This is one of those disgusting, self-absorbed posts. If you don’t like emotional vomit, click the red ‘x’ right now and continue on your merry way. But I need to sleep and I can’t because this is buzzing around my brain at a million miles an hour and I want it out. I want some peace from it, and perhaps writing will expend it somewhat.. I *could* write this in a journal, sure – tuck it away on a Word document to discard in the morning or when things are less ‘this’-ish. But you’ll see in the end why I haven’t. If you get to the end. Goodness knows I wouldn’t bother.
What the hell – it’s my blog and I’ll put what I want here and regret it later.
How long has it been? Bit over a month since nothing went wrong and everything’s fine and you’ve still taken it into your head to have a bit of a problem with life.No, it’s longer, isn’t it. You’ve been gradually getting more and more self-absorbed – don’t think I haven’t noticed. You’ve stopped being involved in things. You’ve been avoiding people and cutting yourself off. Better for them, perhaps, to not have to endure your whining. Not good for you, though, you little idiot, because time with your thoughts is precisely what you don’t need.
Because you start believing them. Never trust yourself – you aren’t any kind of worthy, least of all trustworthy. Keep on self-editing so you come across as some kind of good, kind, pleasant whatever. You’re capable of that, and all that ‘*twinklysparkly*’ bollocks you try to self-mitigate with but you’re rotten inside and at some point enough people will cop on and try to call you on it. Question is, will you let them?
What do you need? Come on – what’s going to make you happy? Better dreams? A better life? A better look? Pfft. Don’t make me laugh, There’s NOTHING. WRONG. WITH. YOU.
If I could, I’d slap you after each word, for emphasis, to try to get it through your stupid, thick head, that actually, you’re FINE. You have a comfortable home. A loving Husby. A family who love you. Friends who care enormously about you. You believe in a God who’s meant to be all about love. You have a good job. A car. Plenty of money. What the FUCK is your problem, you piece of shit??
TO BE *slap*
Your friends battling cancer and illnesses? They have *actual* problems.
Your friends who are struggling on the breadline? They have *actual* problems.
Your loved ones with dysfunctional relationships and messy families? They have *actual* problems.
And now any of them who (for whatever reason) cares sufficiently will now feel the need to find space in their busy-enough-already-thanks days to try to deal with YOU. Twat. You disgust me. They’re so nice to you, and this is how you see fit to repay them – can’t even manage to just create nice wordplaces or send them encouragement or try to support them? No, you take issue and fall over some mythical ‘edge’ into a ‘dark place’ in your mind – you self-involved shit – and then they feel obliged through duty of care to step in and say something.
Nothing they say will touch you. Their concern won’t help. This is down to you, you useless lump. Stop spending your time running away from doctor’s appointments and the idea of telling anyone. You’re no tragic heroine. You’re a pain in the ass who needs coaching, like a little kid but (believe me) with none of the cuteness and all of the irritation – “come on, you need to see someone about this – I’ll take you myself if I have to” – No one should EVER HAVE TO SAY THAT TO YOU! You’re an ADULT for fucksake. Good GRIEF but you’re a burden to those who could well do without it. Honestly, I could weep!
Stop looking in the mirror. Stop standing on the scales. No-one cares if you’re thin or fat or whatever. It’s only YOU who cares. Just another fucking hang-up you can tunnel-vision yourself into until you poison yourself with neuroses. You still won’t be any more acceptable of a human being if you’re thinner. And no amount of weight loss will make you look the way you want, because I refuse to let you waste good money on things like surgery. You’re not that important and the money could go to – you know – charity or something; where they do Good Things for people who *actually* need help. You’re pathetic. Learn to live with yourself, for crying out loud. YOU DON’T MATTER ENOUGH FOR THIS.
And all this stuff around the Blogosphere at the moment about not judging people with Depression…pfft…guess what – Consider yourself VERY VERY MUCH JUDGED, YOU LITTLE FUCKWIT. How *dare* you, in a world where there are such horrific things going on – such awful things in the news, and you there all cosy and loved and IGNORING it all to obsess about yourself. You sicken me. You actually make me feel physically sick (at least, if a Sub-Conscious *could* feel sick) and I hate being in your mind. I hate your whininess. I hate your CONSTANT FUCKING COMPARISON. Oh my GOSH is it ever annoying. Geez – every fucking person you EVER go past is either thinner than you or fitter than you or better looking than you or probably a nicer person than you. Ohh it’s WEARING ME OUT! You make my skin crawl. I want to bang your head on something HARD so you just stop thinking in circles for TWO FUCKING SECONDS.
I hate you. I actually fucking hate you.
Sort your life out.
P.S. Hit ‘publish’, you little pussy. And don’t turn the comments off, you dickhead – don’t make it more difficult for people than you already do. You worthless fuck. Of the minority of people who don’t just silently agree with me and leave; anyone who tries to tell you otherwise, well – their voice won’t be louder than mine. I promise you that. And any of them who tell you to get help, and that you’re your own worst enemy – fucking LISTEN to them, would you? GOODFUCKINGGRIEF how MANY PEOPLE need to tell you before you get a CLUE?
P.P.S. Sort your fucking life out.