And here’s the overdue post.
The post where I feel self-pity.
The post where I’m selfish.
The post where I act as if the world’s wrongs are solely designed to negatively impact me, and only me.
Everywhere I look, people are having a nice, relaxed summer break: some are going on holiday to lovely distinations; some are spending quality time with family and frineds; some are arranging daytrips and days out with the ones they love. Regardless, all I see, everywhere on and offline, are people having a nice time, and honestly, I couldn’t be more happy for them.
But then there’s me.
I want a break. what I want most of all, now, is to pack a bag and run, run to somewhere far, far away. I want, with a burning desperation which I cannot extinguish, to flee to somewhere beautiful, with a select few who love me and whom I love, and just be. More than anything else, I need to escape: escape the stress, the workload, the bad friendship-screw-ups, all of it.
But I can’t.
Often, when I say this to people in real life, they make the perfectly understandable point that there is hardly a weekend that goes by when I’m not somewhere or other in the country, travelling, roaming free. This point is one I am unable to deny but, see, those travelling weekends are always for either one thing or another, which whether directly or indirectly, always link back to one of the above problems. These links vary, dependent on activity and even timing – what’s happening at that given time in my life plays a part in all that.
All the same, it never provides a break from everything.
And that’s what I need.
I haven’t been on holiday with my family for 7 years. I find myself making this point year after year, the number of years increasing, but the number seemingly having no more of an impact on those I tell. Bringing this point up with my parents, however, results in the immediate comeback to remind me where I went with school that given year, or where I went with blindie camp. The one point i’m trying to make, however, is typically the one point that they are so blind to: I want to spend time with my family. I’m not ashamed to admit that we have our fair share of disagreements, argumets and uneasy, tense moments, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love them. As I say year on year, I’d happily sacrifice the times I have away one year for a family holiday, to spend some quality time with both my parents and my sister.
They are having none of it.
But then i’m being selfish.
So I stop talking.
Summer has brought me times of joy before now, yes, but it can also be difficult, and not just for the reasons above. Every summer, I’m reminded of the operation which, 8 years ago now, took my sight away from me in an experimental cancer treatment. In the words of Hazel, a character patient in The Fault In our Stars, it was one of those ‘famous in Cancervania for not working’.
Needless to say, mine didn’t break the trend.
However much I ramble on about not wanting my sight back, there’s nothing there that says that I don’t regret [for want of a better word] losing it in the first place. The question which I answer frequently is: would you like to get your sight back? The question is not: would you rather you had kept your sight?
because that’s a totally different question.
And a totally different answer.
Today, someone upset me. Frankly, I’m not sure if they meant to or not, and I think I’d rather rtain my lack of knowledge there.
Some of you will know of my rocky friendship wihh a certain person, one who has not always treated me brilliantly: spilling secrets, spreading rumours, and generally betraying my trust. Honestly, I thought we were done with second chances after the sixth, seventh, eigth and ninth chances rolled in and rolled out again, but I’m a sucker for punishment. Slowly, over recent months, I’ve tried my very best to rebuild a friendship from the bottom up, purposefully designing it to be less all-encompassing than our last one – built on trust, rather than dependent on it.
Really I thought we were getting somewhere – I swear I did, but what happened today just demonstrates how wrong I was. Already I’m crying again, because I thought, or hoped maybe, that things were sliding back together, in a new formation admittedly, but one which we both agreed to.
I put a Facebook status up today, stating that I was reading a book, called Try Not To Breathe; I’ve mentioned it here before, somewhere. Several hours later, a comment pops up on my post:
‘You should try taking some advice from the title of this book.’
Call me sensitive, call me weak, call me stupid – trust me, you wouldn’t be the first, and you won’t be the last by any means. I acknowledge that I have quite a sarcastic, twisted sense of humour, and my frineds know that. With each individual frinnd, I try to test out my humour, to see how far is ‘too far’ with one particular person. All of my friends know, however, that a remark like that is one step too far.
No, scrap that: it’s a whole stride too far.
Does it need to get any worse?
Yes, it’s my life – of course tt does! This person is one of the very few people in my real life who knows about the times when I genuinely wanted to kill myself. he was there at those times, during those long, long nights.
… And that makes that comment 1000 times more hurtful.
I’m sorry. I needed to get everything here off my chest before I exploded in a heap of emotions, which never ends well.
I hope you understand.