Can you tell me the last time you felt totally happy, or even content? A period where there wasn’t one factor in your life that caused you upset or stress? You weren’t bogged down with the weight of uncertainty or rheumy eyed over matters of the heart. A time when you didn’t want to punch your boss in the face or freak out and start screaming at those idiots in the street that walk as though they are trying to cross a minefield – baby steps, slowly, SLOWLY… slower still.
When I was born, Rafiki from The Lion King probably rubbed that red stuff on my head and said ‘you will learn to be tolerant of other people’s BS, no matter how homicidal it makes you feel.’ I know this because my entire life I’ve had this inability to speak my mind, unless of course I am drunk in which case my mind is splattered across the walls and in a very undignified way. I’ve tried before to adopt that ‘I don’t give a f*ck’ attitude, but I feel as though trotting through life looking out for number one and not caring about others is about as realistic as those fad diets or internet spam comments You know, the ones that tell you how much money people make working from home – you know it’s all a steaming pile of shit, but sometimes you just want to believe it.
Lately I’ve felt as though everyone has been walking over me. My friends, my work, heck even my barber (I’ll get a zero of I want a zero thank-you very much.) I’ve tried to stop caring, to start suiting myself, but all that has achieved is a litany of guilt trips from people. It’s funny how you can be the good guy for so long; always be there for friends and people. But as soon as you act selfish and just something for you, you’re suddenly the worst cunt in the world. As though you’ve just hailed a 8 mile wide meteor from somewhere deep within the cosmos and it’s now hurling towards earth, guaranteeing nothing but death, destruction and despair upon impact. If. Fucking. Only.
I’ve stood squinting at myself in the mirror this week. Trying to give myself some pep talks and motivational speeches. I’ve tried to be devout in my believe that I’m a bad ass bitch and anyone else’s opinion has zero relevance; that they don’t matter enough to hurt me. But every time I’ve done this it’s felt so alien. Do you remember that film The Changeling and the scene where Angelina Jolie’s character is screaming ‘THAT’S NOT MY SON!’ that’s how I’ve felt this past week when I’ve glared at my own irritating reflection.
How am I meant to do things that better me and that I enjoy whilst constantly worrying about others and what their perception of me is? Like, if I start doing things I enjoy and truly stop caring where will it stop? Will I start derailing further and further off the tracks of acceptable behaviour? Will I start eating dogs? PEOPLE?! OK, I am kidding. But truly I don’t know where the balance lies. I do my own thing, enjoy myself and I’m branded a cunt. I silence my blatant need for help or rest to stay up talking to friends, helping them sort whatever problem ills them and I’m also branded a cunt – but this time by myself. Because I am slowly being worn down to my very foundation. As such I am wind up hating myself for not being able to help everyone, but hating myself more for feeling I need to.
In these moments of reckoning rather than simply switch my phone to silent, pick up a book and wind down, I get sucked into whatever blackhole is threatening to envelop another one of my friends’ world. Whenever I’m needing to do stuff for myself, or address a personal issue (God forbid) I wind up procrastinating. It’s always over stuff like applying for new jobs or looking at my future. Nothing too serious.Truthfully though, most of my stress comes from the stress thrust upon me by others. When they do this I just want to say FUCK OFF. Leave me the fuck alone, I have issues too, so let’s ask Topher how he is. But rather than do that I sit and offer advice and put myself out, knowing that the same will rarely, if ever, be done for me.
So here I am again procrastinating. Rather than message people and say ‘hey I am struggling’ or try and apply for new jobs that don’t make me want to punch a coat hanger into my retinas, I sit and write. Because this way at least I am getting it out, but only to a limited audience. Not many of my friends read these I suspect. Because heaven forbid someone should do something for me.
(Lately I’ve been neglecting this blog. It wasn’t because I had once again lost interest, I’ve just had a lot going on in my life so I had to take a step back. Lucky for you lot I am now focusing on this again. Only without the witty titles, I’ll just use dates and treat the next month worth of entries like a diary.)