Fear of falling.

Falling in love for the first time.

I have only loved one person (in the romantic sense) in my life. And by that, I mean I have only let myself love one person.

I look through my dating history and I wonder what’s the one thing that these men have in common. It’s that they were people who weren’t capable of falling in love or being in relationships. Whether they’d just had a heart crushing break up or they’d never been in a relationship before. I knew that there was no possibility that I’d fall in love with them.

Because that would be scary. To meet someone that you’re attracted to physically and emotionally is hard enough. Let alone being open and honest with them.

I thought that by closing myself off to meeting anyone worthwhile, it meant that I cared less. It meant that I was in control. And it meant that I could leave instead of being the person who was left.

And in a way, when all you’ve ever known is people leaving- that’s what you come to expect. It’s almost what you want. Anything to prove yourself right. It’s no different from your status quo.


The first time that I realised (or let myself realise instead of ignoring the flips of my heart) that I was in love, I was visiting New South Wales with my boyfriend. We had driven up to the Mt Keira look out. There was something about looking over the city’s twinkling lights. When he turned around and smiled at me, I knew. Oh fuck, I’m in love with him. My heart leapt out of my body, threw itself off the cliff and had its own heart attack while it was falling. I watched that little organ disappear into the darkness. I’d never had a use for it before and I was starting to wish that I didn’t need it now.

I started shivering fiercely. He wrapped his jacket around me even though I refused it. The shivering didn’t stop, even when he snaked his arms around my waist. Maybe it was because I was unusually quiet or maybe he noticed my lack of selfies but he asked if I was alright.

I didn’t want to tell him. I didn’t want to ruin the night. I didn’t want to admit it to myself. What I did do was blurt out that I was so gay for Moleman and started crying. He took it completely in stride (apart from a bewildered look, like why is this bitch crying) and wiped my tears away before kissing my forehead.

I couldn’t say that I loved him because I didn’t think we had been dating long enough. I worried that I loved him but he didn’t love me. This was the first guy that I’d introduced my family to. The first guy that had any potential. Hell, the first guy that I’d ever dated that had a job, car and working penis.

And I was in love with him.

It was easier to make a joke of it and say that I was gay for Moleman. I have such a way with words, don’t I?

It takes that moment of fear to put yourself out there and you’ll never realise how rewarding it is until you do it. But I wasn’t there yet.

It’s still the best Friday the 13th of my life.

Honey, I’m home.


Falling in love. It’s like that nightmare where you go to school naked. You’re totally exposed. Vulnerable. Sure, you can cover up some naughty bits or some jiggly bits but you’re going to miss something. You don’t have enough hands to keep everything in! And what if someone sees that? Your naked, raw, out there vulnerability. And what if they don’t appreciate that? If they take everything in and laugh because they’re not as exposed as you. It doesn’t mean the same to them. What happens next?

I screamed. I cried. I bared my teeth. I revealed secrets that have haunted me all my life. I wanted him to go. And he didn’t leave. He saw me sitting there exposed and naked. He saw me fumbling around for pine cones, desperately hoping that one was big enough to hide my pussy lips behind…and he dropped the towel wrapped around his midsection so he could hand it to me.

This is something that I’ve never known. And it terrifies me.

Gay for Moleman.

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