when do unfortunate ailments turn into baggage?

They say any fool can fall in love. Hands down, I am therefore a fool. Believing in monogamy. The rule “it takes two to tango” makes a lot of sense to me.
I have always wanted to get married and have children, yet somehow I have turned out to be a modern day version of Mr Charles Dickens, Miss Havisham. I have no fortune to speak of, I have not even been proposed to, let alone jilted by a lover, but like her, I have longed for the love of a man, only to have my heart broken.
William Congrave once said, “Heaven has no rage like love to hatred turned. Nor Hell a fury like a woman scorned. ”
I am not vindictive about others who may achieve successful and life lasting love but I am of cause a little jealous.
We don’t always get what we want in life. I usually get what I don’t want and tangled up in multiple webs and triangles and such is my life.
Some readers may be thinking, getting out there, is the expression, “bite the bullet by its head”?
If I had less ailments, less of a disastrous dating history of lovers, maybe I would put more of a search on. A broken heart is hard to mend. A beaten down and squashed heart is a first class ticket to spinster land and the point of no return. I am holding on but not feeling all that strong.
People always say, your time will come! I do an half hope so because I am running out of hope and steam! (Simultaneous laugh and cry out loud).
This takes me to the questions;
1. Would you date someone with mental health issues?
2. Would you date someone with an embarrassing dermatological illness?
3. Would you date someone full figured?
4. Would you date someone damaged?
5. Would you date someone insecure?
6. Would you date someone emotionally unstable?
5. Would you date someone if you knew they were unfit to work?
6. Would you date anyone with all of the above?
Sounds scary!? Sounds extreme!? You can choose whether you can live with that or not, I can’t, non of it is self inflicted. So I will just have to explore loving myself. Am I Austen’s Emma, or am I Bronte’s Jane Ayer?
I am none other then the modern day loveless woman on the shelf.

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