I turned 33 this week. I spent it in bed or on the sofa asleep. I phoned in sick to work, took the beans to nursery and wallowed in my own pit of self-hatred and sadness. Dark, right?
To be honest I don’t know what came over me. I spent the weekend with friends and am seeing the besties this weekend, but when I woke up to the beans trotting in and saying “mummy, we’ve done really big poos and they’re on the bedroom floor” I just felt that I couldn’t cope with the day.
Rather than thinking of all the things I had, I felt the loneliness all around me. No one had made me cup of tea, I had no presents to unwrap, no one sang me happy birthday. It really hit me that the times of year that used to be my happiest (such as birthdays and Christmas) are now my saddest.
I woke up at 33, cleaned up shit off my kid’s carpet and realised everything I’d lost. It was depressing, and I HATE being depressing.
I’m coming out of my birthday slump, but it’s not easy.
I’m gonna play the mum card. Go ahead, roll your eyes. But seriously, this shit is hard work! I love my kids, I really do; they mean everything to me. But fuck me they’re little cock blockers. I honestly think a good banging session would literally blow away the cobwebs. Yes. My fanny has actual cobwebs because I can’t remember the last time I took the time to actually shave and maintain myself properly.
I know, I know…I can hear you. If I had a proper session I would then just question why the person walked away at the end of it…
“Why aren’t I Good enough?”
“Why aren’t they sticking around?”
“Am I ever gonna be enough for ANYONE?”
Blah blah blah. I’m a complex fucking mess that likes to bang but really can’t handle rejection and see it round every corner.
Equally, I can’t have the sex with just anyone. I need to feel something, there needs to be something between us. So I’m not asking for much…right?
This is my life. I love the sex, banging is pretty much my antidote to every emotion. Slip me a sly finger and I’m happy. BUT rejection hits me really fucking hard and I see it even when it’s not there. Even if I’m not into someone, I’ll be gutted that they’re not into me.
When I am banging someone, I am convinced they fake their climax. I can’t believe that they’re actually into it, that they’re not just throwing me a pity fuck. The thought of a pity fuck mortifies me.
I wanna believe the good in my life and then maybe I won’t focus on the badness so much. I want to believe my kids love me, that I’m good at my job, that my friends care for me and that some people actually find me attractive. But I can’t. There is an actual barrier not letting me believe it.
This isn’t a post about woe is me, poor me, please validate me and tell me that I’m worth something. In fact, I’ll do the opposite and literally block any fucker that says that cheesy shit to me.
I’m not totally sure what the purpose of this post is. I just like getting my shit down on paper and I figure I’ll share it because who knows, maybe I’m not alone in my fucked up-ness.