Sorry for the lack of update last Sunday. It was...taxing, to say the least. (Well...apologies to anyone who actually reads this stupid thing.)
Now, over this past week, I've come to realize something...something important, something pertinant about people like me.
"Now," you inquire. "What's a 'person like you'? What does that even mean?" Well, a person like me is not incredibly attractive by any means or standards. I'm average height, pretty good teeth, decent skin (pale, at that). I have glasses (contacts when it's sunny), I'm...'curvy' (not fat or even overweight, just not...skinny)...I like 'guy' things, like video games, anime, animation (I'm one o' those 'artsy' types), and while fundamentally shy, I have the tendancy to be quite loud, and should probably clean up my language a bit.
People like me, well, I've figured that we just don't really get anything. We don't win. We don't succeed. We might a little bit, a small victory in the ever-waging battlefield that is life...something to keep us going. But really, those tiny wins are things like "Oh hey, I got a small raise!" or "I just redecorated my home a little bit!"
People like me don't have a great deal of money, possessions, and not a great deal of disposable income. So, while 'other people' spend their money on mani/pedis, carrot tans, Baby Phat shoes and handbags, and bad dye jobs, people like me spend their money on things that are required in the future: debt payments, RRSPs, and some sort of rudimentary savings. People like them have REAL disposable income.
Which, in turn, even with their fake attitudes, and carrot tans, and weighing 80 pounds, men still go after them.
Because they're one of those people.
For the sake of no scientific proof, those people are the wealthy, the physically attractive, the affluent, the socialites. Women who have the uncanny ability to be about as smart as a lawn chair, but can drink, laugh at all the right jokes, make friends with all the right people, but most importantly, look good while doing it. Men go after those women because they say that they want a friend, a companion, a soulmate, blah blah blah, but in reality, they want a good-looking fuck. A yes-man (girl?). Someone fun and moderately tolerable to show off to their friends, to say 'what a great catch' she was.
For the sake of political correctness, men say that they 'don't mind a bigger girl,' and that it's 'more cushion for the pushin' or something equally witty.
I have found this to be a huge, fucking, bald-faced lie.
Men really want the size 1-0s; they want the amazon women who, for some reason, either plastic surgery, genetics (lucky bitches), or whatever, but they're tall, they're beautiful, they have to be at least a 34-C, and of course, the above-mentioned money, looks, skin, hair, etc.
Before I dated my previous ex, I had mentioned something very similar to what I am posting now. His reply was "Well, do you really want those kind of guys to be attracted to you?" At the time, of course, I said something like "Well, it's better than what I have now (which was at the time nada)."
Now, the sad part. If you think about this as a real scientific analysis, then, well, I'm literally destined to be alone for the rest of my life. And no, I'm not boo-hooing as I'm typing this, acting all dramatic like my world is over. No. That's all over. As I type this, it's a grim realization; something I've come to terms with, and something that I'm probably going to carry with me the rest of my pathetic life. Hmm...maybe the closest feeling would be....getting the news that I have a terminal illness, or something. There's absolutely nothing you can do, you just, well....deal. You give a grim smile, sigh, and carry on, because that's all you can do. (Now, to anyone actually reading this thing, I am not comparing this to a terminal disease, because that's horribly self-centered of me. I'm just using it for the general feeling right now. I'm sorry if I offended anyone. =/ )
In about....oh, two and a half days, I am going to be a young woman of 23. Thinking back, I've gone through a lot, and I've worked very hard to get to where I am now. And really, I suppose I'm happy. I've got my own place (renting...ha ha ha), I'm finally, after 5+ years, am making a decent headway with my debts, I'm saving (RRSP and others), I have great friends, and I love my job.
A friend of mine told me earlier this week that "You don't need to validate your exsistance through someone else. You need to able to love yourself before you can love anyonen else." Now, kudos to her, as those were really some amazing words of wisdom, but it's not really something I'm willing to follow just now. I know that you can't do that; that you really do need to love yourself and have confidence. But, when you're almost 23, with my track record, doubt starts to rear it's ugly head.
I'm almost 23, and I have never:
-Celebrated Valentines Day with a loved one, or had any sort of 'romantic getaway'
-Celebrated ANY holiday or special occasion with a loved one
-Recieved flowers as a romantic gesture
-...Recieved flowers at all
-Had anything really nice and thoughful (again, romantic) done for me - ie. someone cooking a dinner for me, giving me a shoulder rub, anything, really
-Had anyone really 'take care' of me. I'm always the one cooking, cleaning, and generally making sure they're comfortable.
-Had a boyfriend who wanted to be around me
I don't know what I am to men. I don't know how I present myself, or just why I seem to be the most unattractive human being alive. The sad thing is that I don't want to give up what I love in order to be loved. I love video games and gaming. I love the industry. I love animation, I love drawing. These things are going to be a part of my life, and while I am going to be alone, well, for the rest of my life, I pour myself into my work so I can feel at least somewhat fulfilled.
I guess it's either one or the other, huh?
Honestly, as pathetic as it sounds, I'd rather be alone and love what I do than be with someone who wants some dumb blonde to fuck on a Friday night. Also, I'm a red head, so that's not possible.
So, on the eve of a new week, and the new summer season (where??), I close the book on yet another spectacularly unsuccessful relationship.
With that being said...
You Know Who You Are.
You're a coward. You led me around with a carrot on a string for six fucking months while you ignored me, used me, and walked all over me. I never once asked for anything. I never once raised any objections when after weeks of not seeing eachother, you would shove me aside so you could go hang out with your friends. You came over only for free home-cooked meals and a warm bed to sleep in.
I take back what I said. No, I do not want to be your friend. Frankly, if I see you again in the next year, it'll be too soon.
You broke my heart. You broke me. I have no self-worth, no self-esteem, and no confidence. When I was with you, I was happy. I felt powerful. Attractive - no, sexy. Desirable. Confident. I felt like I could take on the world.
Now, I spend my nights drinking, going to the gym, and drinking some more. Once again, I'm alone. And alone I will be for...well, I don't even want to think about that anymore.
So I hope you're pleased with yourself. I hope you find another fancy fuck who's willing to change your diaper and give you your warm bottle while you don't have to lift an emotional finger. I hope you rot in whatever psychological prison you've fashioned for yourself.
You're on your own. I will not, nor will I ever, offer you any more guidance, or even a shoulder to cry on.
Nice to see at least one of us was willing to put themselves on the line for the other.
You're a self-centered prick. Live with it, and love it, because that is the real you.
I need a drink.