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You Know It's So Much Better When You Don't Talk

For the unfortunate few of you who know me IRL, I have been battling one of my major depressions. One of the major characteristics of my black periods is for some reason when I wake up I lie in bed and think about slashing myself with a knife. This thought pattern reached its most severe when Eric left. I was afraid to open the knife drawer to cut an onion. Now before all y'all freak out, please remember that I've been dealing with this thought pattern since I was 13 and never in all those years have I cut myself. Still it's not a pleasant way to start the day.

Part of it is the writing sample that I am working on. It's of course causing a lot of stress. And the impending B-day and holidays bringing with it the "why the hell don't I have a boyfriend during the holiday season EVER and especially not for my fucking 30th birthday" doldrums. And at such a time, my friends try and help. Unfortunately as we have established sometimes my friends are shall we say less than effective in their efforts. Take last night for example. A dear friend of mine, and I want to stress she is a dear friend, tells me about this book "He's Just Not That Into You." She knows I've depressed about the lukewarm treatment I've been getting from men I am interested in lately, and she thinks that telling me "They are just not into you" is empowering. Can someone for the love of G-d and my sanity explain to me how saying "Well they just don't like you/find you attractive," is empowering to me? It's like walking up to someone and saying "Look I know you aren't feeling happy because you think you an unattractive. And you're right. Aren't you empowered now?" Uh let me think, no. Now you've simply confirmed me in my depressive self-hate think.

All I want is some decent sex on my birthday. I mean, jesus christ isn't that like guaranteed in the Constitution or something? Or to find some guy who thinks I am worth the effort of picking up the phone. Is that so fucking hard? But apparently it's like alphabetizing, I, in my mammoth intelligence, find such tasks easier than the rest of humanity. And of course my dear female friend continued to try and make me feel better by telling me if he really liked me he would call. Great, thanks, I'm not worth the effort. Now you understand why the knife drawer is so hard to resist. Abandoned by the man who called me the love of my life I am now no longer worth the effort of dialing. Trying not to imagine what my life would have been like if Eric had stayed, trying to not think about how I can't even get a date for my own fucking birthday party, trying not to think about how upset I am going to be after I put in all this work and still don't accepted to graduate school takes all of my energy.

Car Tu Es Dans Mon Coeur

The only slightly good news I have gotten is I finally received a letter from Henri. Perhaps I will take advantage of the cheap flight rates and go to Paris in January. It is, I have to say, incredibly cool to get a love letter from Paris written in french. It is even cooler that I understood most of it. Well, at least I have that, the fantasy of a french love.

Bad Bunni posted at 12/10/2004 05:02:00 PM |

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