There are three men in my life whom I really, truly love. The first is my dad. My damaged, fragile, vulnerable father, who doesn't know how to express his love in words and so turns instead to extravagant gifts and money and holidays. My father who can't express his sadness at having both his children move out of his house to live once again with his ex-wife, so channels the hurt and the disappointment into inexplicable rage caused by unimportant things. My father who will never really get over my fabulous mother, and so hasn't been on a date or displayed more than a vague interest in the female sex for more than eight years. My amazing father, who despite all his flaws, I love without words. My father has been my financial rock - someone I know I can always turn to when my lifestyle gets too extravagant - which I know might sound trivial but is actually extremely important considering I am a starving actor/student/waitress. My father who will always make sure I have a roof over my head, petrol in my car and food in my belly, and more often than not, too much wine in my blood stream.
The second is my baby brother. Although he is now more than six foot four, he will always be my 'Bubba'. The one who knows better than anyone else how to make me laugh, and who is leaving me in a few days to travel the world and see amazing things and do incredible deeds and generally make all his dreams come true. The brother who has always been there for me; through Mum's bizarre hormonal rages, through Grandad's passing and the divorce, which I'm not entirely sure he understood. The little brother I left to look after our Mum when she lost the life of her life to a careless driver while I went gallivanting off to America. He was fifteen. The little brother who will always be the most important person in the world to me, who I would drive to the ends of the earth to pick up if it meant he wouldn't get into the car with a drunk driver. The little brother who doesn't really know what he's doing with his life, but which I know will be amazing. The little brother who will always and forever be my first, truest and best friend.
And then it gets complicated. And it gets complicated because the third man I love is you. My other half, my psychic twin, my soul mate. MY soul mate, who I am endlessly baffled to find engaged to another woman. The Doctor to my Rose, the Constable Care to my Teagan, Chameleon Circuit to my One Direction. The man who makes all my quirks make sense. What are you doing with someone else? And on the other side of the world?! This is madness, surely some evil scheme cooked up by our dear foe Scarborer.
And here is where it gets tricky. Although I have always loved you, since I first discovered we could quite happily co-exist for a week, we shared a mutual love for black English comedy and Tim Minchin and sounded incredible dueting on my favourite JRB love song, I don't know how you feel about me. In my fantasies I confess my love, you immediately forswear all others including your fiancee and we ride off into the sunset. But it wouldn't be the first time my great love had been unrequited. And were I to confess this love and not have it reciprocated... Well, that sort of thing takes a while to get over.
Maybe I'm the one for you, maybe I'm not. But I know for certain that SHE definitely isn't. A girl who doesn't drink tea, falls asleep at parties and can't feel at home among your family? Come on. She's vapid, she's bland and she's nothing like us. WE ARE THE SAME! Surely we're meant to be together? I'd say something, but again, a friendship doesn't recover from that kind of damning revelation. Then there's the logistical problems, and the sum total leaves me feeling heartbroken, lonely and frustrated. Of course I want nothing more for you to be happy, but if it was me making you happy... Well, that would be the most ideal outcome.
And then there's the second guessing.
- Would we work as a couple? Or are we too similarly volatile??
- Do I only want you because I can't have you? The engaged best friend who now lives on the other side of the world has got to be the most classic example of my enduring lust for unattainable men.
- How will I EVER get over the man who is more like me than anyone I've ever met, and probably anyone I will ever meet?
Long story short, I'm fucked. You make me make sense, please realise that we're perfect for each other before you swear your life to that pathetic, beige git.
