The Hollow Years

I took the only option I could see that might help. Beforehand, I was nervous, feeling things I did not know how to put into words. Shame weighed heavily. Was this the only way I was ever going to be intimate with someone? Thankfully, the woman involved seemed to understand that it was not something I had done before. Looking back now, I can see that I did a number of things she probably found hilarious. But at least she made sure I did not just feel like a transaction.

Afterwards, for a while, I was not sure what to feel. It was new and exciting, but something was missing. I repeated the experience a couple of times, but soon realised not all encounters would be as positive as the first. One thing I did learn was that while I knew in my head sex and love were not always linked, emotionally I often reacted as if they were. Still, one definite positive was that the pressure I had been feeling started to lessen rather than build. I no longer struggled with my own thoughts.

Ironically, around the same time, I began meeting women who would actually consider coffee or a date. It felt like a whole new world opening up.

One woman I met online, let us call her Tracey, lived in Auckland too, so we decided to meet for coffee. She was fun, someone who could be a good friend, but there was no real chemistry. We kept meeting for coffee or movies, just enjoying each other’s company. After a couple of get-togethers, she suggested I meet a friend of hers, “Nicky.” I thought, why not?

As soon as I met Nicky, there was definite chemistry. Suddenly, any free time I had was spent with her. What I did not see was how complicated the situation really was. Nicky was a single mum, separated for about a year. At first, it was all about hanging out and having fun. Then Tracey came to me, saying Nicky was in trouble and needed money for her kids but did not want to ask directly. I gave her money without a second thought. Tracey had told me she was a nurse, and the requests seemed legitimate at the time. But this was my first job, and eventually I had to say no.

After that, both Tracey and Nicky grew busier, and I saw them less. Then came the phone call: Nicky’s kids had been taken away by CYPS. I was stunned. I asked myself: was it my fault?

I jumped in, trying to set things right, but the truths I uncovered were hard to accept. Nicky had actually only been separated from her husband for three months before we met. Her kids had been taken away and returned more than once. She and her husband had a pattern: they would break up, Nicky would find another guy to make him jealous, and then they would get back together. I never did find out what Tracey got out of the arrangement, other than some money and the satisfaction of being in on the con.

My faith in humanity was at an all-time low. For a while, I focused on just having a good time. Everyone else was doing it, so why not me? I also decided online relationships were much safer.

Around this time, I had been in Auckland for about six months. Big changes were coming.

I finally had the opportunity to move into a house, a place of my own. At the same time, almost every IT person I had been working and training with decided to leave the company. The only other IT staff member left at the Auckland campus was the one who had taken the job I originally applied for, and he was about to go overseas for a month.

It was sink or swim. Long hours and occasional sleep became my routine. I do not know how long it was until I started having a life outside of work again, but it was at least another six months.

The next significant person I met was a real sweetie, with a beautiful heart. Let us call her S. I know she cared about me, and I will always care about her. But in a way, her heart was the problem. She had decided she was the protector of her family. Her mum was very sick, and one of her brothers was always in trouble. She rushed in to save the day, putting her own life on hold.

This was hard to watch. One, I was always low on her priority list. Two, when I did see her, she was stressed from whatever crisis she had been dealing with. I tried to help her relax, to make her feel good, but just as we began to unwind, something else would happen and she would disappear again.

I encouraged S to put herself first occasionally, but she saw this as me picking a fight. We tried to make things work several times, but eventually it deteriorated to the point where it felt like we were treating each other like a booty call. That was the last thing I wanted.

Some time after things with S failed, a friend invited me to a couples party. I would be the only single there. I had two choices: skip the party or find a date. I did not want to disappoint my friend, so I asked someone from work, let us call her E. To my surprise, she said yes. We had a good night, and more dates followed quickly. Within a month, we were a couple.

For about a year, it was the best relationship I had ever experienced. I was happy, seriously considering asking the big question. Just as I worked up the courage, E said she wanted to talk. I thought it meant we were on the same page. I started dreaming of the future.

The conversation went nothing like I imagined. She wanted to break up. I was stunned, consumed by fear. I do not remember much of what I said, but I cringe to admit I must have begged her to stay. She did.

What I did not notice was that emotionally she had already left. We still did fun things together, often ending up in bed, but I was always scared of making a mistake and losing her. That fear meant I gave her almost anything she asked for.

Six months to a year later, E told me: “I have news. I am moving to the UK. Oh, and I have met someone else. But I am not moving in with him. You will wait for me in case it does not work, won’t you?” Thankfully, this time I had the strength to say no.

I was crushed. Life passed in a haze. E moved overseas, living with her new man within a month. They were married within three. Often, when she had been spending time with me, she had used my computer to talk to him.

When the haze lifted, it was like my emotions had been switched off. I got through one day at a time, never planning more than a week ahead. My house became the enemy. I did not want to go home and be alone. I could not watch my friends doing couple things. So I worked. When I could not work, I went to the mall near my house until closing. I watched movies, wishing the lives on the screen were mine.

People have often considered me aggressive, which I do not understand. But at this time, anger was close to the surface. Anger and pain. I convinced myself I had been stupid to believe I could find love or companionship. Better people than me were alone. Why would I be lucky? What had happened was my fault. I deserved it.

Sex became an itch to be scratched, but only when I had to, and only with someone I did not care about. Any thoughts of love or family were locked away in a box in my mind.

The days blurred into each other, indistinguishable except for the weight they carried. Work was the only anchor, but even that felt less like purpose and more like punishment. My house was no longer a home. It was a box of silence, a place where walls pressed in and reminded me of everything I did not have.

I stayed away as long as I could. Malls became my refuge, their fluorescent lights and background chatter filling the emptiness. I wandered aimlessly, pretending I had errands, pretending I belonged among the couples and families. When closing time came, I wheeled out into the night, the air colder than it should have been, knowing I had nowhere else to go but back to the silence.

Movies became my escape. I sat in the dark, staring at the screen, wishing I could step into those stories, wishing I could trade places with characters who seemed to find love, family, and belonging. When the credits rolled, the illusion shattered, and I was left with nothing but the echo of other people’s happiness.

Anger simmered beneath the surface, sharp and unpredictable. People said I was aggressive, but they did not see the truth, that pain had carved itself so deep inside me that it was all I had left to show. I convinced myself I had been stupid to believe in love, companionship, or even friendship. Better people than me were alone. Why would I be lucky?

Sex became mechanical, an itch to be scratched, nothing more. I refused to let myself care. Any thoughts of love or family were locked in a box in my mind, sealed tight, never to be opened.

The toll showed in my body. I skipped meals, or ate whatever was easiest, never caring if it was good for me. Sleep came in fragments, restless and shallow, leaving me more exhausted than before. My health slipped, my spirit dulled, and I told myself this was what I deserved.

I was alive, but not living. Each day was just another to endure, another to survive.