Let’s see, I’ll be twenty nine in April, so… Tried for about ten years? 19 would’ve been about when I started feeling like I had my shit together enough that someone else might be interested. You know, the usual delusions of adequacy one has before life comes out of nowhere to suckerpunch you in the dick.
A decade of trying has gotten me one single “relationship” that was someone leading me on for a few months out of… Boredom, I guess? They wound up dumping me via text on Christmas morning, saying they didn’t actually feel anything for me, and pretty much everyone before or since has used me for what feels like entertainment. Turns out I’m interesting enough to be amusing for a week or two, sometimes a bit longer, but not enough to be actually wanted.
There’s one guy that was interested in me as their therapist and then wasn’t interested at all when he got on antidepressants, another that was intensely charming for weeks and then flipped off like a switch, and more I could remember and list off if I felt they were worth remembering, but they really aren’t.
I’ve just sort of accepted that not everyone gets to do everything they want in life. I’m either just not attractive, or I’m only attractive in the same way badly made gimmick Christmas toys are attractive to children; they look fun to play with for a bit, but not engaging in the long term and easily broken.
Good luck, people suck.









Careful, if the Republicans get wind of this they’ll start calling snails a woke, radical trans plot.