Like all anonymous blogs, I only have to disclose what I want on this blog. Some of it is fiction. Most of it is very real.
One of the things that I have not discussed to date but which I have to write about now is my physical appearance. According to the men in the community I live in, I am both fat and ugly. In their eyes, this makes me undateable. This is the true reason I don’t put face pictures up on my dating profiles. I learned very quickly that if I had face pictures up, men would not respond to my messages. If I didn’t have face pictures up, I could at least get men to talk to me to help chase away my loneliness. Once they saw face pictures, most men ran like they were on fire. They didn’t even make polite excuses before ghosting me.
All of the men I have dated since my divorce can be categorized pretty easily: Most were mentally ill. Many were social alcoholics. One was a drug addict who was currently not using but was planning to restart as soon as he could legally risk it. Half were unemployed. And then there were the three who lied to me about being in long-term romantic relationships with others. The very few men who actually went out with me were not husband material because they were so fucked up in various ways.
The common theme of these men was that they saw me, a highly educated and professional woman who owns a house, a car, and a business, as too ugly to date but not too ugly to fuck. Besides, if it was just cybersex, what I looked like didn’t matter. They could fantasize I was anyone.
Even though some of them had some of the best sex of their lives with me, they still couldn’t see past their dicks. I wasn’t pretty enough to be a trophy wife, so that meant I wasn’t good enough for them despite their multitude of flaws. What the common theme with all of these men was that they were using me for sex until they could find something better. There were no illusions on my part about it, at least with the men who were single. With the men who were partnered, there was a lot of pain and grief on my part when I found out the truth.
I recently met a man who was one of the kindest, most compassionate, most loving men I have ever been lucky enough to encounter. I felt things for him that I’ve felt for no other human I’ve ever met. When his divorce was final, I would have loved to have dated him, but I also knew I wasn’t what he was looking for. I knew that I was likely going to be stuck in the friend zone with him for eternity. Despite that, feelings grew for him. He did a few things that I misinterpreted. And when I confessed my growing feelings for him, he was repulsed. He not only ran in horror, but he told me that he found me physically unattractive. If a man who is as wonderful as him can’t see past my physical qualities, then I truly must be ugly. It’s time to face the brutal truth.
Based on that, I’ve finally had to accept that I’m not going to find a man who can see past my ugly face and my large waistline. If I want to retain any shred of self-respect and self-esteem, I have to quit trying to date. Being told over and over, whether implicitly or explicitly, that I’m unattractive, that I’m undesirable, that I’m ugly… that isn’t ok. After five years of trying, I’ve lost all ability to fight the fight any longer. I’m done dating. If God sends a nearly-perfect man to my front porch (aside from the UPS guy or the Jehovah’s Witnesses), then yes, I’ll take him. But I’m not looking for him any more. I’m not on any dating sites. I’ve deactivated on Fetlife. I’m not going to any singles groups. I’m done.
I really wish I could find a gay bone in my body so I could date a woman. Alas, that’s just not going to happen.
So from now on, there will be no new dating stories. There will be no new online dating bloopers (although I have one half-finished post from before I closed my last account). There are some memories I’ve started to type into stories, but I haven’t finished. I’m not sure if I will because those memories just bring pain now even though they were amazing fun when they happened. When I’m lonely and horny, I might type up fantasies. Mostly, though, in the short term, I’m probably going to be decompressing about the abuse I’ve dealt with in my dating experiences. After that… I don’t know. Right now, the future looks to bleak to face.