So, I know it’s been a while.
It’s a real surprise to me to be able to get back here.
Not much has happened since I’ve been away, but I am feeling a little lost.
I’ve been back to my Home No.1 over two months now, and it’s never as relaxing as I hoped it would be.
And two months is good enough of a time to feel “back” to some place, and “away” from another, but when you live in between two worlds, it’s not enough. Reality is hard, and cold (could you believe that, in this hot hot summer, reality is cold) and it makes you fantasize about everything else that you do not have.
But I’m a realist. So I know my fantasies cannot be completely true.
Let’s talk about what that leaves me with:
Home No.1 feels like that nest I should have long flew from.
My parents are never really happy. They say that they are not happy quite often, and they fight, and they swear, and let me tell you my family has potty-mouthness in their genes. They hurt each other, and they hurt me, and they probably hurt my borther too. But my brother never spends much time with us anyway, only when we are alone at the house we talk and watch movies together.
It’s not all too bad. We have breakfast together every weekend, and we talk, and my dad and my mom talk to me. They try to help.
But I’m too old. and I’m too far away, not only physically but also mentally.
I have a gigantic universe in my head, and it’s nothing like they’ve ever seen or heard of. And I am too impatient to tell them all about it, and even more impatient to sit and listen as they try to give me advice all the way from their universes in their heads.
My mom never apologizes. I’ve never once heard my mother apologize for something geniune. Of course, she says sorry if she cuts your word or something. But she doesn’t apologize if she shits on you for making her look bad to her friends.
My dad is constantly frustrated, but he acts like a child. He has no idea about handling the fireball that my mother is.
So they fight.
But they won’t break.
So they just clash, and hurt one another, and go into their respective corners until the next round. Or the next breakfast.
I don’t know where I got my perfect family fantasy. It must be the stupid Hollywood movies.
I cannot imagine having a “sad” family of my own, if I end up having a family in the end.
Just knowing that we are all sad, and no one does nothing to change it.
I do my best to create healthy conversations between mom and dad, but it just gets too messy.
My mom takes offense at everything, and my dad has no filter, and it’s just a big fucking blob of none sense.
So I think I may have officially given up on that.
It’s their sadness to dissolve.
I am failing at dieting once again.
I can’t seem to not eat things that make me feel good.
Isn’t that a convenient way to put that?
I am worried that I am doomed to be lonely, and it’s only because I cannot lose any weight.
And I am worried that yes, seventy percent is because I am fat and it’s ugly and no one likes that but there’s a thirthy percent that goes in which is my gigantic insecurity of not being loved, because I am fat.
I hate trying to look good, when I know I won’t look good anyway, and I don’t want to be that person who “tried-to-look-good-but-failed-miserably”. Nobody falls in love with you for trying. Okay fall-in-love may be too much but nobody definitely doesn’t hit on you for trying. Listen to the sound of that. Pity-flirting. Ew. No.
So there it is. I don’t want to be anybody’s pity-flirt. Not that I think anyone would flirt with me even if it was for pity.
So I don’t always wax my mustache. Ha. There I said it.
The problem is, there is also this realistic, feminist, humanist, I’d even add smart side of me that hates the fact that I need to look good to be loved.
I am twenty one years old, and I never once had a date, not a kiss, nothing.
And I cannot conceive the fact that I’ve never been loved because I was fat. And I had an occasional slight mustache.
And also, let’s shit on the men around me for a little.
All my non-twenty-something life, my best males friends went for my best female friends.
What’s that about?
I didn’t have any big crushes on these guys, ever, but what the hell is that all about?
Yes, yes I pick good friends. Quite remarkably matching friends, but why was I never a part of this mushy social event? This friends hitting on friends thing? Madness.
Once in a while, and it’s only once in a while that I am happy I had all this single time that I had.
I got to have many crushes, stupid ones, and I had fun telling people about them.
I giggled often, when the on-going crush escalated as they said hi to me or something.
I used to know this guy in my middle school, whom I had a crush on, and he picked it up real quick and made fun of me for a short while, but kept talking to me anyway.
And he said, if I would only lose some weight, I’d have a bigger chance at relationships.
He also told me, that if I didn’t start dating anyone soon, I would miss out on important relationship experience.
Now, for a second, let’s just respect the wisdom in this guy for a middle-schooler.
We were, what, twelve years old?
And he told me that if someday I had a relationship that I liked, I wouldn’t know what to do with it, because I would miss out on a few middle-schooler pecks.
That guy had a hell of a vision. I wish I had a way of contacting him and telling him that.
I am twenty one years old, a while nine years since he gave me the real-talk as best as he could as a middle schooler and I sucked at taking the advice. I did very, very poorly.
Since him, I had, probably, over twenty other crushes, no one as smart as this one. Not one of them ever picked up on my crush, and they continued to tell me about their respective lovers, instead of giving me love-advice of my own.
I hate my first-year roommate.
To the point of being comfortable in saying that she ruined my college “story”.
She ruined my fun fun fun college story. She also stole my friends from our dorm, friends that I loved having in my universe. She ruined them for me. Because everytime I think about these friends, I find myself worrying about what she told them about me. Whether they like her more, whether they blame me for what had happened.
(Some of you know about my bitch roommate, who cancelled the lease of my first ever apartment in Home No.2, without telling me – without any notice. She also failed to take any responsiblity for my homelessness and money loss.)
I hate to be the one who had to rip her away from the memory of my first year in college. I hate the fact that she kept our friends. And I was left out. And I wonder if it was because I never went bar-hopping with them. And if so, wow. I am getting worse at picking friends, don’t you think?
I haven’t created anything, for almost a year now.
And I hope to be a musician someday. I hope to write beautiful songs, songs that people sing along at my shows.
Songs that people write stories too, write their blogs too, or just listen while the rain drops fall on the windows of the bust that they are in.
I am very far away from that person.
I haven’t created anything. And it bothers me. But I also feel like there is nothing in me for the moment.
There are all these thoughts, and even when I put them out here, I don’t feel lighter.
I thought I’d be lighter if I came here and wrote everything out. Plain and simple and as soon as they hit my mind.
This may be my longest post on here.
After the incident with my roommate, and I mean months after, I started getting councelling at the school.
And it was good and it was bad, but it was there, every week.
Since I’ve been back, I haven’t had any councelling, and I’ve been bombarded with all these things from, well, my life. And maybe it is too much.
Maybe I am not half as strong as I think I am.
Not half as strong as I want people to think I am.
So what does all this leave me with?
I am a sad part of a sad family.
I am fat and insecure.
I am love-less.
I lack a gigantic amount of relationship experience.
I am still not over my first-year roommates fuck up.
I am uncertain about my friends.
I haven’t created anything new.
I am a shitty musician.
I am unusually introspective.
I have two more episodes of Bates Motel to watch.
I am still funny.
Thank fucking GOD for humor.
“And if we could float away
Fly up to the surface and just start again
And lift off before trouble
Just erodes us in the rain
Just erodes us in the rain
Just erodes us and see roses
In the rain
Sing slow it down
Slow it down
Through chaos as it swirls
It’s us against the world
Through chaos as it swirls
It’s us against the world”
I don’t trust anyone who doesn’t secretly break out a sad Coldplay song to cry their hearts out.
Thank you for listening.