The ‘I’ in ‘Me’

We could say that this bout was kicked off by the email “I’ve got some bad news – apparently he’s seeing someone, my friend said he was out on a date” but I think we – or at least I know that it’s actually about me, not about him. The crushes are interchangeable. What remains constant is how I cope – or don’t, how personally I take every rejection (cos duh, rejection is a personal thing), how much I worry about how much this will close me up even more. So I’m cocooning. I don’t want to be told “oh well at least you ahve a new friend”, because so fucking what? I don’t particularly feel like torturing myself with hanging out with someone I can’t have, that’s generally not my style (and yes, there’s always exceptions). I don’t want to be told “I told you so” because believe me, I’m telling myself that enough for two. All I want is a shoulder to cry on, one that’s not going to try and figure me out or puzzle it through or offer trite cliches because I’d rather tear out my womb and eat it than listen to the same old things over and over again, which is of course somewhat ironic on account of how you suckers are reading the same thing over and over again, on a montly basis. I hate my womb. Maybe I should tear it out. If I could reach it with tweezers or hot wax in the socially acceptable way, I would inflict the pain like that.

I worry that I cannot communicate my thoughts and feelings clearly – not only the hesitantness that I metaphorically dipped my toe in with in this particular scenario, but also in the way I describe the after-effects. I suspect this wasn’t helped by venting about a different thing on a particularly stupid-in-these-kinds-of-contexts workmate, who totally missed the point of a discovery that the ex girlcrush had only been with her boyfriend for a short while and therefore I wasn’t actually as stupid as I thought I was not to know about it. But there are plenty of other things that make me go “well, am I really that dumb or not?” And again, sure, some of this is in relation to that boy, but remember, I was never that sure if I really liked him or if it was just the thought that maybe he liked me that made me like him. This could be me being all in denial, so to offer up proof, I will tell you that I never thought of him whilst wanking. Assuming I’ve crushed on him since February 19, and my journal will back up that date, that’s at least 140 times that I haven’t thought of him.

And as always, I am terrified that the state of my mental health is crumbling. Three nights of heavy drinking over the weekend didn’t help, nor did yet another blast-from-the-past getting in contact via the internet. FUCK YOU INTERNET. I am scared that I’m going to relapse into being utterly dependent on other people, and I fought for a long time to not be like that. I’m scared that I am trying to alienate myself from my friends right now in order to fight that. I’m scared that I will cease to be entertaining, and that I try to buy friends, and that I won’t be able to sustain current friendship circles, because until this bout kicked in I was feeling glorious and popular and content, and we all know I can’t have that. I’m scared that I make excuses, I’m scared that bring all the scaredness upon myself. I’m once again longing for celepram, but I’m supposed to have all my shit together now.

Then Humpy went and sent me a job ad for a position in Auckland and I went “fuck this sounds like a really good job, content editing music sites” and then I freaked out about the thought of having to move to Auckland just when my homelife is all working out so well, and then I thought about how I might apply for that job and they might reject me, and then I wondered where exactly my career is taking me, and what if we don’t get the new tender for the site that I manage now, and then I came up with reasons not to apply for the job, and then I hated myself just a little bit more and I just don’t know what to do about it. Exercise. Take St John’s wort. Pray for my bleed. It can’t be far off. I’m mangoing and I think I felt the start of a cramp last night. Cross your fingers for me. Do the blood dance. Can I ask you to humour me a little longer?

In the “and I’m sure you’ll totally be keen to hang out with me if I’m still like this then” news, I’m coming to Auckland in July, from 14-16. Hurrah for impulse buying and credit cards. I’ve also paid for my flights to the States in October, hurrah.

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