Today I feel sad.
Well, mostly every day I feel sad, for one reason or another. The reason could be so simple, yet so complicated and difficult to fix. What line of circumstances can be controlled to avoid sadness all together? God forbid someone knows the answer to that question…
I haven’t written in so very long a time. I don’t recall the last thing I wrote, other than a card or a post-it note at work. I haven’t truly written in so long a time. I used to love doing this – writing out my thoughts as they come. “Stream of consciousness” was my favourite style of writing – a haphazard journal that recorded my thoughts in a more in-depth way than an actual journal could.
You see, I’m here now. How-many-ever years it’s been since my last piece, and I’m at a loss. I don’t know where exactly I went wrong or why it’s not better now that my situation has improved. I don’t know why I always feel so nostalgic for what my life used to be, even though my life now is pretty-darn spectacular.
I suppose when I say “spectacular” I really mean rather mediocre. As far as work goes, I’m doing the same job I started 3 years ago and I’m still getting blamed for the mistakes even though the supervisor that was using me as her personal scapegoat has left. I work very little but earn a fairly good wage for it, but I don’t earn enough to buy a house or a car or even save enough money for a home loan. I don’t want to rent forever and I don’t want to wake up at 4.15am every morning for the rest of my life. I want more than this but I’m just too lazy to do it that I fear I will be stuck in this rut for a very long time.
It’s not like I DON’T want to be better, or more motivated. There are so many times in my past where people have used threats in an effort to motivate me into doing something that now they are merely empty-threats. I was never really happy with those situations that I never took them seriously – and for the most part, they were hollow threats anyway. “Lose weight or I’ll leave you” – that was my ex-boyfriend. I moved in with him when I was 18 and out of High School. I was skinny then, but with a job and free time and my own desires to accommodate me, I let myself go. It didn’t help that he was a shallow bastard about it. He would often tell me that we were going to diet together and eat better, but when it came to it, that skinny wanker was eating McDonalds 3 times a week because he was too lazy at work to get himself a proper meal.
That went on just short of 2 years – the relationship I mean. The shit part of it was about a year. The funny thing about it was the fact that we were actually engaged. In January of the year I was to turn 20, we were lying in bed and he asked my thoughts on marriage. “I see the concept of it, but I wouldn’t want to enter into that myself until I hit my 20s”. For some reason he decided that my statement was null, and he followed my answer with “Well, do you want to get married?” It was an ACTUAL PROPOSAL. I was lost for words, so all I said was “O…K… But let’s keep it on the down-low until my birthday.” He agreed, and no one ever found out until I broke up with him on the worst Wednesday of my life.
Ah, that Wednesday. I was babysitting my younger cousin while his parents and sisters went to Canberra. He was High School aged, but only in the lower years. For some reason he entertained the idea of using my credit card to buy himself over $400 worth of games off of Steam and the Sony Store. I figured it out while he was at school and called his father. I got my money back, and his parents made him pay me the $400 (plus his personal savings of $50) as punishment. Later that night when my ex got home from work, I said to him “You know that red-headed music teacher you work with? Yeah, you should kiss her.” I had said it seriously and I presume he was shocked, for he replied with “Really?” “Yep.” There was a pause after that, and a lump formed in my throat. “Do you still think there is no future for us?” I asked him. He was sitting on the green lounge, and I was leaning on the exercise ball. “Not really.”
That was perhaps the hardest but best thing I have ever done for myself. I don’t hold it against him that he was the way he was – that was almost 2 years ago now and I hope he’s changed and learnt his lesson. He’s actually told me as much. Thing is, I believe he thought he was doing the good thing by others, but his upbringing tainted his idea of humility. His father was a know-it-all atheist and his mother a devout catholic-french-speaking teacher of an up-tight grammar school. He was torn between two worlds and got lost in the middle. He learnt his father’s chauvinistic mannerisms and his mother’s assholery. I never really liked his parents, and for the entire relationship that knowledge loomed over me.
In the end, it was a new friend I had made that had shown me the door to my own semi-salvation. He made me feel special about myself that I hadn’t felt in a very long time – whether he meant it or was just saying things doesn’t matter. It made me realise that my ex hadn’t told me I was beautiful, or that he loved me, or that he would even kiss or hug me in a very, very long time. I knew my ex wanted to end it with me but was doing me a kindness by waiting until I was good and ready to go on with life without him. My new friend helped me prepare and he held my hand as I transitioned into a single-lady.
But I wasn’t so much a single lady. This new friend had shown me so much in so little time. I had frustrations that needed quenching, I had needs that hungered for attention. I devoted my new singularity to my new friend, promising that after time had passed we could be together. Unfortunately I was spreading false hope, as it turns out that this good-hearted, poor soul of a friend was merely a rebound.
A month or so after the whole kerfuffle I attended a birthday party with my new friend, for his older brother. My new friend had told me that he worried I would ditch him for his older, stronger, leaner brother – but that was his own insecurities talking. He idolised his brother, so of course he thought he was better than himself. But no, it wasn’t the brother that got me that night. It was the brother’s friend – and my new friend – American Honey.
I got so drunk that night. I was newly single and although I had tied myself to my friend, I wanted to have fun. I hadn’t been single in 2 years and I wanted to give “that flirting thing” a go. So I drank, and I drank, and I drank. I only knew one person there but I drank my liver to death. My inhibitions died and my crazy slut-self emerged. First she fixated on the elephant in the room – a Scot! His accent had caught my attention straight away – as accents do – and I found myself wanting to hear him talk. After a few drinks, I started making the rounds. I would walk up to people, shake their hand and introduce myself. I did this a few times until I hit the Scot’s best friend – Matt.
I was drunk – and so was he – when he opened his mouth and let the words out. His voice was low, and alluring. It was the perfect mix of sex-appeal and seriousness that it caught me off-guard. Everybody around me suddenly disappeared into the rabble, and all I heard was his voice. I spent the rest of the night flirting my face off with him, and he too. My desires to plant my face on his face got so very strong that the only reason I did not do it was because of my promise to that friend. It wasn’t as if I was scared Matt would reject me – he had told me himself that he wanted to smack one on me too.
When I left that night, I was so far gone that I didn’t even say goodbye to him. I had spent all night pining after him and then ignored him on my departure. I felt bad when I realised and I have never forgiven myself for that, but I was drunk and what can you do?
The next day I was at my friend’s place, bored out of my mind and only wanting to go home. A friend of my friend had randomly shown up and stolen the show, so I messaged Matt on facebook and we started chatting. We talked for three full days before we finally decided that he should come visit me, in my now-empty unit. It was just me there now, and although it was freeing, it was awfully quiet. Matt came over at 10 in the morning, and we watched movies, listened to music and played games all day. My bed time since I started working for the postal service has always been no later than 10pm, and Matt was there until then. When I realised the time, I kicked him out. Apologised but said I needed to get to bed for work the next day.
When he got to his car, he sent me a text. “Damn curiosity” he said. Curiosity was our way of telling each other that we wanted to do a thing – a cute little head of the moment thing. We wanted to kiss. “Just a kiss” He said, after I told him to “Come back”. It was hot, back then and after he had left I had stripped off my bra and switched into little shorts. My white John Lennon shirt – which I still wear – covered me quite well. When Matt came back and knocked on my door, I opened it stating “Welcome back” but before I got to say anything else, he attacked my face with his face. He planted the most romantic and wonderful kiss on me that I’ve ever had. It was astounding – I never thought I would experience that kind of kiss, and just like that it happened.
I liken that kiss to the first kiss that Jessica Day and Nick Miller shared on New Girl. It was full of passion and lust, want and need. I will never feel that kiss on my lips or in my heart ever again, but as long as I get to keep Matt, it’s worth it.
That kiss happened in January 2014. Matt and I have been dating for over a year and a half and we’re still going strong. That one Wednesday started it all – a torrential downpour of ups and downs that lead me into the arms of the most wonderful man I’ve ever met. It is painful to admit though that not even this most wonderful man can heal all my wounds.
I’m still tormented by the pains of the words that my ex spoke to me, and my sadness has only elevated. Every day I hate myself more and more because of how fat I am and how skinny I once was. I used to be skinnier, smarted, more attractive and care-free. I used to enjoy life and enjoy my friends. All those friends I once had are gone to me, and the new ones I have I feel only put up with me because of Matt. I can’t believe that anyone could like me because I don’t even like myself. I’m in a painful hole and I keep dumping negative thoughts and images on myself. It’s hard to get along in life feeling so down.
I know that the best method is to fix my issues – and I’ve started with it. I was depressed that I was 21 without a license, so I went out and got it. That was a big step for me and it helped as independence was suddenly much more realistic for me. The only thing is, there are still other issues that need addressing. My biggest is my weight – I weigh more than I look like I do and I like to believe that it’s muscle, but I know it’s probably just my big fat ass weighing me down. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not obese or disgustingly gluttonous – I’m just a bit chubbier than I used to be. My arms, hands, calves and feet still belong to a skinny version of me, it’s just that my unused abdomen and middle sections store the weight and don’t let go.
I’ve started working on this though – I’ve cut out large portions of crap from my diet and it’s stunted the weight-gain. All I need now is to exercise more instead of sitting on my ass playing computer games all day. Even though I can see that I’m doing some good, I still hate that I have to fight this. I hate knowing that if I lose the weight I’ve gained, I’ll probably feel like I can eat that crap again, and start the cycle back around. At least I’m aware of that, though I suppose.
I’m at a loss for words now as to where this thing will take me. I’ve got to pick up Matt from work in a little while and if I decide to follow my streams of thought anymore I’ll be here for another 3 hours and I’ll completely forget to get him altogether. I suppose this was to let of steam – get it in writing. I haven’t written in so long that I thought it would be good for me to get some thoughts into words, and I think it has. It’s possible that putting it up for public display would help, and knowing that people know my story – whether they believe it or not – is comforting. I’m not too concerned with what people let their brains do as I’m sure they don’t care what mine does. I think the biggest thing is that this will be here for me to find and read in 3 years’ time when I’ve achieved my goals and am truly happy once more. I’ll have to try and write a review at that time to update myself.
I could always do a blog, but I don’t have the motivation nor the attention span for that. This will do, a small time-capsule full of words and poor-writing I know I’ll despise when I come back to it. I’ll hate my 22-year old self for being such a moody little shithead and I’ll thank God that I improved myself for the better. I would write that I would like to still be with Matt in 3 years, but I fear that if something goes wrong and I read that, I would cry myself dry.
Oh well, I’ve said it anyway.