"Unlovable" & "Model Aeroplanes"
By Writer Erica Sharlette
Erica Sharlette is a West Indian and Asian writer born in South-East London, who began writing professionally as a blogger in the music and fashion industries in 2010. Her first novel, #ACharactersLife, in the editing stage, is an autobiographical tome told from a fictional character’s perspective, recounting pain, challenges, and triumphs.
While working on her first novella-in-flash seeking to shine a light and spread knowledge about Fibromyalgia, Sharlette lives with with 20 chronic, degenerative illnesses, but continues to write, even when bedbound.
Only discovering flash fiction in March 2021, Sharlette has been published in Nymphs, Free Flash Fiction, Five Minutes, Reflex Fiction, Fibromyalgia Action UK and more. She appears in hard copy in the second and third London Writers’ Salon anthologies, Bonemilk III and Storm Cellar Issue XI Vol. 1.
Unlovable
Dating in 2023 London is a nightmare. Dating in London when you are in a wheelchair, in your early 40s and (for the most part) housebound, with 20 chronic, degenerative illnesses?
Well, hopefully you’ll hear my “Ha!” from wherever you are. That’s me, by the way — a matter of months away from 43, with illnesses and symptoms that keep me indoors most of the time.
Yes, I have tried online dating. At first as a backup to my mum, who decided she wasn’t going to grow old alone. She also has health problems, but unlike me, didn’t let them hold her back. After a few bumps in the road, by 65, she met her dream man, who I adore, and they recently celebrated their first wedding anniversary.
So what have I done without her as a crutch to find my Mr Right? My Prince Charming? It’s hard to say, really, because in the first instance, I’m not convinced he exists. I’ll freely admit, I haven’t tried all the apps out there with quite the same zealous gumption, but I have put some serious effort in on a number of them, and it resulted in precisely one date, and that was a good five years ago.
It’s very hard to feel confidant that I’m attractive when ill-health has caused me to gain more than double my body weight in less than a decade. My legs don’t work properly, well, actually, most of my body doesn’t, and I am forced to rely on other people to assist me in my most basic of human needs.
Prospective partners do one of two things when they find out the highlights of my particular reel: they either run for the hills faster than Usain Bolt or, believe they are my Sexual Saviour – once they’re sure everything still works down there (she does, but none of them are about to test her out if I have anything to say about it, thank you very much).
So, as far as I can see, dating is a bust because, as opposed to what one man in his mid-60s once said to me on a dating app, I can afford to be picky, despite being in a wheelchair. Being forced to roll around on wheels does not mean I automatically lose all access to choice! I do get a say in whether or not I want to accept the dregs of the barrel.
For some strange reason, some people do not seem to think you deserve a choice in your mate once you are disabled. There is almost an unsaid mantra that you should take what you get and be grateful as my West Indian elders would tell me growing up, but I don’t agree. I think you should still get to choose someone you’re attracted to, not just anyone willing to take you on.
I’m not unrealistic, nor am I an idiot, I’m fully aware that goes both ways, but someone you’re mentally attracted to as well as physically is not that tall an order if you look past the physique and actually get to know a person; something most people don’t seem to consider or want to do. Am I able to go out every night and engage in hours of physical activity? No, I realise there is little I have to offer beside me, the person, who is smart, funny, cheeky, loyal, loving, honest, and devoted. Unfortunately, however, I have come to learn none of those things are currency in the modern dating scene.
For the most part, my brain works fine, and none of my illnesses are contagious, but neither of these facts seem to be enough, so can anyone suggest what I might do to meet Mr Right Now, at very least? I’m taking applications…
Model Aeroplanes
I followed the plan.
Step by step, I followed each piece, in order.
This wasn’t like when I got a new piece of tech, where I flew through the common-sense options. In this case, I left nothing to chance. I allowed each section adequate time for cohesion, but some parts didn’t fit together seamlessly, as if they came from different prototypes – what was I supposed to do with them?
Should I try to make them work, shape them to fit grooves that don’t match? Then what happens if I try but the entire model collapses? Who do I blame for not fitting the mould, if not myself?
Or should I give up and return them to their place of origin?
How would I reach the endgame?
Would I ever be able to create something superficially realistic again?
I was always told I was good at that, but now, with this new information, would I be able to make it fly?
I laboured so intensely, put so much work into the details, I was careful to try to make every angle beautiful. It never occurred to me anyone would someday ask how she worked in motion. I never planned to pass off more than the basics – surely that should’ve been enough?
I didn’t prepare to feel, after being so long able to fool everyone into believing I was fine. It never occurred to me a day would ever come when someone would ask to look under the hood.
A model stays still, it’s not kinetic! Mine was only ever built to look the picture of perfect mental health, not to be questioned, definitely not tested! Someone looked too closely, applied slightly too much pressure. Then, just like that, my model of perfection fell to pieces.
Print and ebook Lesions Vol. 1 is out now.
Are you a writer, musician, artist, or filmmaker living with a chronic condition? Submit to Lesions by emailing editor.lesions@gmail.com. See the full submission guidelines here.
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