I have had wonderful luck with women, over the years. Not bragging. It was my good fortune. Now, I am in my 70's, and with COVID, I haven't met a woman partner for more than a years.
I have been "helping myself" with my hand, but I miss the contact with another person. I know that the sex trade is the world's oldest profession, and that millions and millions of men and women participate. I never have. Mostly, because it was not necessary, because I was always uneasy with the idea, and probably because my family never approved of it, although not on any religious grounds.
I'd like to have a relationship with a woman who will help me, with her hand, two or three times a week. But I don't know how to go about it. I don't want to deal with a pimp. And I don't want to go to a massage parlor.
I'm not sure what's possible.
I love animals, but I find it almost unbelievable that people who don't live in my building just make themselves comfortable plopping on our front lawn with their friends and drinks, like 3 times a day for a half hour at a time with their pups who pee all over the lawn and roll in the flower bed and act as if they live in my building and pay rent. I would never dream of doing that on some strangers lawn.
I’m so immensely angry that I didn’t wind up with a half decent mother. All I got was a game playing adolescent. So now as I try to write through angry tears, I feel incandescent rage. Because it has filtered into so much, including how I view other women, nurturing, nature, beauty, hobbies, interests, ambition. But the incandescent rage will fade, and the depression will return. Because depression is how I survive. And hiding food is how I survive. Keeping to myself is how I survive. And taking joy in small things is how I survive. And living as small-y and quietly is how I survive. And occasionally binging on alcohol or treats or junk food is how I survive. Avoiding intimacy, romance, friendships is how I survive. Deliberately gaining weight to discourage any interest is how I survive. But these realizations will fade. All that is left is the depression, the empty hopelessness, the total numbness. And I will continue to lurch from day to day, not sure how I keep going.
They abandoned me during the pandemic so I am literally booking a flight to another country and saying fuck you everyone.
Really found out what was important. I need a house/apartment to own, a partner, and autonomy to find that since it is impossible to find in Vancouver without being rich.
I had met someone new, things were going well and I was invited over for a nice dinner. It's looking like I'm going to spend the night. We are in bed, making out. I'm in the mood. The lights are out.
All of a sudden their dog tries to make out with me!
I'm all for cuddling with doggos but not on the first sleepover.
I go TikTok and search shuffle dance and also search flash mob on YouTube. It cheers me up 85 percent of the time.
For some reason, while listening to The Ghetto by Donny Hathaway, I started crying and crying and crying. I dont know what it was, I mean its a beautiful song but not one I particularly relate to. I guess my mental health hasn't been great lately. Unable to sleep, going broke, world events. Bloody hell.
Anyway. Thanks for the great tunes Donny.
I’m really not ready for them to reopen the borders. After all we have gone through, it seems much too soon . Like many others , I don’t want to go through this again.
I've been waiting for a year to move. End of February 2020 I was riding a couch in a different city, as I was about to move... eviction freeze and that couch turned into 6 months. Got an apartment in a different city for the winter waiting till I could get back to my original city. Ended up on a different couch just as the circuit breaker started. Wednesday got a viewing, said it was available this weekend. Paid my rent and deposit. Bam. More than a year later... home city. No waiting. Move in in the morning. Damn. Deep breath.
When I don't brush my teeth, when I don't get a good night's sleep, I feel better. It's as though I'm undeserving of decent self care.