Welcome to Cheaper Than Therapy, a newsletter by Shani Silver.
I used to have activity around me. I used to meet people—men—all the time. There was almost always energy present in the romantic area of my life. I had interest in men frequently, and to some degree it was reciprocated. There was a time in my past when I had lovers, and I had fun. My phone used to light up with texts from men I was interested in, as opposed to just “breaking news” and inclement weather warnings. I used to go out in public without feeling both invisible and embarrassed at the same time. The void that’s replaced that era isn’t new, it’s existed for a very long time, so long that honestly I thought it would have come back by now. Interactions with the gender of my sexual preference haven’t been enjoyable, fun, or anything resembling abundant for about a decade. In truth they have barely existed at all. I remember a time of liveliness relating to this one part of human life, and I’m angry that it feels like someone turned off the electricity.
It can’t just be my age. Nip that thought in the bud because it’s one the patriarchy trained us with. There are too many people in their 50s getting so much action for me to buy into any sort of agism bullshit. I’m 43, not dead—shouldn’t I have bumped into some flirtatious connection by accident at this point? I listen to songs on the radio (lol, I listen on my phone life is garbage) and I feel so far removed from everything they’re singing about. There’s no frame of reference anymore for the passion, desire, even the bitterness of romantic relationships—love songs might as well be about the mathematics involved in space travel for how familiar they are to me. Things used to be so different, and I wish I’d known a long time ago that it was all going to go away and never come back.