This is a part 2 to my earlier post about being positive on Facebook.
This is me not just posting shiny, happy-clappy things.
This is all the other gunk that I don’t post but which Rebecca’s article has inspired to let spill out as I loosen up heart strings and show you a little of what resides all the way inside my bones.
So (deep breath), here we go:
I have spent so much of my life being afraid to be alone
As I was eating cake one day in school when I was about 9, one of my classmates looked into my tupperware and said, “It’s no surprise that you’re fat, you know”
I didn’t have a boyfriend until I was 20.
After many years of living out with friends, I am now living back at home with my parents. And this is weird because I now automatically feel like I’m 15 again and like I am less able to stand on my own.
I just don’t know how to flirt. Or make good first impressions. Last week, as I was being introduced to this new guy (who I think is pretty awesome), he just blatantly his back on me and walked away.
Sometimes (actually, often), I tell jokes that nobody understands. They don’t even look at me with a puzzled look, they just look away and pretend they didn’t hear.
I don’t really know what’s going on with Syria, Egypt, the Middle East or important current affairs.
I had an eating disorder when I was 14, when I felt guilty even drinking water.
I don’t know what to do around new people. I don’t know how to start conversations.
It terrifies me to be around large groups of people. As much as I purport to like parties, I could think of nothing more frightening and unpleasant.
When I was little, I ate flowers and threw up all over my grandmother’s kitchen.
The thought of my parents not being here one day anymore absolutely terrifies me. So I’m a Daddy’s Girl and a Mummy’s girl. I grew up an only child and my parents are my world, they still are even though I’m already 32. It makes me unbearably sad to even think they won’t be here one day.
I struggle with forgiveness—sometimes, I just don’t know how.
I have known such desolate painful sadness that all I could do at the time was take one Xanax after another to sleep it away.
I have also known such suffocating anxiety, that I would wake up in the early mornings and struggle to breathe, where the only thing that would make it feel better was to cry and cry and cry, as if crying would somehow let the pain out, like air from a balloon.
For all that I do with fashion magazines, all I really like wearing are stretchy, elasticated clothes, loose cotton underwear and flip-flops.
For months, I have dreamt about being trapped and not knowing how to get out. I sleep and wake filled with an old fear and an anxiety.
I regret all the time that I didn’t go to sit with my granddad, Kong Kong, more often before he passed away. I could have stayed another hour, another few minutes.
I worry a lot, at least a few times a day, about whether people like me. I don’t know what it’s so important to me to be liked, but I feel lonely and awful when I know that someone doesn’t or is upset with me.
I have dated people whom I felt shameful and embarrassed about introducing to my friends.
There are some people in the world who I feel a tremendous amount of anger and sadness towards. I still don’t know how or what it will feel like to forgive them.
I work with people a lot younger than me and it’s made me think a lot about what I’ve done / where I’ve been until now. There are days I feel totally disoriented and lonely, like I’m having to relearn from scratch really basic things about living and working and just being around people.
Sometimes, while I am happy for good things that happen to friends, I think there’s a lot more in me than sincere joy.
I think I’m becoming more afraid to trust people sometimes and that scares me. I am being so careful with who I open up my heart now. It makes me feel bad, selfish, calculating, small; but I also know I just won’t open myself to the possibility of pain again.
I eat way more than is healthy for me. Sometimes, I have also eaten way less than is healthy for me.
I find it extremely hard to accept compliments and believe that they’re true. There’s always a voice that will say, “Oh, well, they have to say that because they’re you’re family/friend /boyfriend” and a part of me will convince the rest of me that they are actually concealing a plethora of other hateful things they have to say about me.
I have known an anger so intense and so fierce that it has scared me. It frightened me to realise that I had this potential to be that angry that I would feel myself physically tremble in fury. It scared me that I didn’t know how to lessen the anger or make it go away; the only thing I felt I could do at the time was to go to the gym and pound the machines for so long and so hard that I was too exhausted to feel (anything) anymore.
I did a month’s internship in Accenture when I was 19 and saw how much of an incapable freak I really was, when placed within the sphere of a corporate, seemingly very normal world.
When I was small, I would pick up snails and throw them back across the garden, thinking it funny that they would then have to traverse the whole length of the lawn again (I still feel bad about this, okay).
I have a really, really bad scalp problem and there’s always that embarrassing thing of having flakes snowfall all over my (black) clothes.
There are some friends, so close I used to consider them family, who have disappointed me so tremendously that the hurt has felt sick and physical, all through the deepest knots of my stomach. I have resolved that I may (will) never speak to them again in this lifetime. The saddest part is that—because I never want to go down that pain again—I think I’m actually okay with this.
I also have some friends who I have have so much gratitude and love for that I worry all the time that I won’t be able to let them know enough times, or that maybe they don’t really understand just how profoundly they have impacted my life and helped me. I hope you know who you are.
This list is nowhere near complete. The gunk is eternal (am I the only person in the world who has so much?). But I think even I’m starting to bore myself now, so this will have to end
~ end ~ (for now)
Photo by erokism on Flickr Creative Commons