Part Nine:

My thirties were worse than my twenties. I lost my dog and  didn’t have that best friend anymore. I had no friends to go out with anymore. Everyone my age moved on to having families. I remained alone, living in many homes with a long list of much younger roommates. Some I got along with; others- not at all. A few took advantage of me, leaving me with the bills.

I lost one home in a fire. I was 34 or 35. It was the week before my natural mother died.

I spent a lot of time alone. Going out alone. Staying in my room alone. I went to art museums and cafes and bought music and books. I lived at the bookstore, still searching for ways to have a life, dreaming of myself in some alternate universe, in a relationship with a man. In my daydreaming I had worse problems than I had in real life. The only difference is I was not alone.

Relationships of any kind are difficult for me unless it is in service to someone and that someone never criticizes me.

I never felt any man loved me. I wasn’t special. I wasn’t worth flowers. No man wanted to protect me either. I felt as if I wasn’t even female. In fact, I feel that men hate me.

I have seen wonderful men but they don’t seem to find me. These men often compliment me but they are usually with someone else or go no further than a compliment, and then, they move on.

I communicated with a man online (in my forties), but then, he just stopped talking to me. I was devastated. I am not pushy and I waited for him. I still miss him. He was intelligent, funny, sensitive but strong; thoughtful and caring. He cared about people and animals, the environment, politics. I said funny. He was often funny in a very subtle way that I loved.

He was different from the men I grew up around. They were very critical, had narrow interests consisting of sports and beer. Strange thing is, I discovered along the way that they did have other interests, but you had to delve into a deeper conversation to find those interests. I didn’t have those conversations with them.

I am old fashioned when it comes to love. I don’t pursue men, I wait for them to pursue me. But they don’t. How I wished a man would find me. It is important that he wants me first. Anything less is a failure.

My own father never looked for me. I never met him. I don’t even have a photo of him. I don’t  know how he looked like, when he was alive.