Being newly single and embracing yourself, your mates, and your inner ratchet

Words by Beth Commons. Photo by Tatja.

I’ve been single for 10 months. Like to the day. I’ve only been single in my whole adult life for 10 months i.e. I broke up with my high school sweet heart of six years 10 months ago. I also can’t really remember the last 10 months because of every vice that I held to my chest/liver in order to deal with the heartache or whatever the fuck I’m meant to call it.

Being single is weird, have you noticed? It’s real tough navigating people, especially now everyone’s old and not 16. It seems like everyone’s acquired an awful lot of baggage over the past six years. I’m included in that. I’m the ultimate bag lady.

Today I ordered two pizzas, garlic bread and a Sprite. I ate it in my bed. I got the 20 minute delivery guarantee because I was fucking hungry.

As I lay and ate my Double Bacon Cheeseburger Supreme Angel Delight pizza, dropping bits of it in my hair and on my chin and proceeding to eat the bits, I felt very single. But I also felt happy. Nobody could see me. I was, in that moment, the truest form of ‘myself’.

There’s a glamorous single that I like to engage in on the reg also. These include nights where I drink and smoke and swear at people on the street because I feel like a tough lady when I’m with my angel baby friends. I put on my big hoop earrings and piss on the street. One time I got arrested for pissing on the street (fair) and the cop had to wait for me to finish my stream before he could cuff me and take me home.

One night I got myself a neato burrito new sex record. I had sex with three different people in one night in three different venue bathrooms.

Last night I burnt my own hair with my cigarette and didn’t realise because I was on the phone and it took someone saying to me ‘What the fuck is that smell?’ for me to realise it was my OWN singeing locks.

Why am I telling you all of this? I think it’s important to own every little dank bit of yourself, especially when it’s all you have. Be your own lover, man. You don’t necessarily need someone in order to be happy/yourself. Buy a pocket pussy or a dildo. I don’t own either of those items due to my money being spent on cartons of Export over the past 10 months, but you might not be in that boat.

Up until about a year ago I would drink sporadically. I wouldn’t drink much but I’d get super mopey and ask my boyfriend if we could go home at 10pm or something. I would never sleep anywhere else. My bed was my boyfriend. My boyfriend was my boyfriend too but my bed was my actual boyfriend.

Since being single I’ve become accustomed to sleeping on people’s couches or in people’s beds. I woke up on the beach once. That was nice.

I spend half of the week not at home. My housemates don’t question it if I haven’t been home in three days.

I’m at nobody’s disposal. I’m my own disposal. My own garbage disposal.

This is going to get a little bit gross now (because it totally wasn’t gross before) but the reason I am ultimately happy (betwixt all my angst and general messiness), is because of the angels in my life. They have brought me food when I’ve been too fucked up/poor to get out of bed. They come and pick me up to take me to hospital when I’ve rolled my ankle so bad from falling down a staircase. They listen to me when I’m complaining like a tiny child about who was mean to me the night before. They calm me down when I’m getting too antagonistic in social settings. They roll me cigarettes, man. I really, truly do not know what I’ve done to deserve such amazing friends.

This is what came of me being single. I have mountains of chill as all hell boyfriends and girlfriends.

Learn to be alone and the world will keep you company.