. I didn’t have to do or say anything – he just didn’t get in contact for 2 weeks!

I then met a guy at Greenbelt. I went speed-dating, but met him in the queue before and then in the queue in the beer tent after (it was a traumatic experience, the speed-dating!) We hung out for most of the weekend and have been in touch since. It’s not easy to keep in touch seeing as he runs a pub out of London and the only time he seems to have days off seem to be the evening I’m busy and can’t talk! Trust me to find the complicated one!

Then Friday night I went for someone’s leaving drinks. I went out for one, soft drink. Got home a little before 4am, absolutely drunk as a skunk! But I had spent most of the evening kissing the guy who was leaving!

And this is an interesting one. We’d become ‘talking buddies’ (you know, the people you more than just nod ‘Hi’ at in the office, the ones you can have a chat with) end of last year, had kinda flirted at the Christmas party, and I’d thought he was VERY hot, but not really thought much more about it, after all, he seemed out of my league!

Apparently, though, for a couple of months after the Christmas party – we were dancing at one point and it got a bit ‘dirty dancing’ (he was rather drunk, I was sober) – there was a rumour about us throughout his department! Well there you go! I didn’t know that at all.

Anyway, Friday I sensed something. He seemed to be paying me a lot of attention and didn’t want me to go home when he and the 3 guys moved onto another bar. And I thought – “sod it, he’s leaving, at some point this evening I’m going to kiss him”. So I did! I kinda just grabbed him at one point and kissed him. Well, I think that’s what I did. But I’m not sure he needed much grabbing, to be honest!

And well, it kinda just went from there. And I didn’t get home ’til nearly 4 am! I very much enjoyed myself – he was a VERY  good kisser (unlike my SJA guy, who had the principle, but was just to wooden about it). He has 2 more days at work next week before he leaves.

So there we go. Nothing for a looooooooooooooooooong time, and in the last 2 months there have been 3.

Who knows what’s going to happen next! Watch this space.

Men

Meet Richard, formerly known as Biscuit (so as not to confuse I’m reverting to real first names). I work with him.

Meet James. He’s from church.

I like them both, but I have more of a pull towards Richard. Who, on paper, is not the best prospect. At 30 (I’m 32) he’s already a grumpy old man. He has self-esteem lower than mine. He’s not a Christian (well, he’s Church of England, but whether he has a living faith, I do not know).

James is a Christian. He’s also a barrister. He’s younger than Richard, I think, but I don’t know how old. He also lives about 5 mins walk away. But I don’t know him that well yet. We hang out at church things and he’s been to a BBQ I had for my birthday.

I should fancy James. He’s attractive, he’s intelligent (they both are) and he’s funny (they both are). But at the moment I don’t know him well enough for the pull of attraction towards him to outweigh the pull of attraction towards Richard. Who is a total coward when it comes to women.

James is more tactile. Richard dislikes any kind of PDA (public display of affection), from what he says. I’m a fan of PDA – as long as it’s not too over the top or too gratuitous or in front of me on the bus first thing!

It’s an interesting struggle and dilemma I’m having at the moment with these 2. It’s different for me to be analysing this more clearly.

Who knows what – if anything – will happen with either of them. In God I trust.

Men and mental illness

[ARGH!!! I'm not sure what I did, but I just deleted 15 minutes writing on this!]

I’m not implying, by my title, that I believe men are the root cause of mental illness (though they do play a part in mine), but if you choose to believe that…

Rather, the two major things playing on my mind (other than job and house issues, but another day for those) are men and my own mental health.

My mental health

Last Friday I went for an assessment to see if I was a suitable candidate for a new group CBT session there were setting up for people with depression. My initial referral suggested that I was; spending time with the therapist revealed that I am not. I am no longer showing signs of depression (hooray!), but am still showing signs of significant lack of self-esteem and need to know how to manage this so that I will not be reliant on the antidepressants for the rest of my life. I’m back on the waiting list for one-on-one CBT.

We did, however, discover 2 rather fundamental trains of thought that underly my low self-esteem:

• I do not believe I am particularly intelligent.
• I do not believe I am very feminine

However, I do know that these are negative thought patterns and in themselves are not true (though there are elements of truth in all of them), but I am unable to break out of them myself. And they are a fundamental part of my shyness around new people, and my struggle to relate well to men.

Intelligence

I was always the ‘clever one’, while my brother was the ‘arty one’. And then I went to Uni and realised some things are just beyond my comprehension. The guys at work can talk politics and sociology and other things I don’t understand: I feel thick, and considering most of them are younger than me, I feel stuck, forever to be tied to jobs that require no particular intelligence, and imagine myself at 75 still unable to live on my own, stuck in a house share with people I don’t particularly like, because I can’t get a well-paid enough job because I’m stupid.

And the only way I can see out of this is to move in with a man. But we’ll get to that in a bit.

I have a 2:1 degree in Microbiology from a very good London university – I am clearly not stupid.

I can do things with spreadsheets, Word and PowerPoint that make some of my colleagues weep with envy. I am clearly not unintelligent.

I am learning First Aid and have already put it into practice. I am clearly not a political geek. My intelligence is in a very different area to that of those I spend a lot of my time with, which makes me feel rather insecure. I’m surrounded by those that think deeply about things: politics, faith, life. I don’t think so deeply, so abstractly.

This does not make me unintelligent. Comparing myself with others is understandable, but detrimental. And when it’s a guy I have feelings for as well, I feel doubly inadequate, as not only can I not match his intelligence, but I’m not a ‘proper’ woman!

Femininity

I was a tomboy growing up. I didn’t like skirts or dresses – they made it difficult to climb trees. I was probably too competitive – being smaller and skinnier than the boys I could climb higher.

Boys didn’t like me. Depressed from an early age I was moody. I went to an all girls school; then co-ed at A-Level. I blossomed. Girls are bitchy. Boys liked me; boys are week; girls ’stole’ them from me through gossip and bitching. I became a pariah, a joke. Only the freaks and geeks went out with me.

And then they left me because I wouldn’t put out.

And all the while I don’t feel girlie enough. I look better with short hair. But I still don’t like how I look. I look like me Dad. I look at me and see man’s features. I have dark hair, particularly on my legs. I have man’s legs!

The self harm started as a result of getting rid of these man hairs. And punishing myself for having them. And the more I do it the less feminine I feel. And so I continue in the hamster wheel of self-harm.

And now it’s a habit. And I’m trying to stop.

I have not wanted to burn myself since before Christmas – that was the last time I did it.

I have stopped biting my nails. A friend bought me nail files and nail polish and I remembered how much fun nail polish is! I’m now a little obsessed, but I have nice nails now, and with moisturiser and discipline, I’m healing the skin around them that I used to pick.

I still pick my legs. But I’m working on a bargain with myself to stop this. I’m giving myself 2 reasons I am allowed to pick, and 2 only:

• If I cut myself shaving. Which is rare only because I epilate mostly. But sometimes it takes too long to do that, and when I shave I usually take a portion of the back of my knee off. Those I can pick. There’s something I rather like about picking scabs. I know it’s gross, but I have that kind of morbid fascination with that. And I also like scars. They tell a tale, a history.
• My feet. It’s summer. Summer shoes attack my feet. I can pick them because shoes hide them.

It’s a start. It’s like moving from 2 packs to 1 pack of fags a day. I can’t do it all at once. In fact, I’m struggling to limit myself to just that. But each day I pick (pun not intended there) myself up and try again.

Men… well, I’ve gone on a bit much in this post. Shall leave them to another.

Wrestle

This guy I work with, Biscuit, has driven me somewhat crazy today. He’s a nice guy, friendly, intelligent, funny, a little bit shy. Very opinionated, but not in an offensive way. He made sure I knew about the lunchtime curry trip when noone else had told me. And leant me the money so I could eat as there wasn’t a cashpoint on the way.

Just before leaving work he was talking with one of our colleagues (totally offensive and opinionated!) about his weekend and how trains were down over the weekend due to “some march” happening in central London.

The march is about asking G20 leaders to put people first in their decisions () If I wasn’t on training I might have thought about going. Anyway, this discussion about no trains got Biscuit and Mr Offensive onto a discussion about people who march. And weren’t particularly complimentary.

The trouble with Biscuit is that he often comes out with things that are completely polar opposite with what I believe – and I can’t tell if he’s serious or not.

I was upset by this conversation for 2 reasons:

1. He was effectively calling me what he was calling those who are marching tomorrow (I forget his wording as I was trying to suppress a certain amount of irritation). Ironically, just as he was slating this I got a text message from a friend asking me if I wanted to join her tomorrow.
2. I like him, and it’s a rather painful internal tussle. Mr Offensive I would never have this problem with because he’s so openly offensive and antagonistic I’d never like him in that way. But Biscuit is just rather lovely, and I can’t reconcile this with the side of him that seems to be polar opposite, and my feeling for him.

Strangely I was dreaming last night about the last guy I went out with and also worked with – I ended it beacause of fundamental differences, but we still got on as friends after. Was this a sign? Or just an inner working out of things in my head whilst sleeping?

I’m struggling with this as I really don’t want to like Biscuit in that way as I can only see pain ahead for me. The problem is, I keep thinking I need to burn these feelings out. Which could be all holy thoughts: let the Holy Spirit burn them out. But it’s most likely to involve me and a lighter or kettle. So far managing to keep a lid on that urge.

Vision

So my chef. Well, not MY chef, but you know who I mean. All dressed up when he left work today, but I noticed a little extra weight around the middle – too much booze. And I’m hardly one to talk, with my extra few inches. And I’m certainly not criticising him for it. Or anyone else.

What struck me was my reaction to it. Which was a mild – oh, well that’s not good. I guess it made me realise how I’d seen him. He is basically testosterone on legs and I’d viewed him as a bit of totty, something good to look at (because I can’t touch).

And now he’s expanding a little I realised I wasn’t so interested in looking. Well, not in what he was wearing today.

I’m certainly not criticising a few extra pounds. My favourite boy from church has his fair share of extra pounds (and a good pair of legs I discovered this week – hot weather, shorts bring enlightenment!), but his body is not (solely) what I’m attracted to about him. It’s about him, who he is, how we get on. The chef – it’s been about his body (and his smile).

Funny that. Despite being a very visual-orientated woman (which is why I get my knickers in a twist with all the modesty stuff, because it implies only men struggle – some of the six packs I’ve seen in the park on a sunny lunch hour this week!), if I’m honest, I’m more attracted to the one who fits society’s attractiveness measures less.