I’m pretty sure I’m having a
nervous breakdown. My life is a joyless, faithless, hopeless pile of cat crap.
I don’t have a cat, but I might as well get one, since I’m pretty sure I’m what
they would call a “spinster” in the olden days. In modern times, I think it’s
okay to be single, as long as you’re focused on your career. I also have no
career. The only things I have are a sluggish metabolism and a drinking
problem.
My crying jags are out of
control. I can barely operate a car anymore because driving around is
apparently some kind of catalyst for tears. Then again, walking around, laying
around, showering, getting dressed, doing laundry, washing dishes, silence,
loud noises, checking the mail or breathing oxygen also seem to be catalysts
for tears.
I want to be who I was before
I met him. Before I cared if I had a stupid-ass “relationship” or not. Back
when I was really okay with being a drunk slut and could quietly judge the
lonely singles and trapped marrieds. Before I was a damaged, paranoid lonely
miserable fucking freak.
I swear, some SHIT has
happened to me in my life. But that man… oh my god. He is absolutely, without a
doubt, the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
Now, if I could just get over
him. I could have my life back… couldn’t I?
But what if I’m ruined? What
if I’m so damaged I can never love or trust ever again? I mean, I used to be
pretty cool. Now, I’m a total nut job. And frankly, I’m the kind of woman that
needs to overcompensate for my appearance with a “swell personality” – so where
am I now? I’m angry, bitter, cynical, insecure, paranoid and jealous of
everyone and everything. Literally, I’m jealous not just of pretty girls, but of
dogs, and trees, and rocks. I’m jealous of the sky. Clearly, I’m crazy. And, I’m
a man-hater. I hate them because they talk about how crazy women are – but HEY
ASSHOLE! HOW THE FUCK DO YOU THINK WE GOT THIS WAY?
I used to just be a normal
girl with low self-esteem and an eating disorder. Totally NOT crazy. Just
American. But now, I’m a certifiable whack-a-do. I’m heartsick, soul-sick and
I miss the “good” him – I didn’t get too much of him, and I try to remember
that whoever that guy was, he’s gone. He doesn’t see me anymore. I could stand
in front of him, naked, or in my sexiest button-pushing lingerie, and he wouldn’t
see me. I have become the Invisible Woman. And it hurts like a million knives
of fire.
“I've broken both my legs falling for you.” ~Silverstein,
Bleeds No More |
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