I didn't know whether or not to post this. I did what Ernest Hemmingway said to do and I sat down at a typewriter (Dell laptop), and bled. Metaphorical, emotional bleeding of course, no blood transfusion was necessary.
It makes some people uncomfortable when others are overly and unashamedly open. I have always shared a lot of vulnerable stuff on here though, because I like it when other people do, and, frankly, I don’t care if you think I’m weird.
Mostly because I am but also because you probably suck.
I’m sad and tired. I’ve been feeling like I’m about to break for the last three months in fact, which has been fun. It seems as though no amount of wine, doughnuts and “phew, I think it’s over now” has stopped the onslaught of seemingly never-ending misery. It’s just one thing after another. And this week it peaked.
I’ve lost friends, a boyfriend and a bit of my integrity, and I’m still reeling from a sense of injustice that I can do nothing about. I’m angry with myself and with people that I trusted and cared about, and I’ve discovered that you will always get kicked while you’re down.
Sitting at the wheel of my car the other night, sobbing so hard I was in danger of rupturing something and feeling empty in a way that seemed selfish for someone as lucky as me, I decided that rather than continuing the exhausting struggle of “putting on a brave face”, I would allow myself to wallow a bit, in the deep, dark depths of self pity and melodrama. Because you know what? Misery is subjective, and even though there are people suffering far worse than I am and probably ever will, right now my life feels hard, and I’m tired.
I know I’ll be okay, of course I will be. I’m a mother-fucking strong and independent woman for goodness sake *Beyonce face*. And with my stellar circle of family and friends surrounding and cuddling me (in moderation), I’ll be more than okay.
The last few months have taken their toll though. I feel like I wasn’t worth trying for, or sticking up for, and that’s a bit of a kick to the old self esteem - the kind of kick that will require approximately 758 power ballads to rectify. But even though sometimes people will let you down or simply won’t like you, you really have to try to like yourself. Because without that, you’re done. When you get dumped and blame yourself, or you wake up and you don’t feel beautiful, you have to keep going, moving forward, trying harder and always believing that, while flawed, you’re fucking great.
It’s hard and I’m far from over it. I’ll probably never be fully over what’s happened in the last few months, but perhaps that’s a good thing. At least that way I can do everything in my minute power to not let it happen again. We’re all just a work in progress, after all.
There’s always sponge based deserts and emotional Demi Lovato songs as well.
Over and out.