What is “it” exactly I have?

Ah yes, fuckability. It’s crass and blatant but let’s just lay all the Cards out and call it what it is, no matter how offensive you find it. Imagine how I feel about it when it’s myself I lay bare and describe.

I just went on a date less than 72 hours after finishing with the last guy. I pretty much spent my entire day online yesterday as a mission to create options and see if I could snag someone new. Mission accomplished. Made it clear there were to be no expectations and just casual. Had I wanted to hook up, the option was very much on the table.

But I guess fuckability has never been in question. Even 80 pounds heavier than now, I was still, ultimately, fuckable. The only difference the weight loss made was now they aren’t afraid to be seen in public with me so I get actual dates and meals in public places. Couldn’t get much of anything pre-11 pm in my 20s.

I am so tired of being “admired” and “respected” and “attractive” and “magnetic” and “hot” and “sexy.” What about lovable? Where is that?

“The weekend was about me trying to make myself feel it….”

Seriously? If you aren’t feeling it then don’t take me away for a fuckable weekend and start making future plans. Just tell me over the phone, alas, you tried but only find me fuckable. You would be one of ….hmmmm… all of them.

So I didn’t need to go out tonight and test my fuckability because that is all I have. I feel it every time I walk into a bar, every time I encounter a frustrated husband, on every single first date I have. All I did was hold off crying between 8-10 but the tears hit hard for the 25 minute drive home.

A disturbing, recurring theme is how hard people want to love me but just can’t, not even by “forcing” themselves to go on vacation with me just to see if maybe I was more palatable in a different location with time off from work. Nope. Too hard still.

So I could have gone home with this guy because heading into this date I was determined to feel nothing for Matt. I want complete numbness. He honestly doesn’t deserve my thoughts or tears. It’s not like I wasn’t asking the right questions all along the way. I was, frequently. He simply chose to lie. I don’t know why. I am the most direct person on earth. Tell me the truth and let me make an educated decision whose outcome I am comfortable owning if it doesn’t work. But lying because you are trying so hard? Wow. I must be a repulsive human to have to speak to or kill time with outside a bedroom.

I can smell him. He’s in my home. I even found Fergus poop in the downstairs bathroom that is 2 weeks old because the last time I was here before vacation, Matt was with me and clearly forgot to close that door after himself.

I am still recycling our beer bottles and pizza boxes. Some of my luggage smells like him. And while being pressed up against a wall for a kiss tonight, I wished it had been him. But I don’t even know him. Everything was a lie. I am sad over someone who wasn’t real. And yet, he was closer to being “it” than the last “it” from 20 years ago. Things move at a faster clip in this age range when communication skills and confidence are more habitual.

So we know what I still got. Always had it. It’s what makes men want to try and love me but I don’t “got” whatever it is to make them just love me without having to “try so hard.”

So I guess the question is, what don’t I consistently have? What is so repulsive? What makes me the girl who can only be fucked and nothing more?