I don’t know if I’m talking about me or the umbrella.
I saw one of those bible thumpers on the corner this morning. At seven o'clock. I was wrestling with my umbrella - which was getting tossed about by the wind like a fucking napkin - and trying to unwrap a new pack of cigarettes (because like the retard I am I left mine at home… grrr). She had a raincoat on and another lady by her side holding an umbrella and was swaying a bible around trying to keep it dry and shouting something about god. Something about jesus and love and the forgiveness of sins. I’m not sure. The wind was really loud and the traffic was really loud and the rain was really loud. And I wasn’t paying much attention.
All I thought when I saw her was: wow, that’s some serious dedication. Then I looked at myself – one hand holding an umbrella, twisting it around, trying to get it to stop flying inside out every two seconds and protect me at least a little from the rain, one hand holding cigarettes, trying to pack them and yank off the plastic and get one out and keep it dry, and a lighter gripped between my teeth. I broke my umbrella, I got totally drenched and I almost got hit by a few cars while trying to cross the street. But I got my cigarette. And I was happy. And it was worth it.
Wow. That’s some serious dedication. The cigarette was the only thing that made the walk to work bearable. The only thing that made the getting out of bed and the trudging through the rain and the thought of facing the day and the week and the rest of my life bearable on this stormy Monday morning. And it occurred to me that maybe that’s how religious people feel about their beliefs. And maybe that’s why they do all those things (which seem crazy to the rest of us) in order to support and strengthen and share their beliefs, no matter how many people throw garbage at them or make fun of them or yell at them to shut up and go home.
Those beliefs make life bearable for them. Just like drinking and smoking and dieting and fucking and cutting and working out and sleeping make life bearable for me. For some people it’s a fancy car and a big house and and nice clothes and lots of money. For some people it’s having a cause to fight for or a movement to be a part of. For some people its writing. For some people its animals. For some it’s a successful career. And maybe we aren’t all as different as we think we are. Maybe we’re all just looking for a way to make life a little more bearable.
I know I am.This weekend was bittersweet. The good part was that I successfully fasted all day Saturday and Sunday and bought a notebook that I’m using as a food journal, starting today. This morning I ate a bowl of instant oatmeal. It was 160 calories. That’s all I plan on eating today. I stocked up on naked juices, slim fast, protein shakes, vitamin waters, etc. My goal is to remain on a purely liquid diet as much as possible and when I absolutely need to eat – when I’m about to pass out or too shaky to work – I will eat non-junk food and as little as possible.
I’m not stupid enough to think that I can just go forever without eating (too bad) but I would like to lose some initial weight, regain some freedom over food (and not be a slave to my appetite and cravings and binging desires) and drastically lower my average calorie intake per day, per week, and per month. I’m sick of this binging-starving-binging-starving-binging-starving-cutting cycle. I just want to settle down into the thin-person lifestyle and stay there forever. And then I will finally be happy.
The bad part of the weekend (sort of) is that my boyfriend and I broke up. But it’s not that I didn’t want us to break up. I mean, I’ve known for a while that we should –that it would be the right thing to do. I just could never get up the courage to tell him. (I’m not a very assertive person. I have trouble saying no to people. I’m always terrified of letting them down and disappointing them and hurting their feelings.) And he just loved me so much. But he also wanted and expected and needed so much from me. I don’t think he did it consciously or purposely or with malicious intent, but I think he sensed that I was kind of a pushover so he saw the chance to be with someone where he would almost always get his way. And I think that’s the real reason he “loved” me – because he knew he could turn me into what he wanted me to be. He could mold me into his idea of the perfect girlfriend. He just didn’t count on me getting sick of it and not cooperating.
So even though deep down, I think it’s for the best, I can’t help but have doubts. I can’t help but wonder if I’m just paranoid and fucked up and so insane that I imagined or created or caused all the problems I thought we had. Because the cycle of our relationship followed the same exact pattern as all my previous relationships have in the past and not just the romantic ones. This is exactly how it works in all my relationships – parents, friends, boyfriends, coworkers, neighbors, even pets. (My family turned my cat against me.)That’s why I don’t have a lot of friends. That’s (partly) why I don’t talk to anyone in my family (except my mom). That’s why I burn bridges and cut people out of my life and change my number and move around and bounce around from group to group, waiting for people who will bring out a different side of me. And I always tell myself that everyone else is to blame. My boyfriend was manipulative and needy, my dad was trying to control me, my friend was using me and talking behind my back, my coworker pawns off all her menial work on me because she knows I’m a sucker and she makes fun of me for it when I’m not around.
I always tell myself that when I can just find the right group of people, I will be able to act the way everyone else does toward others. When I can just find the right boy I will be able to feel the way everyone else does toward others. It’s just because I haven’t found good friends yet. I haven't met a good boy. All the people around me are the ones to blame for our relationship ending or becoming negative.
But if that’s true then why am I the only common denominator among all my failed relationships? Am I really such a moody, crazy, mixed-up, alcoholic sociopath that I can’t even maintain one single healthy relationship and run every potentially healthy relationship into the ground?
Ugh. I’m beginning to think so.