He’s funny, sweet, considerate, sensitive, handsome, charming, understanding, has the world’s sexiest voice and is just an all-round amazing human being.
And I’m pretty crazy about this one.
Worst case scenario, he’s motivating me to stick to my diet!
Muzmatch, you delivered.
PS Yup, the same guy that I last blogged about. Can you believe it, someone who has been around long enough to make it into TWO posts?!
Ugh. I’m sorry, I’m just going to thought vomit. Because I have feeling sickness.
I’m so tired of figuring out more and more ways in which I am just completely, utterly and entirely f*cked up. I mean, I have so many emotional issues that I don’t even know what’s “normal” about me. I keep thinking that the right circumstances will fix things, but they won’t. The harsh reality is that I just need to suck it up and sort it out, all by my lonesome. Then the victim mentality that I am oh-so-familiar-with kicks in – why me? Why can’t things just fall into place?
But the reality is, they are. Well, mostly. But that elusive Mr Right, well, he remains nowhere to be seen. And in concentrating exclusively on this fact, I continue to feel like a failure. Even though I have a thousand good qualities and great things happening in my life, I feel broken, incomplete and worthless because I “can’t find a guy”. Years of family and cultural pressure have conditioned me to feel this way. Now, it’s up to me, and me alone, to recalibrate.
Jeez, where do I start?
I feel my fingers twitching and my eyes constantly being drawn to the screen. I know that I shouldn’t go there, that I risk sabotaging potential amazing-ness, that I feel myself falling into the black hole of toxic behavioural patterns. I’m trying to fight it, to divert my mind, to fill my time with pointless activities that really don’t need to be done. Anything to pass the time and not give in to temptation.
Part of me still wants to hold on to a belief in destiny; A romanticised notion that there is someone out there made especially for me, who is bumbling along in their life, feeling the same frustration that I feel. One day, we’ll meet under the most incredible circumstances, sparks will fly, yada yada… Fast forward to wedding cake sampling.
I’m petrified that destiny is within ourselves, because, well, historically I royally f*** things up. It means that my happiness lies in my clumsy hands and my future will be shaped by my awful judgement.
Basically, I’m screwed, and will live out the rest of my life a-la-spinster-Bridget-Jones, but sans Hugh Grant. And definitely sans Colin Firth.
Also, I really want to sample cake.
Be gone pain.
Be gone memories.
Be gone shattered hopes.
Be gone unrealised dreams.
Be gone feelings.
Be gone attachment.
Be gone yearning.
Be gone anticipation.
Be gone excitement.
Poof. Be gone.
No seriously, just f off.
And so it begins. I open at the close is my (relationship) pain-motto. Which I get doesn’t make much sense, but right now I simply don’t care. Harry Potter references just make me feel better.
Compromise is a dangerous thing. You move and move and move and move back, and don’t realise when you’ve fallen off that cliff. Or rather, been pushed off that cliff. You realise that you were backtracking towards it, facing the person who’s pushing you, not realising the edge of it is there, trusting the person you think cares won’t push you off. You struggle against the pushing, trying to push back, but not enough for them to walk away. Because you really, really, really don’t want them to leave. Some moments together have been magical, and memories of those moments make you fight to resist your own instincts to push back. But reflexes are reflexes.
Then you fall, and crash. And the jagged edges of the rocks beneath and the impact hurts. A lot. It opens up old wounds and creates new ones. Wounds that have been haphazardly sewn together, over and over again. And the person who pushed you off looks down at your broken, twisted body rather than walking away, under the guise of caring, but deep down, you wonder if it’s to appease their conscience. They think that it’s better to walk away so that you can get on with standing up, dusting yourself off and walking away – not realising that the kind thing to do is to come down to the rocks, extend an arm and help that person get back up again.
And no matter how much they say they care, actions speak louder than words.
Someone I know (very well) struggles with anxiety. Except it’s not general – it’s exacerbated by relationships – of the romantic kind. It reminds me of me – a very long time ago. Or maybe not so long ago – maybe even now. Sometimes, I think I know myself, but life’s tests make me take a different path than the one I thought I would take.
I must remember,
A boy is not my buoy.
Sorry, I couldn’t resist.
I dream of a bollywood romance, with inevitable family drama, tears and the token melodramatic grandmother screaming “Hai Allah” while feigning a heart attack. Then the families realise that the most important thing is their children’s (or grandchildren’s) happiness and agree. A lavish wedding takes place and the two lovers live happily ever after.
Add in a few songs and dancing in the rain, and that sounds like my dream come true.
Hmm, maybe I do like drama after-all.
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