Today is already a bad day. At 10:21 I already want to crawl back into bed and wake up in someone else’s life. Because mine isn’t feeling so great at the moment. Today someone could so much as look at me and I’d burst into tears.
There are cracks in my foundations.
I woke up at 8:30 and dozed until 9 stretching my legs out into the various warm crevices of my bed. Then I watched channel 4’s Extreme A&E on my phone with my eyes half-open. I could hear my mum pottering around downstairs, the sounds of pots and pans as they were squeezed into cupboards traveled up through the ceiling and into my early morning ears. She’s normally gone by 7 so I lay there watching my rather serious documentary waiting for her to burst into my room at any moment (preferably with a cup of tea) with a list of chores as long as my arm to complete in her absence. That didn’t happen until about 9:40.
‘What’s that?’ She inquired, pointing at my phone on my pillow.
‘Extreme A&E’ I mumbled.
‘Could you turn it off, I’d like a word.’
My immediate response was, ‘Why? What have I done now?’
‘No, it’s a good word.’ She smiled
‘Internet dating, you should give it a go if you like.’
‘Nooooo!’ Initially I laughed it off but as I let the words sink in, I felt a lump forming in my throat, one that rendered me speechless unless I wanted to exercise my on-the-brink-of-crying voice.
In my mind, there is nothing more embarrassing then the on-the-brink-of-crying voice. If I acquire the on-the-brink-of-crying voice in a conversation or an argumentative scenario, I just stop speaking. But this crying voice wasn’t going anywhere.
I suddenly felt a surge of anger, sadness and pure unadulterated despair rise in my chest and I literally burst into tears. Thick, clogging, guttural tears that cluttered my airways and make me sound like a dying fish. And I couldn’t stop, I buried my face into the pillow and sobbed.
My Mum was initially quite taken aback and tried to console me with things like this:
‘It’s just a different way of meeting people.’
‘Nooooo!’ I howled.
‘If you’re looking for my approval and permission then you have it.’
‘Stop.’ I implored.
‘But you look for jobs on the internet.’ She pleaded. This was quite possibly the worst but most hilarious thing she could have said.
‘You’re making it worse. Just leave me alone. Go away.’
‘Oh golly, I’ve really said the wrong thing. I’m sorry darling, I didn’t mean it vindictively. I love you.’
Despite the fact that she obviously felt absolutely awful, she’d used the word ‘golly’ and its unnaturally posh sound made me even more annoyed.
‘JUST GO AWAY! INTERNET DATING IS THE LAST RESORT! FOR WHEN I’M 31 NOT 21! YOU IMPLYING I’M NOT GOING TO MEET ANYONE!’
‘No, no, not at all darling, of course you’ll meet someone, I just thought that if you wanted to see what’s out there then you can, just be discerning about it. You might meet someone really lovely…’
‘I don’t want to meet someone over the internet! Go away.’ I was wailing now, my body temperature increasing dramatically.
‘But I don’t want to go to work and leave you like this, I’m so sorry.’
‘Yes fine, just get out.’
Then she started crying because she felt bad for hurting me. It was a mess.
But eventually I did agree to forgive her and she went on her way. But my Mum has a habit of saying things with the best intentions that actually hurt. Mainly because when she’s says them, there’s an element of validation in her words. If she thinks internet dating is an option then maybe that means I won’t find anyone here. She has a habit of saying things I’ve been trying not to say or admit for months.
Because for me internet dating is the very last resort. And if it’s now time to whack out plan Z, then things are bad. Hopeless infact. Things are serious. I feel like curling up into a ball and crying for ever and my eye balls already resemble two small puffa fish. Because the truth is I’m gutted about my life at the moment as much as I pretend that I’m not. As much as I try and laugh and fill my time, I’m cracking up over here. I’m so tired of feeling like a failure every single day, of looking in the mirror knowing that I’m wasting myself. I look back at my checklist of life and the only thing ticked off is my education and completed childhood. A pat on the back for moi.
Today I would willingly run away, jump on a train and just get out of here. I want to ‘take the phone off the hook and disappear for a while’ and sort this messy head of mine into neat and ordered categories and piles.
I feel bitter. And hard. I don’t feel very human apart from when I’m with Sophie, it’s amazing what a young smile can do.
Another one of my friends just got a job and as thrilled as I am for her, I just want to scream, ‘What about me? When will it be my turn?’ How bad is that. I have absolutely nothing to share, no equally joyous news to bring, no change to offer or mull over.
My life is in a coma. I keep pestering the doctors but they keep telling me that there’s no change. I’m not even sure how stable I am anymore. But maybe I’m laying dormant before the real excitement begins. Maybe I’m resting before the race.
And as hopeless and as desperate as I feel, there is always hope. And an ice cold bottle of Desperados. Although having said that they are quite pricey and it’s far to early for an alcoholic beverage. But hope does float like the lime on a wave of tequila infused beer, hope bobs about, it never sinks. Hope will always be found in the midst of desperation.