Social anxiety, connections, and love

While cuddling my borrowed cat and looking up at a framed picture of Marylin Monroe on the wall, it occurred to me that she was 36 when she committed suicide. Still very beautiful, famous, a sex symbol lusted by many...  I'm more inclined to a theory that they could have poisoned her and then staged it as a supposed overdose; honestly, nobody will ever know. (They lie to us about so many other things on a daily basis.) She would have been 61 today.

Her life as an erotic muse, hanging out with powerful men, yet most likely sleeping alone every night, being childless, a movie star that had to live up to a certain role even in her private life.... it sure must have been tough. Some of her quotes and her idolization of death hint at melancholy and possibly mental health issues... so yes, suicide wouldn't have come as such a surprise. 

I once read a book, The Seven Husbands of Emily Hugo, and I realized that all those Hollywood marriages and other 'pairings' were fake as well.

Whatever suited the media and publicity...it's all for a show to make the most money out of us fools.

Recent events also made me wonder about real love... You know, the kind that appears not to exist in show business and other places...

What about dating older gentlemen with money who treat women like queens - Is it a fake love, or might it, in fact, be the only love that's real? Not all loves out there display a respectful and honest give and take! 

Two days ago, I started 'dry September', and without some liquid courage, I couldn't even make it to a gathering I promised I'd go to. I got lost on the way. Lost in my thoughts and in what can only be described as social anxiety. It has happened in the past. Many times, actually. So I waited in the safety of 4 walls until it subsided. Alcohol medicine was off the question, so then at 11pm, I went to work out in the gym. It helped. Afterwards, quickly back home to my cat.

A day later, yesterday, I gave in and had a glass (or two) of wine. 

I felt starved for love.

I knew that after good food, gym, nature time, and some EFT tapping, there was nothing else to be done. Except for love. But I couldn't find the recipe. I felt like wine would save the day. 

Of course, that's a fake, deceitful feeling. 

(It definitely got me thinking about how much more I need to look into addiction studies. I'm not addicted to anything, maybe sex, but I wanna help those who are severely dependent on unhealthy substances.)

When anxiety strikes so hard, no amount of willpower not to reach for something to make us feel better helps. I drank with an unprecedented level of awareness. Yet, I still drank despite knowing I shouldn't.

Moments later, R’s message caught me off guard. I was watching the Longevity docu-series on Netflix when he texted he could be on his way (!). I saw the text flashed across the mobile screen, but unexpectedly, I took an hour-long nap. It must have been the long walk earlier and the wine! The whole day, all I would have wanted was for somebody to roll me around in bed and fuck my brains out. But when I responded, I was already in a different headspace. I did not want to receive him here. I felt semi-drunk, tired, and... well, he should have booked my time ahead.
Anyway, that’s rule number one of dating. YOU DO NOT DROP EVERYTHING to accommodate a guy last minute. He needs to respect your time better.

By the way, Ikarian natural wine is said to extend lifespan! I gotta get hold of some.

I don’t know if that situation made me happier or more depressed. I guess happier. But if I remember that he's leaving the country soon, I know that it doesn't matter that much. 

So, at least now he booked!

A side notes from yesterday: 

Do you realize that the only being you connect to is a cat these days? Okay, you gained a new client D., A.'s been showing up since 2019, and you make occasional calls with friends, but today you connected on a heart level only with a garbage man. Let's face it, his genuine smile made your day. Fine, it all counts, but seriously, some days, you only actually speak with a cat.

No wonder you're starved for love!

And then you settle for breadcrumbs from a 26-year-old. 

Well, they still taste yummy 😈