Agitated.  Can’t sit still, can’t concentrate, don’t want to sleep.  Am I too weird to ever get married?  I think so.  I worked out there are only about 1,000 frum single women roughly my age in the UK.  How many of those are going to be remotely compatible with me?  I mean in terms of values, personality and interests.  Very few.  Was trying to explain this to my sister, not sure she got it.  Was trying to explain why I think it is hopeless looking for someone with similar interests and I just have to find someone with similar values and hope we can make it work.  Not that many women like SF, not that many frum Jews like SF; how many single, frum women like it?  Gah!

I get so lonely sometimes.  A lot of the time, really.  I’m not as much of a loner as I’d like to be i.e. if I was more of a loner, I wouldn’t be so lonely.  I want a few close friends, not many, but a few, but I’m hardly gregarious so I struggle to make them.  I lack social skills.  I keep reminding myself – I keep being reminded by events – that I’m a fairly extreme introvert, borderline autistic, borderline socially anxious.  I shouldn’t hold on to these (non-)diagnoses like liferafts, but I do.  I tell myself that it is medically proven that I don’t know how to act around people (except it isn’t, because technically I don’t have a diagnosis only a knowledge of symptoms that I’m told are not intense or numerous enough for a diagnosis).

I feel I’m only truly authentic in my own head.  Somewhat authentic in writing, not authentic at all in person, but only truly authentic in my own head.  Only God knows the real me (even I probably don’t know him).  “O God, I could be bounded in a nutshell and count myself a king of infinite space, were it not that I have bad dreams.”  (Hamlet) I have bad dreams of having friends and being married, being loved.  Bad dreams, because they can’t come true.

I fear that lately I have begun to wear my virginity like a crown of thorns.  Something that hurts, but also redeems.  (This is very Christian imagery for a good Orthodox Jewish boy.  I find the Christian story powerful even as I reject its theological premises.  But if a nice Jewish boy is going to die for everyone’s sins, I want it to be me, not some yeshiva bochur from the Galil.)  I think about marriage too much.  I think about sex far too much.  I wonder what it would be like to be loved, emotionally and physically.  What it would be like to feel safe with someone, really safe and understood and accepted.

If I don’t love myself, how can anyone else?  (Not that many have tried.)  But how can I love myself when I seem to be so loathsome, as shown by the fact that no one likes me.  (As Oscar Wilde said of George Bernard Shaw, I haven’t an enemy in the world and none of my friends likes me.)  This is a vicious circle.  I hate myself, so no one likes me, so I hate myself some more.  How to break free?  Answers on the back of a postcard, or in the comments section below.

“Good night ladies.  Good night sweet ladies.  Good night, good night.”

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