Well blogland, I deactivated my Facebook last night.
Admittedly I did it in the midst of the beginning of my seasonal breakdown and I was crying and as I always do, I just wanted to run away. I think deactivating Facebook is the adult version of running away.
The problem is, Facebook or rather, Meta owns so damn much that it's next to impossible to log into stuff once you shut down your account. Like every turn leads to reactivating the bitch so you can't really run away.
I get sucked into this black hole every yearend I'm never able to fully pull myself to the edge until after the Valentines Candy is sold out and all the lovely doves shit is over.
For the 16th yearn a row, when the clock strikes midnight into the new year I will be alone. Nearly everyone I now will have someone to kiss and I will not. For God knows how many years in a row, I will have no-one that thinks of me on Valentines day. No one to send me a card or kiss my cheek and tell me they love me.
Because no one loves me.
I have to sit here in my room every night and watch people meet that special someone, brag about how happy they are, post pictures of them together, get engaged and eventually married and they play all this out on Facebook for everyone to see and then either don't get that some of their friends look at that stuff (because we can't avoid it) and want to go cop squat in traffic. It's not that I don't want them to be happy. I really love that they're happy. Just want to be that happy. Just once in my life.
I was married but I was never happy. Randy didn't want to be married and he made me feel every bit of his anger at being married. Every single day. I was never happy in my marriage and neither was he. Th difference is that he went out and he found Gabi and they are happy. He's finally happy and I'm still sitting here in the fall out shelter that's become my life.
Do you know that I haven't been invited to a holiday party in years. Every year I see people post pictures of their parties and I might lie them or comment that it looks like they had fun and they inevitably come back and say "You should come next year!" I would freaking love to come but I only find out you had a party the day after. Stop telling me I should come next year if you never tell me when the fucking party is! That just tells me that you don't want me there in the first fucking place. I have never once been invited to a Halloween party, a Friendsgiving, or a Christmas party. Not even a New Years party.
I'm 44 years old and I have never once been see to a holiday party. Not even a 4th of July party. I had a birthday party thrown for me once but it wasn't really a party for me. I mean only two people talked to me the whole night. At my party. That felt great.
I finished Survival of the Thickest on Netflix yesterday.Good show but it made me realize that I'm simply not fat enough. You can have love if you are a twig. And you can find love if you are big as a Macy's day parade float. But if you are only mildly big, you don't get love. You get backaches and headaches and wanting to crawl into traffic on a major highway blindfolded.
And don't try to lose the weight so you can be a skinny mini because being big and beautiful is so in right now. It's hot. For years we lived with the barbie thin models and now, the big girls are taking over. But not the little big girl, just the big big girls. They're the only ones that are beautiful enough to be happy in their skin.
I swear if I were more religious, I would join a silent convent. Never speak to anyone ever again. Won't have to worry about parties. Won't care about being left out.
What a crock.
Sixteen years I've been feeling like this. My marriage sucked warm donkey balls in the desert sun but I would have rather been miserable WITH a husband than miserable knowing I failed at marriage. Just like my parents.
I thin that's what it comes down to honestly. All my life I've wanted to be someones loving wife. I'm not lying when I tell you that I really had no other when I grow up goals besides being married and growing old with him. No princess, not anything remotely feasible. I only ever wanted to be the someone that he came home to night. I only really ever wanted to be the someone that kissed him as he left for work and kept the house.
Which is odd because I kinda suck at housekeeping. Well not not really I don't, I just have no one that I will ever bring back to mine so why clean it up.
When I think of all the boys I had crushes on in my life I feel like I didn't even know who the girl that liked them was. And some of those guys are just straight assholes.
Like Ben Brody. That little fuckface with the gimpy thumb. I was in love with him his senior year and he ignored the ever loving fuck out of me. I saw him after I was grown and married. Randy and I were at Atlantic City and I introduced him and do you know that that that maggoty fat fuck had the nerve to look at Randy with pity like "Oh man you married her? I feel for you man." I had a crush on Chuck Egan. He like some skinny brunette. BE he's still good peeps. There was Jason Ambrose. No idea where he is now. Don't really care. Jason Sadwidth. I think that was his name. I know it was Jason. I really liked him but I was just the goofy friend to him. The girl with the Swiss rolls that would always share.
Don't boys know that if a chubby black girl shares her Swiss rolls with you, that means she pretty much loves you? I mean come on, we don't come up off of chocolate for just anyone?? Liked a guy named Mered Parnes. Also Santo Perrotto. They can both rot in a hell of my choosing. Both of them. Both of them took big strides to embarrass me to show me just how revolting I was to them.
And then there was the great Donald. He knew I liked him. HE even threw me a bone and we slept together but I had a mini mental breakdown because things in my life were going just a lot haywire and he dropped me so damn fast I got whiplash. It's taken me years say outloud that I dislike him. I haven't gotten past dislike. Im stuck there. But I dislike Donald because he used me and let me hang there like stinking rag just waiting for him to have time for me again.
I need to go to bed. It's a quarter after one...
And I'm all alone and I need you now.
Sorry my subconscious would have sung that song all night in my dream if I hadn't finished it.
Blog you later.
