WARNING – THIS POST CONTAINS RANTS. THEY ARE SLIGHTLY NONSENSICAL. THERE IS BAD GRAMMAR AND SENTENCE STRUCTURE. THERE IS ALSO RANTING ABOUT SPECIFIC PEOPLE – PLEASE DO NOT GET MAD AT ME. THIS IS MY ONLY OUTLET.
I’m angry. I don’t know why I’m angry at the moment, when I’m usually sad, but I am! I’m angry damnit. I’m angry with the world.
I’m angry that stupid little injuries keep happening to me. I’m not as much of a klutz as the world makes me out to be. All I did was generously donate a bed frame to someone who needed it, and now I’m missing a freaking toenail for fuck’s sake! Despite spending the last decade of my life not taking care of myself properly, I do it right this time. I call medical professionals for advice, I clean and cover my wound. And then when I go to change the dressing, the stupid sodding gauze sticks to the fresh nail growing in and rips it fucking out! So now it’s freshly painful, and I have to keep in uncovered to let the nail grow in, which means cleaning it every two minutes to stop an infection coming in.
And I’m angry with my friends. One makes absolutely no effort to see me anymore. Now that she has her job, and her live-in boyfriend, she’s just not interested in me or our friendship. I can’t think of the last time she came round to see me without me inviting her, or without her wanting to use my parking space to get into town. She doesn’t text me first. She doesn’t message me or call me. I miss her. She’s my best friend. She’s the handprint on my heart. I know I’m not the easiest person to be friends with. I guess it’s understandable that she’d much rather spend her free time with her boyfriend.
I’m angry with my other friend too. A couple of weeks ago he was here literally non-stop for over a week. He was my lodger. I’m not complaining about that. I loved that. I love his company, and I love that he makes me less self-conscious about my foibles. Then he goes home to his parents for a weekend, and when he comes back everything has changed. He’s been sick, and depressed, and things are getting to him, but in nearly three weeks I’ve seen him once, and spoken to him only a few times. I feel like he’s avoiding me. I KNOW he isn’t, but it feels like it. And I’m angry at myself for being so paranoid and insecure, but I’m angry at him because he knows I’m insecure and paranoid and worry easily and… And there’s all kinds of mess with his participation in a Ravelry swap that I’m running, and I don’t want to push him because I know he’s depressed and that he can’t help it, but it’s frustrating me, and I’m getting flack from other Ravelers because I’m the moderator and I’m meant to do something. I’m just angry.
I’m angry with men in general actually. I belong to four social-networking/dating sites. I have on my profile, clearly stated, that I am only looking for friendship. So these men message me. I get the usual messages of men asking me for a fuck. I’m used to them. I ignore them. Then I get the fully grown men sending “hey bbe, wot u up 2”. What the hell is that? Aside from all the glaringly obvious issues, where the hell is the question mark? Then there are the ones that feel the need to message me and tell me I’m fat, or that I’m ugly. Why? What satisfaction can they possibly get from insulting a stranger? But you know what makes me the angriest? The ones who start a normal conversation. The ones who I respond to, and we get chatting, and we swap mobile numbers, and we keep texting, and we’re getting along nicely, and then they start flirting. Ok, I like to flirt. Then the flirting turns into much more than flirting, and I’m not comfortable, so I remind them that I’m only looking for friends. “That’s fine,” they say. “We can be friends.” Then I never bloody hear from them again. That makes me bloody angry.
I’m angry with life. What did I do in my past life to deserve having such shit piled on me this time round? Why do I deserve to be a depressive? Why do things keep going wrong? Why do things go wrong for the people I love? What in the hell did Neil do to deserve having his baby brother blown up? How the hell is that justified?
I’m angry with myself as well. I had this amazing plan for making products, and designing patterns, to sell in an Etsy store. I made a conscious decision to start designing things. Since then I’ve worked on a few patterns, but haven’t done a stitch of craftwork. Haven’t started any products for my Etsy store. Haven’t worked on any Project 200 pieces. None. And I don’t know why. I just don’t care. And that scares me, because crafting is all I have, and if I stop wanting to do that, what the hell am I going to do with my life?
I’m angry about weightloss too. I like the Weightwatchers plan. I was a bit miffed when they switched to this new complicated ProPoints scheme, but I got used to it. I learned to like it, I learned to use it. When I can afford to go regularly, Weightwatchers works for me. But it’s £6 a meeting, plus a £4 bus ticket to get there. That’s £10 a week. And they don’t let you skip meetings. You have to go EVERY SINGLE WEEK. So that’s £20 a month. After bills I only have £60-75 a fortnight to spend on gas, electric, groceries and catfood. That’s all the money I have. I can’t afford to do that. So when I found a set of bathroom scales that has a high enough weight limit for me, I was pleased. Yes, they’re a bit expensive. But I got them from a catalogue and I can pay them off at £2.40 a week. No more expensive Weightwatchers meetings. I stick to the plan and weigh at home once a week. Nice. Simple. The scales arrive and I weigh myself. Horrible number, but expected. I stick to the plan. I point my food. I behave myself damnit! And come the first weigh-in, I’ve put on 5lbs. 5lbs in 4 days. How the hell? None of my whole three friends are available for support or comfort, and I get depressed, and deal with it by binge eating. So now next weigh-in I’ll weigh even more. I hate it. I hate the whole bloody process.
I’m angry. Very angry. And it’s weird and different. I don’t do anger. I do misery, and depression, and gut-wrenching sorrow. But I’m none of those things. I want to cry, but it’s out of frustration, not sadness. I’m angry and I want to punch a bloody wall. I want to punch a person. I’m not violent, but I want to get violent with someone. I’m so angry with everything, and I don’t know what to do about it.