(The title quote is from (Waiting for) The Ghost Train by Madness, which turned up on shuffle three times this evening, so I decided it must Mean Something.)

Not a lot happened today, except for a few annoying things (or annoying people) I’m trying not to gripe about (I save my moaning for big things… I’m not on Twitter, but if I was, I might start #meJew to call out antisemitism).  I’m writing mainly to record that, because I’m trying to deal with my social anxiety, I made sure to talk to the temp who I’m currently working with, even though I only met her yesterday, and that was really only to say hello.  Today I even made myself open up and make myself a bit vulnerable, as my therapist said I should, by talking a little bit about my confusion about what direction my career should go in.  She said she thought I would be suited to a “scholarly” job.  She said this after talking to me for all of five minutes; I must be quite transparent (similarly the occupational therapist at work said I was intelligent after a similar length of time; I didn’t think I’d even said anything that intelligent.   I suppose I do find it hard to believe that I’m intelligent sometimes).  She said she had seen a research librarian post advertised at the NSPCC.  I did make a half-hearted attempt to search for it this evening, but decided that I would be too depressed if I had to spend my whole day researching child abuse.

I’m strongly tempted to join up for that Jewish matchmaking service I mentioned the other day, the one that pairs people up according to their values.  My worries are partly that I could soon be unemployed (and it’s not like I’m earning enough to support a family even if my contract gets renewed – I still rely on my parents to help me out), partly that I’ll be told that I should wait until I’m not depressed, even though I don’t think there will ever be such a time.  The other big worry is that until now there have been several reasons women haven’t wanted to date me (aside from the ones who turned out to be seeing other guys or who didn’t tell me why they turned me down): that we don’t share values, that we don’t share interests, that there is no chemistry and that they can’t cope with my mental health (possibly there were other reasons I can’t remember).  This only deals with the first of those and the others still seem pretty big obstacles.  I admit I do find it hard to believe that I can find someone who matches me in all those ways, or is willing to overlook the differences, and particularly to overlook my poor mental health.  Because up until now my luck in this area has been awful and I can’t see how it could possibly change.  I just feel too weird and broken to be loved.

It occurs to me that two things are said to be predetermined in Judaism: one’s (first) spouse (determined before birth, maybe, possibly, according to some interpretations, but widely accepted on a popular level) and one’s wealth for the year (determined on Rosh Hashanah (Jewish New Year)).  I’m fairly relaxed about my finances and the thought of being made redundant with all that that would entail (moving back in with my parents, job hunting, interviews, rejection, career changes), but I can’t believe at all that HaShem (God) will let me get married at any point.  Maybe this comes from never having really experienced poverty (my parents have helped me, but in any case, my expenditure is pretty low.  Aside from food and rent and occasional books and DVDs, mostly second-hand and cheap, I don’t really go out or buy things), but having spent much of my life starved of love and affection and wanting it to be otherwise.

This evening I keep thinking of a fridge magnet my Mum has.  It says, “Men are like chocolates; wait too long and only the strange nutty ones are left”.  Quite what my Dad makes of this is not recorded, but I hate it.  No one else in my family was single at my age, in their mid-thirties, and I feel I must be one of those “strange nutty ones” mouldering in the box that no one wants to pick.  Just when I was trying to convince myself that I can think of myself as “eccentric” or even “(an) original,” I suddenly start to think of myself as strange, nutty and unwanted.

One thought on ““Waiting for the train that never comes”

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