Because You’re Different

I’ve always been the friend. Suitable for long chats and wise advice. Not for shopping, mind. Nobody wanted to be seen with me. You think that’s overreacting, but the truth is, I actually got told this. This person did not want to be seen out with me because she deemed me “too fat” to hang out with her and couldn’t stand the staring.

Same with boys. Because too fat apparently is menspeak for not suitable enough to be a girlfriend. Fuck it, it’s a universal language. Different means bad. And it’s still like that. I can’t believe it hasn’t changed since I was in grade school.

Grade school was a nightmare for me. People didn’t even deem me worthy to stand next to in the class picture. Ugly, different, weird. How about trying desperately to fit in?

It took me twelve more years to realize that I was an absolute idiot for trying that.

But it did leave the most incredible scar on my soul.  I still need to figure out how to love myself and all my quirks. On top of that, I have to deal with a constantly changing body and the self-confidence of a hermit, living on Hermit Hill in Hermitland, country of Hermitania.

I don’t feel attractive in any sort of way. I know people tell me different, and I really want to believe them. I want to believe that I’m good at everything I do, and I want to believe that I will have both the success and the passion I want in my life.

I just can’t.

I feel like I’m not experienced enough to be doing all this. To be giving my older friends advice on life and love… I don’t know why I do that. I know bog all about it. My own pathetic excuse for a lovelife is not much to be admired. I know that all things come to those who wait, but I’ve waited all my fucking life for something that I can be happy about.

I fear that I’m not meant to be happy. That any happy thing that happens will automatically be debunked by my shitty brain. My brain’s a piece of shit. I can’t help fearing that I got the wrong set of genes. Fuck, if it turns out I have my mother’s borderline disorder, I’m screwed.

There’s a lyric that I keep mishearing. Maybe I’ve adapted it to suit my own ear. “Time has the answer, time will make me strong/bring me peace.”

I so don’t believe that at the moment. Time’s a bitch! Whenever I need it to slow down, it goes too fucking fast. And whenever I need it to speed up, yeah…..

If time really brings peace, knowing my life, I’ll probably have to wait till I’m an octogenarian knitting champion with a personalized rocking chair to ever have peace. I’d probably die a minute after I win the trophy.

It pisses me off, time. If I were an actual timelady, like it used to say in my Twitterbio, I’d have so much fun fucking it over. I’d go to a Clash gig and smoke pot with Strummer. And probably shag him too.

Alright, cutting myself off from this post before I get really weird.

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4 Comments

  1. In my experience, it’s not worth relying on time. Make your own luck. 🙂

    Reply
  2. Still, better to die a minute after winning your knitting trophy than a minute before. That’s as much optimism as I can do. My blog title is a total lie.

    Reply
  3. Oh Jilly, I totally get your frustration. I do know that it changes and it does get easier, or at least it has for me. Realizing things usually work out in the end. Just not how I expected them to or on my time table. But in a good way.
    I am currently waiting on several things in my life to happen and just focusing on the good and the things that I can and do have control over in the meantime.
    XO
    Rachel
    p.s. Join me in the Saturday Sweet Sixteen. You can do it. 😉

    Reply
  4. Jilly… my BMI puts me on the edge of obese, so go check out my blog photos; hardly. DSMIV suggests I have been, at some stages of my life, 1. narcissistic, 2. ADHD, 3. plain nuts; they’re all words for ‘different’. The man I love lives 10,000 miles away from me and in 3 years I have spent all of 15 days with him. EVERY time I have been there, something has happened which has cut down our time together; on one trip it wiped it out totally. I was always different at school and I am still different as an adult.

    Each and every experience in my past has molded me into the person I am. My future will affect the person I will become.

    There have been days in which I am Queen of the World. There have been days where I have considered myself absolute shite. Somewhere in the middle is where I am most content.

    Look for that middle ground.

    One of the things I recommend is to reconnect. Take a walk down the street and people-watch. As corny as it sounds, look for simple joys. Look for emotion; laughter, anger, tears. Bathe your face in sunlight and your toes in mud. Greet the sun in the morning and bid it goodnight as it sets. Watch a caterpillar crawl on your hand, FEEL it. Smell a baby’s breath and change its nappy. Watch acts of birth and death. Take a boat-ride and look for things you’ve never seen on that route before. Find someone less fortunate than you and listen to their life story at a soup kitchen, then volunteer a couple of hours helping clean up. Go to a church or sacred place and be silent in both body and mind as you appreciate the atmosphere and art. Go somewhere different and take it in with as many senses as physically possible. Focus your mind. Let it wander. Do both. And remember…

    Just as reality cannot replace dream, nor can dreams replace reality.

    Reply

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