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I want to punch my previous dentist in the face! With a soldering iron.
I like it maybe 63 percent!
|Great wyrm of Toronto|
I have a University education. I've been published. I have done good work for people. I am highly creative and intelligent. All I need is a job that I want to do, that I can do, and so much of what I've been going through would be so much more bearable.
Because, seriously, being in unemployment for three years really fucking sucks. This is really not where I envisioned myself ending up after everything I've done.
Please Reality. You can do better than this. I *know* you can. So please: stop being a dick, and fucking pay me already.
far past the point of ridiculousness
You can't take the sky from me.
|Weirdy American Tart Thing|
Ranty rant Number Eleventybillion:
So, in discussing why I dislike acknowledging my birthday exists I explained that most of my birthdays had horrible things happen on them, which really didn't stop when I got older and so I just don't pay attention to my birthday anymore. I don't mind if someone knows and says something (the only person I do want to notice is my husband, and the two times he's forgotten it something awful happened) but I don't go out of my way to advertise it - you won't see it on facebook or ravelry.
During my complaining, a dear friend told me that I shouldn't think like this and all that stuff happened in the past, so I should 'just get over it.'
um. How, exactly? Most of the horrible stuff happened when I was an impressionable youngster and whether it was my fault or not, that's always how it seemed to me! One skating party, mum had to pay for me because she assumed the birthday child was free - somehow that was my fault or at least that's how mum saw it and complained about it. One year someone ate a bite out of my birthday cake before we cut it. Wasn't me, but I got blamed. Another year my cousin stole the money out of the cards, it was found in his sock, but according to his mother he didn't do it. It was my fault because I was getting all the attention. In elementary school (first grade, I think?) the very popular, very pretty girl pitched a wobbler because she had to SHARE her birthday with me. And she didn't want to because she said I was ugly and I would ruin everything. (I also remember that I never got Valentines at school, although everyone else did. which isn't actually part of the birthday rant, but it does give you a clue that I was not welcome) Another birthday, high school this time, I went to the cafeteria to just get a soda, stopped at the table to chat with the few friends I did have, another girl halfway up the table loudly said, 'She can't sit here, no one likes her, I don't want her sitting anywhere near me!'
OK, fine. None of this shit was actually my fault, but I'm in dire need of counseling and I've never had much self esteem and those issues were ingrained into my childhood.
So, yeah, I'm a whingeing brat. But... I should just get over it.
Minister of Kraftwerk in the Realm of U & P, Order of the Pineapple with frond for advancement in Nap studies.
The brain: not always amenable to logic. ~Hive
|Great wyrm of Toronto|
You say you want to be friends, after everything.
I wrote something here about you the first time we interacted, so long ago, and I erased it when I thought everything had worked out.
I should have kept it here. I should have just walked.
To be honest, I'm not sure if I am more angry at you, the situation, or myself at this point. You all but told me how things were going to be. Hell, you basically told me how they were, and how they were going to be.
I should have believed you.
But wow ... it didn't take long, did it? All of a year. All of not even a month. Not even a month before this, you were addressing me with all these endearments, every day, talking every day, and now ... I am just some informal person who you used to fuck.
I almost wish I could turn off and on my emotions like that. I mean, god knows, it would have saved me so much heartbreak in the grand scheme of things.
The fact is, I know it wasn't easy. And, believe me, it wasn't easy from this end either. But the thing about the romance that you liked to say you wished you had, is that when partners are having difficulties, you talk about them. Lord knows we talked about yours. And never once did I judge you for them. In fact, I helped you out. Emotionally and sometimes even financially, even with my own disability expenses.
So the projection I'm feeling about you judging me for not having a job or my own shite together, is pretty rich considering how there were many times you came to me -- and if not for me, you probably would have struggled even more, if not utterly failed.
I was there for you through all of it, as much as I could be. Through your victories, and plans. Through your pain. Through the things you hesitated to tell me. And not once did I judge you on them. I was proud of you. I loved you so much.
Hell, I even fantasized about moving in with you, and if not marrying you, then becoming actual partners.
And that was about the point where I should have realized that I was fucked. I was fucked that day when you basically rejected all of that, and I was utterly humiliated. I should have left then. I shouldn't have come to see you after all of that.
So no. I'm not surprised, and I wasn't surprised when I finally confronted you and you said you weren't happy. I wasn't happy either. I compromised too much of myself just not to rock the boat with you. I didn't like what I was becoming. I still don't always like what I am now.
In a way, you did me a favour. I'm glad that I had the opportunity to talk about it with you, and actually face this down: this thing I'd been terrified of for so long. Of losing you. But now that's over. No more back and forth, or wishy-washy behaviour. No more long silences followed by a castigation of my behaviour. No more lying. No more lying to myself.
It scares me just how quickly you moved on. It feels like all those emotions and actions hadn't even been real. Just fantasies. Fantasies and visits until your "real life" could begin.
And it couldn't have been more convenient for you if you'd won the lottery. You have an excellent job now, you can afford transportation, and you'll be able to move to a better place. And now you're dating that guy you saw in the last parts of our relationship -- the insecurities driving me mad until I realized it wasn't just me going insane.
You have everything you ever wanted. All you need now, really, is just to keep my friendship: the advice, the talk, the hours of communication, the routine you set, and it is complete. You win. You get everything. Except ...
You see, here's the thing. I'm angry. I'm furious over the way you treated me: how I let you treat me. And I'm of two schools of thought right now.
The first is that if you so easily ended your feelings towards me on a romantic level, I have no guarantees that you won't do it as a "friend." So if I don't talk with you again, there is a pretty good chance you just won't care, and the only person this resentment will be hurting is myself.
The second school of thought is that you basically want to have your cake and eat it too. You want to not feel guilty over ending this and jerking me around so you can go on with your shiny, new life and place me in a situation which is good for you or -- in another word -- convenient.
Well, let me tell you my stance on this right now. Allow me to ... inconvenience you. You told me, a while ago, that relationships were new to you, and there are many things you are having to get used to. And I believed it. And I actually still believe it now. .
The fact of the situation is that it is awfully selfish of you to break up with me, and then expect friendship: as if you didn't just completely obliterate my heart. As if you didn't make sure that I can never see, or speak with you again. You took the time we had together, that I loved, that I looked forward to, that kept me going, and you basically said it was over. All right. If you weren't happy anymore, I could accept that, as painful as it is. But to expect me to pick up where we left off without the rest of it and expect me to be fine with feeling like I was "replaced" with a "better, convenient model" -- like none of it happened?
That is unacceptable to me.
So I'm thinking, at least right now, that I'm going to teach you a life lesson. You know, the ones that you say I still need to learn? It's true, I do.
But here is a relationship lesson for free:
Destroying someone else's happiness for your own has consequences.
In this case, I'm not sure I can be friends with someone like you again. And at the moment I don't think it's something that you, or I can fix. I think, right now, you can take your perfect life as you've made it, and pay the toll: that was our friendship. I suspect it won't wound you too badly, or at least not forever. You'll get over it. You always do.
And maybe, one day, I'll get over you.
In the words of a film I watched when my first breakup happened so many years ago, so long and thanks for all the fish.
You can't take the sky from me.
|Great wyrm of Toronto|
Response to my last post.
Dear Past Me:
All right. You vented. That is what a lot of this actually is: venting. So let me just make the rest of this clear to you now, all right?
You are better than this. We are better than this.
I understand your anger, and your sorrow. I get it all too well. But you are not in your 20s anymore. You don't have three or more years to brood and wallow. In other words, you don't have time or energy to be a jerk.
Let it go. It's not hurting anyone but you right now, or ever. It's not about anyone else, not them, or the world. It is how you are choosing to react to this, and you are doing so in the most stereotypical, spiteful way possible. Yeah. It was shit. No one is saying otherwise.
But it's about how you react to it, and do with it that matters. You can't bottle it up. Likewise, you can't wallow in it anymore. Your body and your mind say no. Listen to them.
See, it doesn't matter what the other parties did or how they will act. It's what YOU will do next. And you do not have time to brood. You can grieve and have your space: and that was given to you.
But now, you need to live. You are getting too old for this shite. You have things to do, things to make, and boobs to see. Pizzas and blowjobs minus the pizzas. Take what you've learned from this and go. Rest well. Exercise well. Create things well. Eat well. Sleep well.
Tell 20 year old you to go back to sleep. Wake him when you need the stamina for sex, but keep your older self informing him.
How you have acted matters mire than anything. Right, Hobbes.
Let's go exploring.
You can't take the sky from me.
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