So people have had opinions about my posts on love and romance, and I have opinions about that.

Something that many tend to ignore is that I am basically a divorced woman in her early thirties who tries not to hear what the world is telling her about successful single women in their thirties, fighting to find love, happiness and a balanced mental state.

I have been through quite a lot, although, of course, this is very subjective.

One thing that does not help me with being treated seriously is that I still look/behave a bit like a child, and I have a theory that men love to tell me what I think, at least partially because of that.

I heard from them that I do not love myself enough.

I heard that I should know and pursue what I want, but they simultaneously called me a prude for rejecting polyamory and/or casual relationships.

They told me that I was too sensitive and romantic. Too anxious, too ambitious, too focused on work.

They told me that I had rejected every one. They told me that I let men use me.

When you hear all of those strong judgements, personal to the core, it is sometimes hard to understand who this individual is living between these statements, some average of all of those assessments.

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At the beginning of this year, I felt really depressed, realising that I had spent a couple of months of my life pining over a person I had idealised and who didn’t care about me. February-April of this year was a blur; I spent those months working, partying, and trying to numb my resentment towards myself. I was also writing a lot, a light in the tunnel for me – finding creativity in quiet misery. I also made many friends, so it wasn’t all that bad.

I didn’t regret the outcome of this situation, but I couldn’t forgive myself for making such a stupid mistake, betraying myself and my own needs, after all of what I had been through and all my life experiences.

After burning the bridges, all that was left was a reminder that I could still be so bloody stupid.

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I also questioned my own assessment of reality. For many months, I thoroughly believed that I was only friends with this person until I faced the ridiculousness of that situation.

I wasn’t sure if things were happening just in my head. I wasn’t sure if I wasn’t manipulated. I didn’t know if I was feeling something or just running away from my problems, such as, again, my ‘divorce’ – by distracting myself with a shiny new thing. Was I regulating myself by finding another source of emotional pain – to forget about the real losses?

As I said, all the bridges have been burnt, and there is peace in the land. There is a part of me that wishes we could all be friends and a part of me that would prefer to move to another continent just out of pure politeness. Sometimes I also feel like a big fat reminder of someone else’s mistake, and I try to swallow this discomfort. As in my poem, I cover myself with silence, and whenever I make a sound, I wonder if its echo doesn’t hurt anyone’s ears. I am being treated like I don’t exist and still feel too visible.

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So to everyone curious about the cryptic messages sprinkled in this blog – now you know. It was just the banality of life, as a friend of mine calls it: ‘Another of Irmina’s romantic misadventures’.

I am sure I could have prevented all that from happening just by loving myself so freaking much. If I had loved myself, I would have never even talked to that person for the first time (but, honestly, I was drunk). I would have never kissed them, knowing very well that for them, it meant nothing (although, in my defence, I was really drunk again and didn’t even realise that). I would’ve never tried to stay friends when I only experienced indifference and coldness.

So probably, I should BOTH love myself more and stop drinking.

(I wonder what kind of feedback this will trigger).

Why am I writing this? Well, mainly to tell everyone that telling someone they should love themselves more or that they should be more/less this or that will never work.

It is cliche, but you never know what kind of trauma/experiences/struggles the person is going through. This type of criticism will either achieve nothing or be detrimental.

Also, I am writing this because I have moved on completely and can talk about this without crying. The guilt and shame I felt are almost completely gone, and in around five months, I should be able to laugh at another stupid mistake. Also, because the whole thing is dead, it cannot die more.

Save your opinions about people to yourself. Or start a blog and judge them from a distance without providing names.

Clearly works for me.

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Love after love ~ Derek Walcott

The time will come
when, with elation
you will greet yourself arriving
at your own door, in your own mirror
and each will smile at the other’s welcome,

and say, sit here. Eat.
You will love again the stranger who was your self.
Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart
to itself, to the stranger who has loved you

all your life, whom you ignored
for another, who knows you by heart.
Take down the love letters from the bookshelf,

the photographs, the desperate notes,
peel your own image from the mirror.
Sit. Feast on your life.

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PS. You have every right to interpret my writing however you want. I strongly believe in the death of the author. Just remember that sometimes I exaggerate things for cinematic effect and, like everyone, I want to believe that all of my mistakes are actually building a story.

PS2. While real life – unfortunately, is very random.