That “someone” is me.

I am the person giving myself the world, because the one you imagined for me doesn’t exist, you hear me?

They. Do not. Exist.

I look for them (sometimes in places I probably shouldn’t, like dating apps, but you never know, other people have struck gold) and then I give up, and decide to focus on myself for a while. I go through shit, I experience life, I move on, I put myself first, but it doesn’t dismiss the lingering feeling of loneliness that I constantly feel.

I’m used to being alone. I normally like being alone. The freedom. Living without the pressure of having to get someone to understand me. To like me. To accept me. To adapt to someone else. To compromise.

The fact that I’m alone has brought me to the other side of the motherfucking world. I dropped everything I had built in Canada and my whole life to move to the UK. And I’ve done remarkably well for myself after a year and a half of setting up shop in London. I wouldn’t have been able to do that if I were tied to anyone or anything.

But it eats away at me. The loneliness of it all.

The possibility that I truly am staring down the barrel of what is to be the rest of my life. Relying on myself. Loving no one else but myself. Pouring that love into solely myself. The fear of anyone that I get close to being out to get me. Like the world is out to get me. To break me. To tear me right down like many of the monsters (mainly men) I’ve had to deal with in a multitude of ways – from emotional and verbal abuse, manipulation, breadcrumbing, gaslighting, sexual assault, lies, betrayal, and good ol’ fuckin heartbreak. The fact that I never get to have what or who I want. Or the fact that when things or people come into my life, there’s a part of me that holds back, warning me not to get too close because they’re never gonna be around for long.

I always tell myself with people: “It’s gonna hurt like hell when you’re gone.”

Because no one ever wants to stay.

I know I’m not perfect (and I’ve never, ever prided myself on being perfect), but it feels like the universe is carrying out a really sick joke.

And sometimes I think about what you said. That someone’s gonna give me the world someday. I remember I wanted that “someone” to be you. I was 18 and incredibly naive, but you counted yourself out of the game before you even had a chance to play. And after everything I’ve been through over the last few years, all the trauma I have faced, I’ve often thought about how that might’ve been you jinxing me.

I’ve always wondered where you were coming from when you said that. Or why you counted yourself out. Or whether you truly thought that highly of me or low of yourself. Or was I just too much for you, that instead of being honest with me, those were the words you chose to say?

And I know what people may say:

“Focus on yourself, it’ll come when you least expect it.”

“It’ll come when you’re not looking.”

Which is fair, and I get it. But my feelings should still be valid. I should still be allowed to feel this way.

That person you told me about all those years ago doesn’t exist outside of me.

I am giving myself the world right now. I’ve been doing that.

But I wish I weren’t the only one doing it. Carrying that weight. I wish I didn’t always have to rely on myself. Have my own back.

I wish for that “someone” you dreamed for me.