Later this week, millions of people across the country will come together to celebrate the crippling, ball-booting farce known as Valentine’s Day. They’ll express their love by sending flowers, booking overpriced restaurants and splattering stomach churning posts all over your social media feeds. Those bastards.
Valentine’s Day, the only national occasion dedicated to mental illness. Valentine’s Day, where there’s a surge in homicidal activity.
February 14th is a stressful ordeal, particularly if you are, like me, a loveless leper. There is nothing quite so debilitating as being gay and single on Valentine’s Day. It’s a cruel joke: Like being a one-legged man in a tap-dancing competition. It’s a crystallising moment when you realise that you’re on your fourth wank of the day while all your coupled-up friends are sharing home-cooked meals. Suddenly you know deep within your bones you’re going to be alone forever. It’s a thudding reminder of your horribly desperate isolation. It makes you feel as though you’re stranded somewhere on a space ship, picking up kissy-sounds, selfie-clicks and exaggerated grunts from the planet below, separated from love and its warm embrace by the cold gulf of space.
I’m just going to say it as I see it: Gay relationships move fast and implode even faster. We all love an excuse to boast about our recent love interest, and that’s what Valentine’s Day seems to be for. That’s why when I witness friend’s recent dalliance shamelessly spread-eagled across my Twitter feed, I wish that they’d vanish into a puff of smoke or be entered into the Hunger Games together – then we’ll see how strong their love is.
Posts like, ‘We’re not making a big deal of it this year, just a home-cooked meal, some wine, a sea of candles majestically spread out across the living room hehe’ from a couples that have been together less than one month really bother me. Not because I’m bitter (he’s bitter, trust me) but rather because I feel that one of the two is totally over-compensating.
Is there anything worse than receiving a heartfelt gift from someone on Valentine’s Day when you’re not sure about them? You can see it in people’s posts and honestly, it’s embarrassing for both parties. One plugs their feed with photos and cute pictures (I am guilty of this, yes) while the other indifferently reciprocates with an uncommitted ‘like.’ You just sit and watch as one of them contemplates the sad reality that this isn’t what he wants, his brain blatantly screaming ‘don’t give the game away, you fool’. While the other guy just looks at him in awe.
I’m tired of looking at all this faux-affection forcibly shoved down our throats on this one pointless day of the year. I don’t want to see photos of couples begrudgingly sharing an over-priced meal in silence whilst they desperately try to sustain an awkward, argument-free détente for more than four hours. There is so much pressure required to maintain this façade and honestly, I find myself looking at couples and thinking: I hate you. I hate your love, I hate the stupid way you breathe, I hate the stupid way your pupils dilate when you look at him, so stop.
So, I propose we bring in a new national day, one that salutes that loveless lepers out there. An Anti-Valentine’s Day, if you will. A day that actively celebrates the festering disappointment of love. We could bring out a range of bitter Anti-V-Day cards for ex-lovers and those bastards that leave you on ‘read’ for two days before replying. Example: A white backdrop with a mournful-looking puppy that has a spear lodged in its chest cavity, the haunting words ‘You destroyed my life!’ written in their parent’s blood across the front. Perhaps a card with a photo of Donald Trump snoozing in a bed with ‘How can you sleep at night?’ written in scabby red lettering? Each card could feature a poem or message as well:
The roses are dead,
the violets died too
I’m a empty shell,
molested by you.
We could also bring out a range for those couples that have been together for a long time, but lack the tenacity required to break up. The ones that truly loathe each other but remain together out of obligation, or because the other has dirt on them. A t-shirt range that read ‘I can’t take much more of this!’, ‘I haven’t came in sixteen years’ and the classic ‘DYING INSIDE’
Restaurants can even get in on this action too. They could host Anti-V-Day meals aimed at couples on the verge of a breakup. They could serve ridiculously spicy food, so when they tell their partner they’ve been cheating on them with their brother and start crying, everyone looking on will think it’s the chillies. The toilets could even be manned by prostitutes, so they can indulge in some petty self-hating rebound sex.
This day can also cater to those many loves that just never were. The one-night stand that you never had contact with again (except to tell them that they gave you a STI). The guy who you had a few great dates with but suddenly went radio silent and made the conversation process as fun as pulling teeth. Those friends that hold a special place in your heart but don’t reciprocate your feelings? Even though they’ve told you time and time again, you still secretly hold a candle for them? Well, this is your time to call them up and howl down the phone like a plagued banshee, or to stand outside the restaurant window while they’re on a date and scream that they gave your heart an STD.
This day will be far healthier than Valentine’s Day. It’s the most coldly practical celebration in history. True love is so horribly delightful and eternal that’s there’s no need to set one day aside for it. But for single psychos and those tormented by love, it’s perhaps better to compress all this pent-up rage into one single, orderly outburst, one day a year. So, mark it in your tear-stained diaries.