More grief math

What are you supposed to do when you know EXACTLY what it would take for you to be happy, and you know you're NEVER going to have that and therefore will NEVER be happy?

It's not a rhetorical question.

Megan Devine wrote an interesting thread on Twitter today, about how we view loneliness, and how we talk to people expressing their loneliness, especially now in the middle of a pandemic. It's a good read, so take a gander.

Had my Thursday session with Brooke today, and I'm beginning to wonder why I'm bothering to do that, too. It's not that I don't like talking to her, or that I feel she's unhelpful exactly; it's more that there really isn't any help for me. Look, I'm all about fixing problems, and the first step to fixing a problem is defining it. My problem is that I have ALL this love to give, and no one to give it TO. Yes, of course, I give love to my family and my friends, but you know what I'm talking about and it's not the same kind of love. I have ALL this love to share with a PARTNER. It physically hurts, not having anyone to cook for, and hug, and spend my evenings and my nights with. 

I don't want the life I'm stuck with, and I can't have the life I want. No therapist can fix that. No grief counselor can fix that. NO ONE can fix that.

Sure, theoretically, I could fall in love again. Statistically speaking, though, the odds aren't with me. Women over the age of 50 are far less likely to marry than men over 50. And considering my track record, my long-lost good looks, and my oh-so-shitty attitude, I'd say my odds are considerably lower than the statistical mean. 

But even if I were to believe that I could make magic with another man, I can't. Because dating isn't safe now, and who knows how long it will be before it IS safe? I'M RUNNING OUT OF TIME. I don't want to sit in my house for another year or two - at which point I'll be 57, and every day that passes puts me further in the "more likely to be kidnapped by terrorists than get married" category. So, I can start dating again at 57, assuming I can even find any prospects. 

And then what? What are the odds of finding someone I'm able and willing to commit to, who's able and willing to commit to me? How long will I have to date before THAT happens? Another three, four years of kissing frogs and being ghosted and being played? And even if I manage to find this mythical man, how long will I have to date him before we're willing to move in together, let alone get married? Another year? Two? Now I'm 63 years old. That'll be NINE LONG YEARS of living without the one and only thing I want. And by then, I may not even HAVE a libido anymore, and I'm sorry: I want a MARRIAGE, with ALL that entails - including a healthy sex life.

I want what I want, and the math makes it clear that I am very unlikely to have it at all, and ABSOLUTELY can't have it any time soon. Living without it for another six to nine years is simply not worth the trouble. 

So, I ask again: What are you supposed to do when you know EXACTLY what it would take for you to be happy, and you know you're NEVER going to have that and therefore will NEVER be happy?