I am spoiled, not in the sense that I grew up having everything handed to me, but in the sense that make parents dote on me emotionally. I have no doubt that I am their favorite child out of three. They make it seem that in their eyes I can do no wrong. But it wasn’t always that way.
I was never impressive as a child, not in the way that my parents wanted. I sucked at sports, where both my brothers were track stars. I never had a boyfriend in high school and instead just hooked up with assholes at party when drunk. I was smart…ish, but not enough to get a full ride to a college for 4 years. I was just kind of there. I wasn’t ugly but I was no fucking prom queen.I was the epitome of plain.
When I was 19 I decided I wanted to bar tend, cause it was a lot more appealing than working a minimum wage job throughout college. I made it happen and began working at a few whole in the wall bars in northern Vermont. I made really good money, and not just for a college kid but in general. I had plenty of money to stop needing anything from anyone…but that was not enough to make my parents proud. Instead they were embarrassed that their college going daughter was just a bartender, not embarrassed enough not to borrow money from me when they were in need. But when they were talking to their friends, it was a different story.
Then I lost my shit, I had a mental breakdown because I had apparently been suffering from severe depression since I was 15. I tried to kill myself, quit all my jobs (I had three at the time) and slept on my parents couch for about two weeks before running away to South America. That’s when things started to change.
It was a slow transition, from being the disappointing child, to being the favorite. But my parents were always so worried about me, my happiness became an obsession. Once I moved to California it really solidified their need to make sure I was okay. They stopped making any comments about how I chose to live my life. They encouraged me to travel, be transient and explore life. They avoiding asking about my love life, knowing full well that I was completely fucking that up. They basically turned a blind eye to all of my faults, flaws and shortcomings. I could do no wrong. I even told my oldest brother that if he wanted them to stop harping on him he could just cry suicide and they would quickly change their tune. It’s hard to criticize someone when you are worried they may just off themselves.
This may seem like a great thing for me, and for a while it was, but now that I’m older and still fucked up I wonder what it would have been like if I had never been a manic depressive. I know for certain that the strange Californian lifestyle I am living now would have pleased them. The fact that I’m turning 33 and have nothing to my name, nothing even close to resembling a functioning relationship and no desire to ever reproduce, although I’ve slept with almost a nation’s worth of men at this point, would not have been on their wish list for me. But instead they are driving 3000 miles across the country to be with me on my birthday. This effort, at least of the surface, seems to be an incredible act of love for their favorite child, but in all actuality it is an act of fear, because they are worried that if I’m only on my birthday I’ll kill myself. So i guess I may not be their favorite, but rather just their most fucked up. Either way at least I no longer have to hear about all the things I already know I am failing at.
It’s all just shit really, every part of it. People may try to tell you that there are good things, or moments that make it all worth it, but that is no longer the norm. Life, to most, is just shit. When you fall within a certain economical and educational demographic, the reality is that life will only ever be as good as it is. The majority of the blue collar class will never achieve greatness or even financial freedom, instead we will be working our asses off just to support ourselves.
I have been working since I was 12, I took on an after school baby sitting gig for $50 a week for the whole school year. It consumed all of my time, and yet I agreed, because it was what I thought I was suppose to do. I worked throughout high school, giving up things that I loves, music ensembles, plays and sunbathing while pretending to run track. Again I did this because it was simply what I was suppose to do. I had to support myself, even as a child. I knew that it was the way of life. I worked through college, at times having at least 3 jobs and a full course load, because it was what was expected of me. I never once questioned it, I just worked.
I still just work, I am 32, no kids, husband, family or even pets, and yet I work. I currently work at least 65 hours a week, often times 6 to 7 days a week. I give it my all, I dedicate every waking hour to this job, I have once again sacrificed anything that may give me a little joy, all because I don’t know any other way.
The sad thing is, I am not wealthy, I am not debt free, nor do I own nice things. I am still just lower middle class. It does not matter how much or how hard I work, this will forever be my lot in life. I am not smart enough to advance beyond my nature path, and I’m not lazy enough to fall below. I am just stuck, stuck working with no reason, losing any semblance of myself or what makes me happy. And it’s all just because this is what I have been taught. I am nothing other than my work ethic and my responsibility. But the truth is I am just nothing.
My life seems to be a huge fucking waste of time. I work to sustain my life, so I can in turn keep working. But why? I have made nothing of my life that would be worth sustaining. I know that I will never get ahead, or fall behind for that matter, I will merely always keep sustaining…solely because it is what I am suppose to do. But I don’t think I want to anymore, if I’m just getting by to get by, I’d rather do it on some tropical fucking island where I can sell fruit I picked to make ends meet. My current life does not, in fact, make any sense. My life is just shit, as is the case for most people, it will never not be shit, so why on earth am I working so hard for this shit?
It’s the strangest feeling being torn between two completely opposite feelings, wanting and not wanting. The deep human desire to be loved and the utter fear of anyone ever getting close enough to even try. Every feeling and thought that has ever entered my consciousness has had a contradictory thought or feeling. I can never fully commit to anything. I am in constant limbo between right and wrong, or maybe just wrong and more wrong.
I am a walking contradiction, threw and threw. I have this crazy desire for every human being to feel loved, wanted and cared for. And yet I don’t actually like people at all. I have no desire to actually interact or get close to these same people that I so badly want to find happiness.If it was within my power to make it happen I would, ideally, without ever even talking to anyone.
My mind can not even agree on my taste in music, I love a good indie rock band with a bluegrass feel and yet can often be found listening to Drake or Ella Fitzgerald. I am never able to do anything with complete conviction because I never fully feel one way or another.
I once had a friend, in a drunken, angry rant, ask me if I was switzerland, and if I was okay going through my whole life never making any real decisions or assertions one way or another. At the time I was hurt and taken aback that someone so close to me would not see that I am an open minded and accepting person. Reflecting on it now I can see her point. I am not open minded, but instead a spineless coward who has never had to follow through on any one feeling, due to always being pulled in opposite directions.
In my more self boastful moods I like to consider myself an above par human, even going as far as saying that I am non human like, due to being so evolved that I do not feel the need to let emotions dictate my actions or thoughts. But in reality I have not, by any means, reached nirvana. In all truthfulness, I am actually subhuman, not even capable of making a decision or having an opinion. I have not been graced with the ability to fully care about anything enough to advocate for it, fight for it, or even just agree with it. Instead I am always claiming to be empathetic and pride myself on being capable of seeing all side to a situation. But really I just never had to fully commit, engage or support anything. I have found a very successful way detach from life, and justify it by convincing myself that I am better than everyone else. I’m not though, at least other people have the balls to make choices, stands and arguments for what they believe in, even of those beliefs may change. I, on the other hand, sit on the sidelines of life, in constant limbo of feelings, thoughts and actions…which in a way does make me non-human, but by no means does it make me above human.
So here I sit, whisky in hand, watching the whole world fall apart. I am not the only who sees it, feels it and lives it. It’s all apart of of our lives now, whether we want it to be or not. I don’t know how much more any one of us can take. My heart is full of heaviness and hopelessness.
For the past two weeks I’ve gone about living my life, consumed with the harsh reality of having to actually be an adult. I have done a magnificent job of creating situations where I get to be responsible and self sufficient without actually having to grow up. Now I find myself in the midst of real life, at a time when real life may be the absolute worst thing that exists.
I am not a good person, I don’t offer much to the outside world and for the most I lead an entirely selfish life. But on a deeper level, I am a kind and loving person. I care so intensely about people, I don’t want to really know them, but I want them to be incredibly happy. I want nothing more than everyone to feel loved, wanted and appreciated. I would knowingly sign up for a life of solitude, heartache and rejection if it would bring at least contentment to others.
This is not the way the world works however, it is not a kind and welcoming place. We can not barter one’s happiness for another’s. There is actually nothing we can do to change the immediate situation of our world. It is a world of hate, fear, judgments and violence. It is a world we created, and now the world we shall live in.
I find it slightly ironic that for the first time, in a long time, suicide does not consume all of my daily thoughts. I have somehow crawled out of the deep hole of depression that I tend to live in on a regular basis, at a time when there isn’t actually any reason to come out. What I really don’t understand is how the rest of the whole world does not suffer from sever depression. Honestly at this rate we should all be on drugs, very strong drugs.
Since I was 15 I have either been on a diet, in post diet downfall, or in pre diet binge phase. There are a lot of reasons for this constant need to lose weight, control, depression, spite, loneliness, just to name a few. For the last 17 years my weight has always been on the forefront of my mind, even more so than sex, which is saying a lot because I think about sex all the time. The only small break I got was when I was living in Ecuador because all the man there considered me thin, probably the reason I want to go back so much. But other than that, I can not recall a time that I was not fixated on my weight and appearance.
When I was younger I would just not eat, that was my preferred method of dieting. This lasted about 8 years, on and off. I would have long stretches of eating less than 500 calories a day and then one night I’d get drunk and eat until it hurt. The next day would be spent in pain and loathing. Eventually I began to take laxatives after such binges, but then I got very addicted to that pain and suffering that you feel and started taking them all the time, even if I hadn’t eaten in days. It only took a few months before my body could no longer handle it and then the internal bleeding began. As much as I love the extreme feeling of emptiness and accomplishment that came from taking those little pink pills, it just didn’t seem worth it to be shitting blood. So I stopped and just stopped allowing myself to ever eat more than 700 calories on my fattest day.
Luckily when my life fell apart and I moved to California I lost the will power to starve myself for more than a day. I was surrounded by free food, fun people, at cost booze and sunshine, so I gained a lot of weight. I still obsessed about my weight but it seemed as I had no control over it, after all those years my body was wining out over my mind. So for about a year and a half I packed on the lbs, and finally got so uncomfortable that I had to do something about it.
In the past 6 years I have run the gamete in terms of diets and fads. I have tried just about everything that I have ever read about. Atkins, Keto, Master Cleans, Raw, Fast Track Detox, 3 Day Military diet, Ford Diet, juice fast, egg fast, even a fat fast and countless others. I became a self proclaimed diet expert. I always enjoyed trying new diets, it was a challenge and gave me focus. I always enjoyed them even more when they actually made me lose weight. But of course, as you read on any healthy lifestyle website, diets are never long term. I went on and off a lot of these a million times over. This was just what I did. It is still just what I do.
I can’t picture my life without the struggle of wanting to lose weight. As this point in time I fear it is how I identify myself. I recently became extremely put off by men, so I no longer have them or the thoughts of sex to at least consume some of my thoughts. Now it is weight, diet and exercise 100% of the time…even when I am suppose to be working. I workout twice a day, I have multiple calorie trackers on my phone, there is nothing but diet and exercise pins on my Pinterest board. I’m full on obsessed, and yet I’m still fat, I’ve always been fat, even when I wasn’t. I will never be able to see myself as anything other than fat, because if I’m not, what would I do? I get to a point, so close to reaching my goal and then sabotage myself out of fear of losing my identity. Then I begin again. If I am not on a diet, I’m pretty sure it means that I’m dead, hopefully in the afterlife I won’t have to worry about a body at all.
I become genuinely heart broken and distraught when I get rejected by a guy I’ve slept with, even if it was just once. I have the tendency to believe that every man I sleep with is the one for me. I become infatuated and they consume my thoughts. On my long runs I’ll envision our lives together, and then, inevitable they reject me. It comes at all different points, sometimes early on, sometimes 6 years after they have taken advantage of me, but it does always come. And then I spiral into a tornado of self loathing and bewilderment.
I just can’t ever understand how it could be that these men can just not care. It seems nearly impossible to me, someone who does everything full force, that they can just move on to the next one. I have spent countless hours, days, weeks, yes even years wondering how it could be possible that I did not matter. I can’t seem to grasp that I made no real impression on their lives, that they could so easy just toss me aside. What was it that made them even drawn to me in the first place, if I am clearly so forgettable?
After a fair amount of inner reflection and false hope,that these men who are rejecting me will have a change of heart, I move on to being angery, well angery for me. In my head I get all worked up and despise the fact that I’m just another notch on their bed post, another girl they “took down” or just another meaningless fuck. When I finally come to terms with the reality, I except how much it hurts and then I move on.
I’ve spent so much time getting worked up about the same scenario, over and over again, never once realizing that I too just get over it. It may take me a little bit longer, but I just stop caring. I have no problem falling just as hard for the next gorgeous guy that happens to spend a night in my bed. From there the cycle repeats itself, clearly indicating that I must have not been that into the last guy if my feelings are so easily swayed to the next one. So although it may look different, it is in fact the same thing. Each guy becomes a tick mark in the form of a blog post, if they are even memorable enough for that, and then nothing more than a memory, sometimes a fond one, other times just a memory. At the time though, they were the most important person in my life, and when it is over they weren’t. Although I like to think I’m above the assholes I sleep with, I’m actually just the same, only different.
I have to laugh, there is really no other way. At the time I do cry, sometimes uncontrollably so, or it may just be a slow silent weep. But when it is over, and I’ve got some distance from whatever it was that made me cry I typically laugh. I’m not sure if it comes with my mentality to never keep a grudge but I tend to make a joke of it all, which may be way I keep getting myself into such absurd and hurtful situations. Maybe if I viewed the situations with the sadness and disgust they deserved I would not have some many things to laugh about now.
I lost my virginity when I was 16, in my driver’s ed teachers house, in his kids play room, with no door, next to Barbie’s mansion. Luckily it was not to my driver’s ed teacher, but instead to an asshole whom I had been hooking up with for a while. He was 22 and had already graduated from Culinary Arts school. For some reason he felt that it was appropriate to come back home and hang out with his younger sister’s friends. He could buy beer, so clearly none of us objected.
Looking back in makes perfect sense to me now why I liked him so much, he was so fucked up. I’m not sure what his damage was, because at that age I had not yet deemed myself an insightful non-licensed therapist. Thus I had not delved into what made him the way he was, but needless to say, if you are 22 and sleeping with a 16 year old there has got to be some sort of disconnect in your head. But again he could buy us beer, so I continued to lust after him.
One night, the beer he did buy us lead to a very drunken night out at the lake. There were only a few of us there that night so I had a better chance of getting his attention. The other girl there was his cousin, so my changes were great. At some point I was in his tent, and I experienced my first hook-up, beyond making out. At the time I was pretty numb from all the booze, but the following day I was both emotionally and physically in pain. I had bruises all over my body and my vagina was sore. I went to work and tried not to think about it. Several weeks later, with many beers taken in the same thing happened, this because the pattern for over four months.
We developed my first one-sided relationship. Having never had a boyfriend I had no reference point. I saw my other friends having boyfriends, but also having drunken hook-ups, so I didn’t think my situation was that unique. Eventually we fell into the routine of hooking up at parties then not speaking any other time. The night after I gave him a blow job, my first one, I told my friends that the next time we hooked up I would most likely end up having sex with him. At this point it had become a very pathetic and desperate situation that all of my friends could see. They told me I should stop hooking up with him in the event that I did end up wasting my virginity on him. I was too far in by that point, I was infatuated and wanted nothing more than to make us connected, and I believed sex was the only way to do it.
Which brings me to a night filled with booze, so much booze, weed and absinth. My fake and grossly pretentious friends wanted to have a wine and cheese party where they played trivial pursuit and discussed stuck up shit. What really happened was that a large shit show happened at my driver’s ed teachers house, where my friend was house sitting. Absinth is some crazy stuff that leads to insanity when consumed in large volumes. There were people climbing on the rooftop, walking around in nothing buy a quilt, and overall just acting insane. I only had one object that night however, and that was to create a relationship where one had not previously existed.
Even at the time I recognized the absurdity of the situation, we had one sleeping bag between the two of us and all that was separating us from the rest of the house was a few stands of beads. We had to move Ken’s convertible out of the way before we were able to have the most underwhelming experience of my life. The actual act lasts less than half the time of the first verse of Jeff Buckly’s Hallelujah. I clearly remember thinking to myself…that’s it? After the very quick act I got up the never to finally put it out there, “so does this mean we can hang out now?” After a long silence he replied, “Yea we’ll go hiking or something.”
We never went hiking, we never even had sex again. Things progressively got worse until I was able to go away to college. I wasted some much time trying to make him want me. Endless drunken nights waiting for him to show up at a party and then being heart broken when he would leave me half naked in a field somewhere.
Looking back I laugh, not necessarily about how he treated me or how painful it all was, but I laugh about how I lost my virginity and often tell the story to friends as a source of entertainment. I have always convinced myself that if make light out of my life, especially the really dark parts that I will not be ruined by them. But perhaps if I ever treated them with the severity they deserved I would not find myself in these “laughable” situation so often.