A 30 something year olds guide to being Catfished

I try and keep this blog upbeat, a sporadic commentary on the life of a single girl in London. I try and keep the paragraphs light hearted, informative, amusing (I hope). As such, I've only alluded to my past relationship, until now, the thought of sharing it through this medium was quite frankly, frightening. Frightening because I would be judged, for my poor choice in men. Frightening because I would be judged by my stubborn insistence to carry on with the whole debacle for 10 long months. Frightening because putting pen to paper (or words to screen) actually makes the whole thing public, and even worse, real. However, today, I texted my best friend and said 'I'm ready to write about my ex'. For the purposes of this, I'll refer to him by the moniker 'Mr Wrong', to protect the identity that he was very keen to hide (weird thing to say but read on). So, in order to stay true to my desire for this blog to be an upbeat commentary, I will share the (very abridged) story, and then, my learnings.

The Early Days
I met Mr Wrong on a cold Novembers day. I remember it was November because, at the end of our 8 hour first date, he took me to see the poppies outside the Tower of London. In true 'this is doomed' style, the exhibition was actually being dismantled when we went. I should have known then. We then went for Vietnamese food (and both got food poisoning - another sign). After our whirlwind first date, we embarked on an intense relationship. He was, as far as I could see, the best thing that had ever happened to me. He accepted my quirks, loved me for who I was and appeared to think I was beautiful the way I was. He always said the right things. We would go out for dinner together, go to art exhibitions, walk out of the art exhibitions because they were boring, cook for each other, go for walks. I look back on those early days like a hazy 80's montage from a TV Sitcom. Of course, there was a catch, and the catch was, he didn't live in London. He lived two hours away in Nottingham. That would mean, every two weeks, he would get on a train to see me, and I would meet him, like a teary excited puppy dog, usually on the platform. He was kind, thoughtful, and seemed so grounded. Every time he left London, he would leave little notes under my pillow. I honestly felt like the most special girl in the world.

Doesn't it sound perfect? This amazing, issue free knight in white shining armor coming to whisk me out of my single oblivion and teach me what it was to love again? Well, that would make the most boring blog post ever, right?

Catfished
Whilst I was living in a rose tinted bubble, my family were noticing glaring issues that I was stubbornly choosing to ignore. For example, Mr Wrong had the tendency to disappear from the face of the earth, when we were meant to be seeing each other. The first time it happened, I got worried, I started googling hospitals in Nottingham and checking the local papers. My friends were saying to me 'you're so neurotic, act cool'. Cool? COOL? Don't my friends know that I'm genetically not wired to be 'cool'.  When he eventually surfaced he had a story. He was on a night out with his colleagues, and clients. One of the clients had drunk too much alcohol, so they'd put him in a cab. In his drunken state, he opened up the taxi door and fell out. He'd died in hospital. Mr Wrong had been there by his side, giving statements to the police when it happened. WHAT A HERO, I thought. The poor little lamb, I said, he must be so traumatised. It was too awful an excuse not to be real. Plus, this guy was perfect.
Of course, those who weren't wearing rose tinted glasses saw right through that excuse, and all the other ones. My mother started googling. Now, this is where I'm grateful for having a 'crazy Jewish mum'. Her mother instincts were so sharp, she started to suspect him. When nothing came up with his name on Google, she got a bit more in depth with her search. She called up his place of work (no one of that name worked there), she started searching through the birth records (no one of his name), she started to panic.
I'm fully aware that any future prospective suitors who read the above paragraph may be put off for life. However, unfortunately, my mother was right. 
Mr Wrong had lied about his identity to me. Not everything, he had told me where he worked (my best friend's genius stalking involving instagram and google maps confirmed that one), but big glaring things. His name, that's a big one. The fact his mother had died (we used to be on the phone, and he would hang up because his mum was call waiting.. we found out she'd died 15 years previously.), all the stories about his whereabouts. All lies.
Technically I wasn't Catfished because I met him in person. But obviously, being in a relationship with someone for four months who was untruthful about their identity did put somewhat of a downer on the whole situation.
So, here is what I learned

1. Don't bother trying to fix people
Chris Martin (of Coldplay fame) is a total twat. He sung this beautiful song with the immortal words 'and IIII will fix youuuu'. THAT IS WHAT I NEED TO DO I thought. I went up to Nottingham, and part of the extent of his sad life was revealed. I agreed to stay with him, if he went into therapy (duh), never lied to me again, and agreed to find a job in London and move down. He agreed, tearily (very ugly crier).  What was sad, is that so much of his life was fabricated. The buzzing social life he told me about was a story. The family that he spoke about, was broken and at odds with each other. He lived a life of utter misery, and according to him, I was the only thing that made him happy. How could I take that away from him? I could just help him instead.
We embarked on another 6 months of turmoil. My family, rightfully were encouraging me to break up with him. He was unrealiable, fucked up, selfish. My friends were divided, some saw right through him, others saw how much I loved him, all wanted me to be happy. And me? I just truly believed that if he listened to me, if he went through the carefully laid out steps I put in place, that we could be happy. The well intentioned advise of all my loved ones started to drive me nuts. I was completely torn, constantly in a haze of confusion. I spent hours googling 'how do you date someone who is depressed' and 'can you be in a relationship with a pathological liar?'. Looking for fixes, I was sure I could find a fix.
Well, dear readers, that is not the case. You cannot fix anyone that doesn't want to be fixed. Don't waste your emotional energy, it is beyond your power. Let go. Move on.

2. Don't settle for crumbs
Someone once said to me, 'don't settle for crumbs in a relationship'. Well that makes sense, why would I? I'm a strong (ish), independent (ish) woman. I have my own life, own a property (ish) my own car. I go on holidays, I have friends, why on earth would I settle for someone giving me less than what I deserve? Well, I'll tell you why. Because when push comes to shove, I just wanted to be loved. I was never the girl at school who had boyfriends. Quite frankly, boys scared the shit out of me. I was the chunky sidekick of the beautiful girls, everyone's friend, no one's girlfriend. When this guy came by, and swept me off my feet, and made me feel loved, I ignored the crumbs situation.. despite these screaming voices in my head telling me THIS IS NOT ENOUGH FOR YOU. HE IS NOT GOOD ENOUGH. If you don't believe you're enough, why would anyone else treat you that way?

3. Scared
I have spoken to a lot of friends in their late 20's early 30's having issues with guys. Fundamentally, when you peel back the layers of why a girl would put up with a bad relationship, it comes down to one common theme. We're scared. Scared to be alone, scared to expose ourselves emotionally to another person, scared never to be loved again, scared to go through the emotional turmoil of a break up. I guess this blog serves as a bit of a warning to my fellow single girls. Beneath the jovial stories, the awkward moments, the bad dates, there is still a fundamental yearning to be in a couple. And when you contemplate leaving a situation where you are part of a pair, it's frightening.  Who would voluntarily go through the pain of a break up, when you're at least 40% happy? That's enough, right?
Well, all I can say here is, it is scary and no, it is not enough. You do have to sit alone, go to weddings alone, not spend your days in your rosy haze of love. But, really, what do you think is going to happen? Do you logically think because one guy isn't right for you, another one won't be? Being scared isn't a logical or helpful emotion.

4. The warning signs
Despite the obvious warning signs here (clearly he was a sociopath) there were others that I pushed down and ignored. For example, I started to become irritated by him. He was pushy and bossy. He would get flippant with me and hurt my feelings. More than that, I noticed a lot of things that I was just not attracted to. He made this awful face when he was crying which looked like he was simultaneously smelling something foul and highly constipated. He (apparently) started therapy and would constantly tell me that I couldn't break up with him because he had 'separation issues'. Do you know how unsexy it is to be guilted into a relationship by someone's therapist? His aftershave made me feel a bit sick. By the end, I basically didn't fancy him, but I ignored that in favour of being in a couple.
We eventually did break up because I couldn't ignore the warning signs any longer. He ruined my 30th birthday with such aplomb, I can only look back and applaud him for how fundamentally selfish he was. He not only ruined my weekend, but he ruined it for my friends and family, who sat through my beautiful party, watching me run to the bathroom and cry, and him and I having a row in the hallway. When I finally snapped and broke up with him he told me he has bought me a beautiful Smythson travel wallet, that he had personalised, he would send it to me, he wanted me to remember him positively. It never materialised, I stopped caring a long time ago.

So, I look back on the (almost) year we were together, with a mix of anger (why the hell would you pick on me and try and mess up my life?) disgust (that ugly crying face... it was so bad) shame (why did I stay with him?) and sadness (mostly for him.. not me). And whilst I've tried to make this upbeat, what I realised, when writing this, is actually sometimes, releasing the above emotions is really quite cathartic. Sometimes, my life is funny, awkward, amusing for all. And sometimes, I'm just a normal girl, who put themselves in a bad position, and has spent the past year getting over it. Well, I've either realised that, or, listening to Coldplay whilst blogging about your ex boyfriend, brings out your emotional side. You pick which story you prefer.