Tuesday, August 08, 2006

real life

So I finished university, I got a first, from supposedly the best university in the country for my subject (according to the Guardian, no surprise given the same simpering pseudo left wing sympathies they share) and can i get a decent job? Hell no. I earn more or less minimum wage and am having to scrape an existence on about £170 week. Shouldn't complain cos it isn't that bad, but I actually earned more before I went to university, and I'm beginning to wonder if it was all a waste of time and money, which is really encouraging as I'm meant to be going back for part-time post grad study. I've applied for all these jobs and haven't even had an interview - what am I doing wrong???
As I mainly work at night, and I can't adjust my sleep pattern to fit my new schedule, I sit around the house all day, half asleep, depressed and bored out my mind. I don't care leave the house - I have an awful compulsion to spend any money I have on me, and there are far too many things to spend your money on in brighton: coffee; food; beer; beautiful clothes; even more beautiful rent boys (joking about the last one). So basically I have had way too much time to myself, and whenever I spend all this time alone I get depressed. I think partly because it reminds me so much of being a teenager, sitting in my room, crying and crying and crying and gradually discovering that the only thing that would stop me from crying was to cut myself, so that I had a physical manifestation of my pain to focus on, a wound that could heal, that I could see and care for, rather than ones that I could never quite find, and kept on hurting, regardless of anything I did to try and cure it.
So basically, I’ve been more down these past couple of months than I have been in years. It’s fucking up my relationship more than I realised too. I never, ever, ever usually let myself lose my temper with people, but I yelled at my boyfriend the other day, really yelled, for no reason. That’s not the kind of person I want to be, because I have a filthy temper, and I am so terrifying when I’m angry. So to lose my rag, without even noticing that I’m doing it really scares me. After I shouted, he walked off, and (I feel so bad for this) it didn’t occur to me for about half an hour that I’d hurt him. I find it so hard to trust that people love me, and I don’t expect to be able to hurt anyone, because I can’t believe that anyone could care for me enough for me to be able to hurt them. It’s selfishness, caught up with self hatred, which is a bit of a Gordian knot of emotions to unravel. I talked to JG about this, and then I realised the enormity of what I’m doing to him; it’s abuse, of a kind that I’ve been subject to in relationships, and would now, having been through it once, wouldn’t put up with. I’d walk out on anyone who did it to me. So I asked him if he wanted to take some time apart from me, give me a few months to try and clear my head. I’m not sure if this is the hard option or the easy way out. When I think about my relationship, I’m sometimes so sure that this is it, that I want to be with him long term, have kids with him, tie my life to his, but I doubt it sometimes too, I was 20 when we met, and I’ve never been one for blind faith in anything.
I don’t know how I can change myself, I don’t think I really have the strength or the will power to drag myself out of depression. I threw a drink at my boyfriend and stormed out a pub the other day when he said that people choose to be unhappy. On the one hand, he is so, so wrong, I never chose this, I’ve been miserable since I was 13, but on the other, there’s a nagging seed of doubt in my mind about this. I’m at a cross-road, where perhaps I could choose to be happy, that if I work at it hard enough, that if I rake over all my bad memories and try and work out where this started, I might start to get better. Perhaps this niggling doubt in my previous conviction in the helplessness of my situation, could be the grain of sand, around which the oyster forms a pearl.
Just reread that last sentence, and whilst it makes me gag with its ‘poignancy’, I’ll let it stand, because I really do want it to be true.
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