I feel like I should always know where I am flying to. I guess lately I have been planning and taking so many trips I don’t even know where I am at this very moment. Sigh that’s my problem. I can’t live in the moment. I can’t savor and anchor myself on one emotion. I’m always late for something. Late to know what I’m going to be doing next, late in achieving my goals, late in making progress in life. Why can’t I just be happy with what I have? I mean, there are 7 billion something people. Not everyone is happy. Not everyone knows what to do. But still; here I am, 20,000 ft in the air and climbing and I feel like – I keep taking the wrong flight.
I swear if there is a day that goes by that I do not feel some anxiety for something I feel like a fucking queen who just saved an entire galaxy while delivering a million babies and then saved a kitten stuck up a tree.
I just have an extremely active mind. So active in fact that I make myself sick with worry, or even too much happiness. Like I can make myself feel faint just by getting too excited (it’s not funny). It’s annoying. The more I grow and become more and more myself the more energy I have and the less venues I have to let it out because I am busy being an adult working a job I don’t like and not creating anything I do like. Writing is one of the few things that help. Hence why I stopped what I was doing now and sat down to write.
I have been cleaning for 2 days and 1 night; and when I say cleaning I mean like “deep cleaning, throwing things out, rearranging furniture, scrubbing the floors on my knees, washing the walls” cleaning. I am leaving for about 24 or 25 days to Europe on Tuesday. This should be so fucking intense but it’s me…so automatically it becomes the equivalent of taking The Ring halfway up to Mordor.
I just want to make something extremely clear:
I know that the life I created for myself is something some people want; that I have almost nothing to complain about, that I have a lot of reasons to be happy and truthfully, there are a lot of things I am seriously happy about.
However, with my overactive mind, this type of lifestyle is killing me. I am able to keep up with all this mess I create for myself and not actually go insane but it isn’t completely “fixed” yet. I’ve been working a lot on myself these past 2 years. This last horrible break up has been a set back it’s true. I’d like to think that some of that humiliation did some good for me, kept me humble or something, but that isn’t the case. No one deserves that. No one at all actually.
Now I am just unhappy that I am even able to overwork myself to the point of collapse. To the point of freaking out so much my own body thinks there is something actually happening to feel sick about. I trick my self accidentally, physic myself out. This just adds to the stress and believe me, these past 2 years I have made leaps and bounds towards a much calmer me and it has gotten so much better overall. For example I am not really freaking out about the long plane rides I have to take. It’s annoying but I am not terrified. Yay!
Now this “Stress” or whatever is just an annoyance, whereas before I literally could not function. So; I am grateful for the work I put in and for the achievements I have made. It takes a lot to battle things that are your own. Everyone has their own faults, their own fears, their own self-made prisons. Some people never feel the effects, some people never have to face these things and some people succumb completely.
I truly commend everyone who is able to see that there is something not optimum within themselves and who make the enormous effort to begin a journey towards betterment. If everyone was able to find their answers and to become a greater, better version of themselves – this world would be utterly amazing. Even more than it is now.
So; I wrote this to calm my nerves a bit. It’s working slowly but surely. Not by best piece ever but it was really a means to an end. I have been in such a whirlwind my whole life it seems. Never really having a place to call mine. Not in CA, not in NYC, not anywhere. Even here in FL where I have most of my life set up it’s always unstable and “in the interim” and therefore, even though very nice and somewhat comfortable, never really completely satisfying, never a place where I can build something permanent. It’s just a “jumping off point”…and yet I never jump.
I have a full time day at work tomorrow handling all possible things that can go wrong before I leave (of course) and then somehow finish all the personal things I have to get done (like the packing I haven’t done for example) so that I can leave in one piece and arrive back to my county.
I just keep telling myself that. In less than 50 something hours I will in my own land. In my own city, in my very own street, in my own yard, my staircase. I will be where I used to call home.
And for me; that’s as close as I can get to “being home” right now.
Fitness Con – apparently my gym can sometimes smell like a juicy delicious grilled steak and this makes it harder to run #salivating #frustrated
There’s nothing like fighting with friends…
It’s blazing hot outside. It’s been that way for 3 or 4 days now. No matter how hot it is I have this constant bone chill inside me. I wear sweaters, crack the windows in my office to let the hot air in, leave my AC off at home. I can’t seem to warm up. Even when I’m running I barely feel my blood pumping around gaining momentum and warmth. Nope; I’m cold. I feel numb. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to keep thinking about my decisions based on others. Based on friends whose job isn’t to support me, based on family that doesn’t get me, based on suitors who can’t convince me and a life I can’t cope with.
I feel disappointment. For someone who screamed and fought since the day I became coherent, about my independence, about my right to be alone and survive myself and not be dependent on anything or anyone…I am so heavily influenced by others. I can’t make a life decision for my own.
If I move back to NYC it’s hard and scary and my ex is there and I am tired and I feel like I’m moving there almost to prove him and everyone else involved wrong. Possibly to my detriment, financially and even spiritually.
If I move to the UK it’s on the agreement and shoulders of a new relationship I don’t feel I can have and would only make it even more evident that I can’t be independent and that my choices are defined and influenced by someone else. And if I go there because of a relationship it needs to be a relationship that leaves me free to do whatever I want and not worry about my survival…and that’s a hugely tall order to fill and almost impossible I am sure.
I hate it. I wish I didn’t care. That I was open to have other people to depend on. But, besides stubborn, I’m also selfish. If someone is going to help me then it can’t be 25%. If you’re going to “support me” then 100% do it. Make me not have to think or provide for anything.
And I know this is where I am wrong. But I haven’t been able to fix that in myself yet…just adding it to the list.
All these hits just make me more and more tired. I feel bruised and then get angry at myself for acting like a victim and complaining about a life that some people would literally cut their own arm off for. But I am unhappy. I am angry. I’m not going to suppress that. I’m tired and tired and tired. Of myself and everyone else and everything else. I’m not ready to give in. I know what I am doing to myself but I can’t just stop it cold. It makes it almost worse to just cut it. I hold on more ardently to this idea that I must do this alone and I must have everyone else stop.
I don’t even know what. I’m just angry and want everything to just fucking stop.
I want this job to stop making me angry at myself for not being happy, I want this life to stop being so double-edged, I want this stupid feeling of guilt for being unhappy to stop, I want these people I thought were my friends to stop being a sore subject for me, I want these life “options” and decisions to stop being so fucking upsetting, I want this rut to stop, I want my ex to stop pouring salt in my wounds, confusing me, not understanding I don’t trust him but wish I could so badly, I want my mind to stop remembering all the fucked up things that happened and that I have no idea how to even forgive, I want this life to stop and be different; to have some meaning again, to not feel guilty about complaining, to not feel sad I’m not where I thought I’d be, to not be angry at everyone like it’s their fault, to not think so badly of myself for “not dealing with the bad cards I’ve been handed”, to not be so angry that my life was rigged to become possibly shit and that I don’t get an award just for being where I am now. Yes I want an fucking award. Sorry.
I read a quote yesterday, “happiness is not the absence of problems. It is the ability to deal with them.“
Well a lot of people have problems. Some a lot worse than others. I have problems, sure. Some people think some of mine are impossible to handle and yet they can handle the ones that destroy me. Everyone is different and has different points of view and values and degrees of importance on the same subject…but still, I am unhappy. I feel I am no longer able to deal with problems that have to do with me. I feel so angry I can’t even see clearly.
I have basically been building my own cell block.
But…I was just thinking; what if it’s always been there and I’m just simply seeing it happen now. What if I’ve been in this cell so long I forgot it was that?
Is that what it is? Am I simply seeing it now and gearing up for a jail break?
Because I realize that’s all I want.
I want to escape.
I’m having so many ups and downs I feel like I’m on a bloody roller-coaster. Did I mention I hate roller-coasters? …I need to get more sleep.
I don’t mean to post only bad news but sometimes that is the only time I find myself needing to write.
I wrote a couple of posts that I did not publish where I had mentioned a friend of mine (who is the long term girlfriends of a closer friend of mine) that has had cancer and now had recently gotten it again. Ovarian cancer this time spreading into the intestines somehow. I wrote about it because I was angry it was happening, because I needed to vent that someone next to me, my age and what not was going through something like this. But I didn’t post it because I felt it was too private. I didn’t want to post that. I almost didn’t want to make it real by posting anything about it.
Today I booked my ticket to go back home to Italy for June. My friends are getting married and it is about time I get my ass back to my country after 5 years of not being on Italian soil. I booked the ticket. So expensive ($1,5k+) and although really pissed at the heavy expense I was elated. I was squealing like a little girl. I was freaked out and excited and nervous and anxious and happy. Then I looked down at my cell as it vibrated and my world came crashing down in a fiery pile of ash.
“She passed early this morning. Sorry I’m just getting around to telling you.” I couldn’t breathe. I felt like throwing up. I couldn’t talk anymore. All that kept coming out of my mouth was the words “shit” and “what do I do? I don’t know what to do.” and I still don’t. I don’t know how to deal with it. She was young. My age. She had ovarian cancer. I’ve had ovarian things and yes, selfishly I am scared. Things like this are jarring. They scare me and worry me and make me feel horrible about feeling these things in the first place. First my legs wouldn’t work and then they wouldn’t stop working once I got up and started pacing. At some point though I was on the ground, then I wanted to smash everything in front of me but held it in check. I didn’t know what to fucking do.
I’ll bounce back as I always do. I know it. But I couldn’t talk to anyone. I had an appointment to go to and people were waiting for me so I just went. I showed up. I did all the things I had to do. Maybe not with a smile but people are used to seeing me not smile. Some people asked me if something was wrong but I couldn’t talk. It felt like my mouth was pasted together.
I started to worry about the women in my life. My mum, my dearest friend in the UK, my friend and mother of my god-kids, what would I do if something happened to them? What can I possibly do to make my friends pain go away now? His long term girlfriend dead. She’s dead. Fuck. I type this and I still can’t understand. We all grew up together. How can she be out of the game when we’re all still here? It feels surreal. I don’t know what to do, what to think or what to feel.
I feel stupid. I feel like all these things are just piling up on me. All the bad things happening in waves. I can’t get up fast enough that something else hits me. I feel like I am making headway but definitely have long moments of treading water. I want to give up most days but I really just keep swimming because I know that I will get out into the open ocean soon. But soon doesn’t seem to come. This one was a very hard crash. A tall, mean wave. I feel like I need to go under but I can’t. I can’t just keep treading. I can’t keep letting these waves hit me like this. I don’t want anyone else to go through that either.
I am rambling. I type more than I can even think right now. I am so numb I can’t even feel my own face. I’m just typing.
I don’t know what else to do.
I need to try to sleep and know that tomorrow morning I will drag myself out of bed like every other day.
I will take myself to walk on the beach. Get some salt water and air.
I can’t say anything more.
Just – shit.
I don’t want to post this but now I don’t think anyone can pretend it is not happening. It is happening so much it is over.
And I know people die from cancer every day. It still doesn’t make this suck any less.
It was the moment where I saw myself gagging on the floor because I so psychotically cried on the floor, with so much strain, that I knew I sucked as a human being. I know, it sounds really harsh and there are worse things one can do to really suck as a human being, but I am serious. To my standards; this does not work.
I guess everyone has a bad break up so why am I special. I’m not I know. I don’t care this isn’t about me being fucking special! If I was special then I wouldn’t be fucking going through this fucking break up!
Note to self; IT HAS BEEN 8 MONTHS YOU BLITHERING IDIOT FUCK OFF.
I know I sound really mean to myself. This whole, “girl you gotta love yourself” thing isn’t my forte. I love myself when I don’t fucking act like a bitch vagina. I just made that up, it seems to fit somehow although I can’t work out what I actually meant by it.
So, back to the floor; and why I have my revelations on this floor I don’t know. Maybe my floor is holy. Maybe people will flock it it. Come to see it, kneel before it….okay I am hedging.
I fucked up. I spent almost 8 months of basically never (except once) giving in to the urge to call the fuck up and talk. Not even talk but just fight or something I don’t know. I didn’t, I didn’t, I didn’t. It would come and go. Today I cried almost all day intermittently. I am not a big crier. I am an angry person more than a crier. So…I didn’t do so well. It’s fucking really impossible to do anything while crying. When angry, one can multitask. Work, shop, drive, walk, breathe, read, whatever. When you cry…you can’t fucking do shit. But because I have shit to do I couldn’t not function because I was distraught. I have this motto to just keep fucking going until you’re fucking dead on the floor…I still don’t know if that’s actually proven successful in my life or not.
So I went on with my business, while I
cried. I cleaned, while I cried. I actually went for my daily workout and run, I cried a lot then, which strangely helped for motivation. I came home and tried to distract myself. I had no one to talk to. My only life line is a girlfriend of mine in England who already spent 2 hours on the phone with me in the morning discussing my horrible relapse into “fuck-you” insanity, as I call it, (because it’s literally saying fuck-you to me as I self destroy all my neatly stacked up thoughts and logical patterns), and she’s asleep now, hopefully happy and none the wiser that I am about to fail us.
I fucking thought, well jeez, 8 months and this still doesn’t feel right, maybe I’ll change and actually talk to him and see if that helps. Oh yeah, great fucking idea. Besides listening to him tell me he tried, he tried, he tried and I never let him fix it because I showed him how much I hated him (which I had to explain that if you hurt someone, they’re not exactly going to be happy with you. Even as you try to fix it…you have to make it up to them man….bloody hell is he thick?) and that he was going to call me this week to let me know that most likely he will be starting a relationship with another girl, I did say my piece.
I told him he should have tried harder. That I didn’t sleep with someone else and that I didn’t start another relationship. I was hoping he’d figure it out but he never did, yada-yada-yada. Back and forth, back and forth and nothing was resolved. But we both said what we said…and here is the Pièce de résistance, he URGENTLY cut me off and said “I gotta take this call” and I knew it was her and I asked and he URGENTLY confirmed and I almost threw up on my iPhone (which I really am starting to hate since it’s been nothing but a gateway to hell with this fucking Instagram, Facebook, texting bullshit it lets me see…or rather, I use to self-hurt by reading those god-awful, vomit inducing, death provoking comments he leaves on her fucking stupid pictures). I URGENTLY said bye.
If I thought I was crying before, I was fucking wrong. I haven’t cried like this in a long fucking time. Well, as I said…it ended up with me in a weird, disgusting shape gagging on the floor and basically retching till I felt my head would explode. I didn’t want to move. I didn’t want to live. I felt it, I actually wanted my heart to just stop. I didn’t want to feel it. I then thought “wow, what the fuck? What is this?! I can’t feel this?! I’m fucking almost 25! I can’t be this type of person! No for the love of god!”. I tried calling my friend in NY. Almost lifeless at this point I couldn’t even hold the fucking phone to my ear…what a loser. He picked up but he was out with people. He heard it in my voice a bit. Asked me if I was okay. I lied. I perked up and told him I was just checking in. What I wanted to do was scream and vomit again from crying and say “oh my fucking god fly over here before I can’t breathe anymore”. I didn’t. I didn’t want to show someone how fucked up I can be. Even if he knows, I think I can’t play that role anymore. I am not the one who gets to be this way. It’s like seeing your Dad lose it or something. It’s disheartening but also shakes your stability. I don’t want to do that to the people that are close to me.
I hung up and proceeded to lose it again, worse and worse. I knew I was at a dangerous point though. I guess if there is a time where this would happen then it would be this kind of time but I had the worst shit going through my head. In the time it took me to drag myself to my room and collapse on the floor I had literally thought of every possible way to end everything. Just fucking implode and die. No more work, no more anything. I didn’t want to do or be anything. Pure, horrific, apathy. I tried dialing my mother twice. The calls failed. Good because I would have really disappointed her for being like this. That’s after she probably would have come to the rescue but still.
The retching wouldn’t stop so I dragged myself to the bathroom. Nothing came out. Oh yeah I forgot to eat dinner. Smart, that should help keep me stable in times of stress…being hungry,! Good job, you half-wit. Since 1/4 of my body was up I decided to push and stand up all the way. My legs were literally no longer in the control of my own mind. I dragged myself around the house touching things. I told my self, OUT LOUD…seriously, things like “good job, you touched that so well! Wow excellent. That’s really good, good job, yes that’s good, man that was very good.” I fucking lost it man. Seriously. I just kept thinking, I gotta take care of myself. Me. Not someone else. I am at a point where I should be able to handle…this thing. This cannot be me really. So I “walked” around my little apartment touching things and wailing for about 40 minutes.
He texted me somewhere in between that “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you at the end. I just couldn’t continue talking about this and not knowing what to do.”
To which I replied: “it’s fine. do what you were already doing as I said. I didn’t talk to you this whole time because I didn’t want to confuse you….obviously this is what happens. it’s okay. “
He then proceeded “I just want you to know, I never did anything intentionally to make an effect for you, I just did them to try to handle something in my life” and I gracefully, or not so gracefully, said: “Just keep growing the little seed you planted. If it’s good, then no one really can say anything. Me included. Don’t worry. Thanks for talking it was nice to hear you.”
Knife through the heart, complete. Begin another 20 minutes of walking around, touching things, crying/laughing/talking to myself insanity. Then I sat down. Then I started writing this even though this whole time I feel scared that I have to admit I was so dramatic. That I can sink so low. I feel sorry for myself. That I have this pressure to be excellent and that I am truly able to be but that I can also emote all of this horrible shit that I feel when something like this happens.
Right now I have the worst stomach ache, probably from churning up all the bile when retching like a dick. I’ve been having horrible nightmares at night these past 2 days. I thought maybe it’s because I eat before bed but I think I’m gonna have to eat now before I burn a hole through my stomach lining…although that might help end it all….KIDDING okay, it’s okay, it’s okay.
Do I want to post this? No not really. Will I? I think my insanity speaks for itself:
Just keep fucking going until you’re fucking dead on the floor.
I also have a feeling that that wouldn’t even stop me.
I was just thinking, I really am the infinite improbability drive…I end up anywhere and at any time without notice. I’m tired.
…And all of a sudden I had the most interesting realization; that I didn’t hate you because you treated me horribly, because you didn’t fix this upset between us, because you couldn’t stop yourself from sleeping with someone else instead of devoting yourself to salvaging us; but because I was cheering for you. I believed you could make it. You could have done it and won the prize you wanted, us.
I realized I loved you so much I wanted you to win the game you chose to play. I wasn’t heartbroken because of my own personal loss of no longer having a partner. I was angry because my team lost. Like a soccer match. You cannot do anything about it, you just watch the attackers give up or fumble, the defense crumble and the goalie miss, and you get angry and cry and yell and scream but in the end the match is lost…and you just sit there.
I noticed this is the way I love people. I want them to have everything they want to have but, after growing up more and having my own experiences, I know that I cannot do it for them. So I push and try to coach them into achieving what they want.
I failed you at that. I didn’t coach you properly. I wanted you to win so bad and so ardently I lost it. I got scared and angry when I saw you heading for “the wrong side of the field”, so to speak. When I saw the attack and defense crumble. When I saw you not playing hard or fast enough for the win. When I was no longer sure you wanted to even play.
However, I am a fair and strict referee and I cannot lie to you nor I that we lost this match. I am sorry. I really wanted you to win and I hope I will be able to shed this “sore loser” persona I realized that I am being.
Losing hurts. It sucks. But there is something about the fact that I don’t hate you because you hurt me but rather that I am angry that you didn’t win and that I had to end the game of my most favorite team.
I realize I should find someone that I don’t have to coach but rather, we can play together.
I probably wrote 3 or 4 articles in my head before I finally gave up today and decided to write for real.
It is Saturday night, 8:55PM and I am just doing laundry. Colors to be exact. I am sitting on a small little stool in my laundry room listening to the sound of my Electrolux drowning all my clothes in whatever smart way it thinks is best.
I wasn’t writing because I was getting sick of myself writing only about relationships. Only and only about this. No wonder I feel my life is so boring. Alas, here I am, again on this fine Saturday night, writing about what? About relationships. I guess I get what I resist in the end.
I found out that Mr.MD is trying to date someone else. Another girl who was after him slightly while we were together. I am truthfully not worried about who’s better or even if he’s going to marry this girl (I’m sure the more immediate plan is to do…other things). I am simply angry. Angry that he is truthfully a fuck up. And a lazy bastard. And a liar. And a cheat.
Yes, I have my faults. Yes, I loved him a lot. Yes, he has plenty of great traits. No, he didn’t make it work. No, he didn’t fix it. No, he didn’t understand that I literally told him how to fix it and all he did was just complain about me not letting him come back to me (asshole). No, no, no I do not feel sorry for him. I am angry. I am not okay with what he did. I am not okay with how he handled the break up, or really, how he didn’t handle it but just sat there complaining I wouldn’t give him his “toy” back.
I guess I never said it. I never cried about this until last night really. And then I cried this morning. And then some more in the afternoon. Shameful crying full of hot, stinging anger because there have got to be better more important things to cry about than this shit-hole of a situation.
I thought to myself; if I could say anything to him right now it would really be “Fuck you. I’m tired of your shit.”
It really upsets me to see someone give up on me like that. And he would say the same thing I am sure. But what makes me sick to my stomach is the thought that during all these months of back and forth, between disappearing and blocking me off any connection to him and then reappearing and acting like everything is fine and I should simply welcome him back with open arms, he was kissing someone else, fucking someone else and flirting and trying to start a relationship with yet another someone else.
So much for being the only one you wanted to be with.
And no – my trust in men is not ruined because of him. I don’t even put him in that category.
If he so even wishes to be my friend, he’s got a long list of damages to repair. I am tired of covering for him to myself. I am perfectly sane. I am not disillusioned into thinking he did or is otherwise. He is what he is, and he did what he did and he is doing what he is doing. These aren’t opinions, they are facts.
And I, no matter how bad it hurts, no matter how much this rage consumes me; I will always seek to live with the truth.