you probably won't read this
(if you do, please don't tell me)
If you’ve been following No Thanks, I’m Sober for a while, you definitely already know that writing here for me is baring my soul. It’s exposing my insides, scooping them out and somehow managing to make them all pretty and nice and somewhat acceptable in a sealed-up envelope – though we all know that nice packaging and beautiful handwriting doesn’t take away from the meat (excuse the pun) of the gift. I struggle and prefer not to do anything half-heartedly when it comes to writing on this platform. I suppose this is meant to act as a disclaimer, to warn you that today’s piece is going to be a little cringe, a little TMI and definitely a little dramatic. But all those things are who I am and I didn’t come here to dilute my substance all in the name of saving face.
Taylor Swift is my number one artist on my Spotify Wrapped for 2024 and like, I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve earned a spot in the top 4% of listeners of the artist so many people to love to hate. It’s the second year Tay has been my top musician, the first time being in 2022 (last year was NF who truly carried me through that season’s depressive episode). I’ve never called myself a Swiftie although I deserve the title, knowing lyrics off by heart for songs which mean various things to me: marjorie reminds me of my gran, who died in 2022; I Can Do it With a Broken Heart reminds me that I’m a bad ass bitch that can somehow miraculously achieve even when everything in me wants to give up and Blank Space is my anthem when I’m acting a little cray over a silly crush.
Being 32 and still using the term ‘crush’ makes me want to shrivel into a ball of oblivion because babes, you could be married with kids by now and that would be far more normal than having a so-called crush (*vom*). But listen, nothing makes me more insane than a boy I have hyper fixated on, sometimes for no valid reason at all.
In the past year and a bit, there have only been three men who have driven me to believe that my psychiatric medication needs to be upped a smidge. Since none of them will be reading this, I’ll tell you a little more about each of them and how my obsession began. The hope is that we can all point out my toxic pattern and please, please, please perhaps find other 30-something girlies who relate.
It’s August 2023 and I’m in rehab in Kommetjie, Cape Town – a beautiful small town right on the beach, the perfect place for healing and for once, focusing on myself. I’ve been through the ringer in the past few months; I relapsed after three and a half years of sobriety and fell into a major depressive episode, coloured with suicidal ideation and a loneliness too heavy to shake.
I’m desperate to get better, that’s the reason I’ve checked myself into a facility again – the second time within a two-month period. I haven’t been myself in some time; the charismatic, quirky compassionate person that I am is nowhere to be found. However, I’ve been in this facility for about two days now, and I can very slowly feel the heaviness waning ever so slightly.
Like I said, I’m here for myself. I don’t even want to make friends (which I do, naturally, but it isn’t my main concern) and my counselling background informs me that rehab romances are an absolutely horrific idea that never end well. I’m not at all worried about that being an issue I have to face because I haven’t liked anyone in well over a year. For anyone to come around and pull my guard down seems highly unlikely; I’m a strong, independent woman and for the next three weeks, I’m focusing on myself.
I’m watching a sports match I have no interest in watching but I know the best thing for me currently is to be around people as an antidote to the loneliness I’ve been feeling for far too long. We have a new intake that’s come in; he’s tall, dark and handsome but like I said, this lady over here has no interest in anything other than what is beneficial to me and my mental health.
We start chatting and I find out that he’s from Johannesburg like me, and, better yet, his wife went to the same school as me. If there was any backdoor that was still open despite the promise I’d made to myself, it is now slammed closed by the awareness that he’s married. I’m not that girl and I never have been.
Over the next day or two, I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but there seems to be flirtatious banter from his end while I honestly banter the same way I would with anyone on any day. I take it to my counsellor. “I don’t know, but it feels like Lesego is flirting with me. But we are also drawn to each other and I had to tell you because this is rehab and this isn’t meant to be happening. I’m here to focus on myself!”
Although I thought that I would be in deep trouble for maybe, even a little bit, having feelings for another human being, my counsellor was surprisingly chilled and told me she had noticed chemistry. There is nothing, absolutely nothing, that fires me into a crush like a third party acknowledging that what I’m noticing isn’t just in my imagination.
It is torture being around this man. We talk all the time and he is insanely generous. He allows me to use his laptop to write and will hunt me down to give me two fingers of the mint KitKat he gets from the vending machine every day, which has sort of become our thing. I remind myself over and over again that despite feeling a connection, the last thing I can ever do is act on it. But it’s hard when he always meaningfully compliments me on my intellect and wisdom *swoon*.
Our three weeks come to an end and I feel like my heart is breaking. I know that there is a likelihood our paths will never cross again, even in Johannesburg. But I think about him often and I hope that he’s okay. And although the circumstances aren’t ideal, I hope that one day, someone will make me feel as seen as he did.
Obviously, I needed to recover from feeling like I’d found my soulmate (rehab will do that to a person). And for months, I hadn’t even given a boy a second thought. I had half-heartedly been on apps but honestly, the inconsistency is a no from me. How can I fixate on you with my whole being if you can’t even schedule a first date?
Again, I am not looking for anything or anyone. Again, I am in a delicate place of re-entering my journey of sobriety after a few weeks of hell. What I want most is to get my recovery and my career back on track, starting with my book.
My publisher has put my mentoring process on hold (in a very loving and understanding way) while I sort out my mental health and mentioned an author who had shared a similar (i.e. LONG) writing journey and me, being brave and outgoing at the most random of times decided to ask this stranger if we could chat about his process. I start off with the purest of intentions and so when he agrees, I’m so chill.
And then, I embark on a journey of doing what I do best: RESEARCH. Hmmm, this man isn’t so bad on the eyes. He’s tall and well-built but honestly, that’s irrelevant. What entices me most are the thoughts and words that come out of his mouth. For context, his memoir is about his mental health journey, very similar to mine. He names one of my favourite books as one that most inspired him while writing, a very unusual choice of reading for anyone who isn’t interested in big and taboo topics around mental health and societal norms.
They say that curiosity killed the cat but for me, curiosity killed any chance for me to actually get to know this man before deciding that he was made for me. With this in mind, (in heart and in my entire soul), I suggest that we meet for coffee instead of chatting on the phone because I need confirmation that I’ve met my soulmate.
The day finally arrives and we share French fries, like a scene out of a movie. We talk about the writing process and he treats it like a meeting, while I treat it like a date (lol). I start reading his book and naturally, this makes me feel even more connected to him. I ignore the fact that this is entirely one-sided, looking for signs that confirm that there is a romantic connection.
Essentially, one day I wake up and I’m simply over it. Too many signs point at a purely platonic relationship (which I would now prefer and makes a lot more sense) and I’m finding that my intolerance for pursuing those who don’t pursue me is getting stronger!
But I learn some lessons, which I will detail after introducing you to the third and final man.
This one is tricky because I’m still in it. But, like the other men, I wasn’t expecting to develop feelings for this one. Unlike the others, I’ve been very direct about my feelings for him which all my friends call extremely brave. I think it was brave, too.
To backtrack, this one, let’s call him John, I meet in the rooms of NA. He’s the older brother of someone I live with, which makes things feel a bit complicated. My first few encounters with him are lovely and cordial, and I experience his generosity firsthand. Thoughtfulness is honestly my kryptonite.
It hits me one night that I might really like this guy. But, again, the thing is: I don’t really know him. I worry about my tendency to get preoccupied with people I hardly know and come up with a plan of action: to invite him for a coffee and get to know him (this will either confirm or deny that my feelings are valid).
I don’t know what comes over me but I’m prone to becoming too open a book when I’m in recovery. Towards the end of the coffee “date”, I admit that I’ve developed a crush. He takes it so well and opens up to me about the reservations he has and unfortunately, it made me like him more. It feels so refreshing to be honest and upfront about these things, instead of playing silly games that keep one or both people guessing.
Since then (literally a week ago), we’ve been chatting a bit. I’ve seen him once at a meeting and the warm fuzzies are evident, as much as I try to hide them. With a love language like quality time, I just want to see him all the time. Of course, I have to be very cognisant that I’m not crossing any boundaries. I’m rather fond of him, though. I’m trying not to get ahead of myself and stay present in the here and now.
These experiences have taught me a helluva lot about myself. Firstly, I have no chill. I think I can appear to play it cool when my inner dialogue portrays an entirely different situation, jumping to conclusions and making crazy assumptions.
This is also self-sabotaging for me. If I like someone and I find out that they don’t like me back, I end up finding myself as the unworthy one and with a deep belief that I’m a problem who isn’t deserving of love.
It’s so nice to get messages that affirm me, and the dopamine rush is real. But if I’m left on read for too long, I should be able to continue with my life without feeling disappointed or crushed but that’s often not what happens. My anxious attachment kicks in and I’m unable to think rationally.
Listening to my girl, Esther Perel, on her podcast Where Should We Begin? with Esther Perel during an episode called ‘Why Can’t I Find Someone? Is it Me?’ “Questioning ‘what’s missing in me?’ or ‘what did I not say?’ or ‘what should I have said differently?’ This kind of microanalysis of every move is also off because it makes us personalise social behaviours that have become acceptable.”
The next line gets me: “But if you feel bad about yourself, it gives you a weird sense of agency, that there’s actually something that you can do differently…”
And that’s the thing, I’m constantly trying to dilute myself and shrink myself into the ideal woman, who is very laid back and just goes with it. But I’m not. I’m the person who will want to spend time with you and smother you with attention and sentimentality and everything.
But two out three of these men actually make me feel a little more confident and desirable and worthy. The goal is, however, to not need other people to confirm that I’m a catch. Through working a programme, I’m hopeful that I won’t need anyone to deny nor confirm this. Because the highs and lows that come from someone else’s validation isn’t a life at all – I may as well be getting that from the substances that gave me the same feeling and eventually left me as a shell of myself out in the cold.