Hello everyone, how have you been? If you are following my social channels you’ve probably noticed that it’s been rather quiet out there and if I post something at last it’s quite crappy. Well, that’s pretty much the reflection of my emotional state at the moment so I thought, instead of trying hard to deliver another portion of crap (all the pressure to post, you know), I’d rather make it honest.
The truth is I feel like reaching the bottom, bouncing between shopping sprees when I spend all the money I don’t have on the things I don’t need- and the days when taking a shower is a challenge too big for me to handle.
I don’t even know whether I should carry on blogging as at the moment I just can’t see it work, I don’t feel like there’s anything else I’ve got to contribute to the online world. I don’t have a smile of inflated lips glued to my face, Chanel bag to review or at least the personality to make up for the lack of those two.
Lame as it sounds, I haven’t been my best and faking it for likes, views whatsoever is not my kind of thing. But then, maybe that’s what’s called ‘professional’? Maybe my honesty is just a sign of weakness, maybe showing the entire world how flipping vulnerable I am is equally cheap and pathetic? I don’t know. I really don’t know. Not much PR involved in this post though, just my silly heart broken in pieces while the brain took a day off, arsehole. He’s just never there when I need him to speak out.
There was this quote I found lately:
And this is exactly what happened. One casual evening, lots of laughs, two bottles of beer, an amateur band playing on the stage… and here we are- me with an egg on my face and him, the precious, beautiful human being who decided to walk away and never see me again.
I know, sounds like a lot of drama, huh? I’m sure, however, one day very soon this awful, never-ending week will turn into a month, which will turn into a year and I will be fine at some point, perhaps just occasionally crying on his birthday. Or hearing the songs we used to play together. Or passing ‘our’ places.
If you think it’s some hopeless romantic story then sorry to spoil it, it’s not. No getting laid, bunches of roses and chocolates involved. Instead, watching the film of our memories you’d get hours of lame jokes and drinking by the Regents Canal, shamelessly burping in the grossest possible way. And eating Sainsbury’s cheesecake out of the box, with huge forks in some dingy pub in Brixton, on the way back from the college. We’d feed each other spitting all over the place laughing like crazy while ordering the cheapest wine on the list. Watching football on Saturdays passionately supporting different teams to eat a greasy Indian takeaway afterwards. Exchanging mean comments on a 24/7 basis and talking rubbish till the morning light. Disappearing for months to turn up out of the blue and mess up with each other one more time.
Yes, we were as dysfunctional as it could get. Even the card I got him for his birthday (the one he’s not going to get) doesn’t say anything sweet and loving. When I think of it now, I should have picked something with a message like: ‘You mean the world to me’. Instead, the one I chose is a picture of an old, fat, half-naked guy and the text: “Happy birthday you man whore!’.
Perhaps not everyone brings out my lady manners. That’s ok.
So yep, I guess he was right saying we need to “grow up and move on”, that I’m the memory of the times he doesn’t want to remember- fair enough.
But I’m telling you, the only desire in me right now is to punch him in the face with a boxing glove full of spikes so that he can feel exactly how it hurts to think of my life without him.
Before I finish this lame stream of words, there’s one more thing I’d like to tell you: cliche as it sounds, please don’t take your loved ones for granted. Appreciate them. Show them how much you care. Don’t be an emotional retard. Don’t bloody assume anything. Don’t be like me.