I woke up at 09.30 this morning, which is remarkably late for me. I lay in bed with Forest until around lunchtime, reading The Sunday Times on my iPad and listening to slow jazz. I read the ST because I like their political coverage, especially the unrivalled Tim Shipman, but by god their columnists are practically frothing at the mouth now Labour is back in power, so I steer well clear of the comment section. I also started reading Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess this morning, as well as playing and, inevitably, losing several games against random opponents on the popular Chess dot com app, as I’ve decided I want to learn more about the theory of the wonderful game.

My desire to learn more about the game of chess arose from a recent conversation I had with my therapist, in which he suggested that a potential reason for my ongoing difficulties could be that I don’t know what it is like to actually try. Forgive me, there is no way to say this without sounding arrogant, but I have essentially breezed through life, putting little to no effort into either my academic or corporate careers, instead focusing almost entirely on my own somewhat poor mental health and trying to avoid doing something stupid. Therefore, the theory is that if I actually try and put effort into learning something I do find interesting, such as Chess, maybe my cognitive abilities will improve in other areas. I have my doubts, but I suppose it’s worth a try. 

Anyway, after lunch I showered and read a few chapters of Boris Johnson’s autobiography, which is exactly what you’d expect it to be – spectacularly written but entirely devoid of anything of substance. I then watched Luke Littler beat Gary Anderson in the semi final of the Grand Slam of Darts, which was a genuinely exhilarating match, before treating myself to a Domino’s for tea. A very lazy Sunday, without question, but an enjoyable one, and one that was sorely needed. 

So, we move on to the main reason I write to you today – I’ve been ghosted by a guy I was speaking to. This might sound ridiculous, especially in the modern age of uninterrupted, constant communication, but I’ve never been ghosted before, so it’s a somewhat discombobulating experience. I genuinely don’t know why it has happened, as I thought we had a real connection and I really liked him. We’d been talking for about a month and even spent nearly a week together not long ago. I thoroughly enjoyed his company – he was funny, smart, very attractive, and we had so much in common. I honestly thought it could have turned into something serious. Such is life, I suppose.

Now, obviously I’m not writing this just to publicly humiliate myself, not that I need much help in that area. No, I am writing this because I am genuinely really proud of how I have handled the situation. A few years ago, if someone ghosted me I would have deployed the rhetoric of a wartime Winston Churchill, vowing to seek revenge and destroy everything and everyone that person may have loved, yada yada yada. I would have taken it as an insult, an affront, and my reaction would have been one of overwhelming anger and fury, as opposed to sadness or anguish. This time, however, it is the latter, and this has actually made me quite happy. 

How on earth, you might ask, quite reasonably, can you be happy with being sad? For several reasons, I would answer, which I will now explain. Firstly, I have struggled for some time with a lack of self-worth, but in this case I have recognised that the fault is entirely his, not mine, and, whilst it is not a nice feeling to have, it is nice to be able to understand and acknowledge that I have been wronged, and it wasn’t my fault, as opposed to beating myself up for something for which I have no responsibility. Secondly, being angry at the world is so depressing and consumes so much energy, so to be able to be sad for the first time is actually weirdly relaxing. Thirdly, it is nice to be sad because to be sad means you must once have been happy, and can absolutely be happy again. 

However, finally, and most importantly, even though it didn’t work out with this particular guy, I felt things for him which I didn’t believe it was possible for me to feel, and I will come out of the situation sad that it hasn’t worked, but absolutely overjoyed at the prospect that it is possible for me to feel this way, and excited that it could one day happen on a more serious, long-term level. I have spent my entire life hating myself and believing it would be impossible for someone to love me, so despite the sadness of the situation, it’s nice to know that it is absolutely possible to be loved, both by myself, and hopefully one day by someone else too. 

Yes, I woke up at 09.30 this morning to read The Sunday Times and play chess, but more importantly, I woke up glad that I did.

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