Continuing my desperate attempts to introduce/ force some joy into my life, I went to an amusement park. The sun was shining, I rode my favourite roller coaster, I was with friends - perfect setting for a perfectly amusing day. Yet being among people seems like such a struggle.
I used to be a happy, positive, upbeat person. Now it's an act I put on; a role I need to get into every time I'm out and about to make myself more tolerable for those around me. And one I don't think I'm performing in an Academy Award-worthy way. I think everyone can see through it.
I feel bad. I have such wonderful friends that have helped me get through all this - a fact that even strangers point out to me. Even the people at work have turned out to be pretty fantastic. But I just can't bring myself to break out of my shell and join the world. Everywhere I go, I carry a 176 cm hole in my heart. That hurts. And not just because there are only 167 cms of me. Everything I do, I'd rather be doing with him.
I feel bad. I have such wonderful friends that have helped me get through all this - a fact that even strangers point out to me. Even the people at work have turned out to be pretty fantastic. But I just can't bring myself to break out of my shell and join the world. Everywhere I go, I carry a 176 cm hole in my heart. That hurts. And not just because there are only 167 cms of me. Everything I do, I'd rather be doing with him.
I just want to stay home, alone, without having to explain why I'm still such a miserable git. I even skipped St. Patrick's Day AND the Eurovision song contest- I simply didn't have in me to get excited about them. And those are my favourite holidays!
I've gone from the life and soul of any party to a housebound hermit. I spend Saturday evening at home, watching Lewis and drinking HP brown sauce straight from the bottle. The only person I want to spend time with is the man who doesn't want to be with me. And the irony? He is probably at home too, doing the same thing (with Chenin Blanc in place of that brown sauce).
I've gone from the life and soul of any party to a housebound hermit. I spend Saturday evening at home, watching Lewis and drinking HP brown sauce straight from the bottle. The only person I want to spend time with is the man who doesn't want to be with me. And the irony? He is probably at home too, doing the same thing (with Chenin Blanc in place of that brown sauce).
What is happening to me? Am I really losing it? Is this blog just a verbal equivalent of those shrines you see on Criminal Minds on the walls of those delusional women, dedicated to that guy next door they're obsessed with? What's next? Voodoo dolls? Moving countries just so I can take up stalking?
Even my friends are starting to worry. I think one of them is about to stage an intervention. You know, vision boards, universe boxes, laws of attraction- the whole "Secret" shebang. Apparently if you give the Universe, the Universe will give back to you. Well, I've given. And so far the only thing Universe gave me was 10 extra kilos and anger management issues of John McEnroe calibre.
Even my friends are starting to worry. I think one of them is about to stage an intervention. You know, vision boards, universe boxes, laws of attraction- the whole "Secret" shebang. Apparently if you give the Universe, the Universe will give back to you. Well, I've given. And so far the only thing Universe gave me was 10 extra kilos and anger management issues of John McEnroe calibre.
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