Sunday's rant: Springtime Folly

Yesterday ended, inexplicably, with the late night consumption of an innocent Chocolate Easter Bunny in all it's obscenely delicious, golden tin-foil wrapped glory.
However, I've decided not to be hung up about this - the mere existence of chocolate bunnies is a sign of spring-time after all, and I do love springtime, I can only repeat myself in that regard.

Besides, today's the first day of my scheduled abc run anyway - meaning there won't be a whole lot of Easter Bunnies waiting for me in the coming 50 days, so crying over split (chocolate) milk is even less appropriate.

In the spirit of the hands-on, life-affirming approach I seem to have adopted just this minute, I went out and took a picture of a cutsie little trias of crocus blossoms sitting on the patch of grass outside my building:


Awwwww.

All right, enough with the pretty flowers already, I'll tell you straight away that the rest of this post is going to be nauseatingly boy-centric.

(You have now been warned and have had a fair chance to get the hell out of here & run for the hills - as bitching about the same boy over and over and over again is so last decade, I swear I wouldn't even blame you...)

Because - The Coward is still on my mind.

He isn't even my ex, per se - although he certainly is an ex friend by now.
We'd already known each other for two years when things started getting out of hand, and it has to be admitted that I used to have a thing for him pretty much from the start, while also suspecting, with moderately justified reason, that he might be having a bit of a thing for me, too.

Then, at a fateful party, he started flirting with me like there was no tomorrow (and I'm not making this up to minimize my own responsibility, I swear - although I do happen to posses a button with the slogan "That pig seduced me!" printed on it, and it would come in handy right now.)

I myself, of course, was anything but discontent with that turn of events.

As a consequence, we ended up having a thing together right then and there, with emotional and physical bonding running high for a few blissful hours and a dreamy morning beyond, and a dance of awkwardness and trying-to-play-it-cool with purposefully vague accounts on what this was supposed to mean between us running high afterwards.

Then, things got ugly.

Basically, he is a stupid douche-bag, who is too much of a coward to be honest with people to their face, instead opting to hurt them and lead them on and break their heart with lies, all so that he can avoid confrontation, avoid feeling guilty.

And I made it easy for him, tremendously easy - I asked him straight to the face, hell I practically begged him, time and time again, to just be straight with me, just be honest.
To tell me, honestly, whether he cared or whether he didn't, whether there was a chance for us or not.
"Hey, if you don't, I can take it - I won't cry, I won't hate you, I'm not one to make a scene. I just need to know where I stand!"

And he said that he did, that there was.
Despite it all being filthy lies.

"You don't have to lie to me, really, just don't. I want the truth for once, please, give me the straight dope. If you don't want me, say so now, so I'll have a chance to make a fresh start."

But he didn't. He said I was wrong in assuming he didn't care. That I'd never be just any girl to him, just any friend.

He kept leading me on, kept my hopes alive through well placed words and endless reassurances of his feelings for me, his concern.
"You matter to me, don't ever think otherwise... it's just so... complicated right now..." Yeah right.

Like hell it's complicated, you cavorting around with that clingy little trollop, the one without a shred of self-esteem, who depends on a man for her every identity, her every validation.
Totally helpless without you... I know some boys dig that sort of thing, perhaps... but really? You sure? That's your thing?

But then why not say so, why not answer truthfully to my questions, why not save me the endless disgrace of trying to win you over, the shame of hoping, of trying and failing to change your mind.

Cruel, is what he is.
And yet I keep on "loving" him, desiring him, without sense or reason.

I am a hopeless case.

It has reached ridiculous levels, where his so-called girlfriend puts up all these profile pics of them cuddling, kissing or doing whatever together on various social sites, and I can hardly bear to look at them, not because I am jealous, but simply because every single sight of his perfect face sets my heart a-racing.

Ri - di - cu - lous.

And the girl, she is so effing ugly no matter at what angle or weight.
I'm not just making this up because I'm a raving, jealous bitch - although I certainly am.

She is seriously bad looking, and the biggest factor in this is her "charisma", the constant expression on her face that conveys "I need to perpetually reassert my self worth by putting down others, so that I can feel most special when indeed I am as insecure as the next person, probably more - and I revel in that paradox".

It's a fiasco of a sham, the fact that I am in love with someone who is love with a girl like that instead.

On Sleepless Nights and Guilty Pleasures

Blargh, no sleep again last night, although I was feeling so goddamn tired... know that feeling when you're actually TOO tired to sleep?

Kept telling myself to get up and do something useful, like say reading or crunches, if I couldn't fall asleep anyway - alas, I remained absolutely paralyzed by lethargy and inertia.

I just lay there all night, morbidly fascinated with watching the shifting shadows on the ceiling and the excruciatingly slow passage of time, firmly held in the withering, vice-like grip of total apathy.

Then a big fight with mother dearest this morning, where she called me "manipulative" because I cried in front of her.
I said I didn't mean to be, what made her think that, and she replied that I was purposefully trying to make her feel bad by crying.

I wasn't though - I was sad, feeling alone and helpless, I wanted to talk to someone familiar and was hoping that perhaps she'd comfort me - clearly a naive notion.
So I said I was sorry, I didn't want her to be mad at me, I was just trying to tell her how I felt.

And she just yelled at me, that I should do whatever I wanted with my life but leave her alone with my manipulative ways, then she left.

Obviously, a very successful mother-daughter meeting.

Teaches you that crying in front of other people is seldomly a good idea; unless they happen to possess a modicum of compassion, which you cannot always count on.

Hmpf.

On the positive side, I did exercise today (go me, one step towards easing into becoming the happy exercise freak I used to be - I'd almost forgotten already how GOOD your body feels when you actually give it some movement!)

Also, I'm going to meet up with a wonderful friend right now, a friend I haven't seen face-to-face in a long time, and who happens to understand from personal experience a wide array of troubles and obsessions of the mind.

So, that should be nourishing for both body and soul (we are going to a sushi place and I haven't eaten yet today, therefor low calorie makis and high satisfaction with self will be provided).

I really liked the comment Summer left on yesterday's post - saying that it's a highly satisfying guilty pleasure to be "that other girl" that someone suspects their bloke might long for.
It is indeed, and while it doesn't exactly make you feel like you deserve a Nobel prize in the category "high morals", there's no denying that it feels good.

I've been there with The Coward and his new girlfriend before - not too long ago, there was a party that we all attended.

She was looking rather plain that night, as in my eyes she always does, and I had actually pulled myself together, bringing my hair to shine and my eyes to sparkle, making an effort with my make-up and my clothes.

So there I was, surrounded by friends, the center of attention, laughing, looking my best and pretending mirth like there was no tomorrow - and there they were, slightly isolated in a corner as overly clingy couples often get, not really talking to anyone.

From the corner of my eyes, I could see her gaze darting over to me every five seconds, filled with uneasiness and fearful concern - the kind where she knows that her man and I had something once upon a time, and that even if he decided to break my heart and choose her to become his girlfriend instead, that doesn't mean she can stop worrying.

It felt good then, even though clearly if she could see inside my heart she would know that I still feel the loser, still cannot quell the longing for a guy that decided to lead me on and hurt me in a most undignified fashion.

When they were getting ready to leave, she actually came over to me.
She tapped me on the shoulder while I was immersed in conversation, just to say a shy goodbye, all down-cast eyes and batting lashes, staring at her feet.

And I smiled at her, generously, all teeth and insincerity; gave her a warm "goodbye" back, in a voice much louder, much more affable and cordial than was strictly required.

It was my On-top-of-the-world act, my I'm-so-great-I-can-afford-to-be-friendly-towards-you, You-are-but-a-tiny-blip-on-the-outskirts-of-my-world and of course I wish you luck dear, you sure need it.

And damn it felt good that night, if only for a few hours.

I also liked how Bella said her self-esteem won't "rear it's fragile head" - the fragile bit is spot on, she has an almost non-existent self-esteem that depends entirely on validation from others, particularly men.

Now, I am not the queen of the "Love Yourself"-club either - but the particular way she goes about openly putting her insecurities out there - all "ooooh, look at me, I'm so poor and insecure guys, don't you wanna saaaaave me, make me feel pretty?" - it is appalling to me.

I hate hating myself, I never think of it as an advertising advantage.
Nor would I want to talk about it to potential romance interests or passing acquaintances all the time.

Found the below picture with the caption "Jealousy. The best motivation for revenge.".
True indeed.

Goals

To update; I did finally manage to calm down last night, although it took forever.
Blogging proved to be quite cathartic though, and major thanks to Ancora and Athanasy for your helpful and supportive comments, love you guys to bits! <3

Despite no sleep and feeling utterly shitty, I also passed an oral exam today - but it was rather gruesomely embarrassing, I only just made it by a narrow margin.
Did I feel relieved when it was done with, anyway?

Let me put it like this - say you spend several months being brutally tortured in a dungeon by some absolutely merciless abomination straight from the depths of hell; you might rightfully abound in joy when you are finally freed and the entire ordeal is over.
Much more likely though, you will be too scarred and traumatised by the experience to feel any relief at all - and that was what that exam felt like.

(obligatory PC addendum: I am not a complete moron, and I do realize no actual real-life torture experience compares to something as trite and mundane as an exam. I'm doing this for comedic hyperbole, obviously - and because, in my crazy pathetic mind, it really felt THAT bad to get another chance to show myself just how much of a worthless worthless loser I really am.)

Anyway, I digress, so on the topic of goals:

I want to be carful about setting them weight-wise - disappointment is already a major theme in my wretched little brain, and I don't want to set myself up for more of the same.

Still, there is this:
In less than a month, less than three weeks really, I will be attending a concert of a band I adore.
I happen to have reasonable cause to suspect, nay fear, that this concert might also be attended by The Coward, the Boy That I Still Long For Despite Knowing That I REALLY Shouldn't.

And his new girlfriend, of course.

From what I hear through mutual friends, they never do anything separately anymore.
So if either of them is there, the other will be.

And then I will be meeting a personalized nightmare of loss and rejection in double force, instead of enjoying a relaxing evening where I shut everything out of my brain except for the music.

The thing is (and I use that phrase way too often lately), that I know weight is pretty much the one issue where I can get to her.

I happen to know that she is equally messed up as I am in the food department, that weight and clothes sizes hold the same morbid appeal for her, and that she defines herself, much as I do, through the space that is or isn't visible between her thighs.

So of course, the petty bitter side of me dictates that I have to be super skinny, that I have to fuel her insecurities by nourishing my own, that I have to beat her at being thin at least if I can't beat her at winning his love.

If I have to run the risk of running into her, into them, then I would love for her to be shocked and envious at the sight of me.
I know that I am grasping for straws and that my attempt at physical superiority to her is petty; but that's what you would expect from a bitter person, it's the best I can do.

I am unsure what my goal for those three weeks should be though, how much I would want to have lost by then.
I'm out of touch with what is even realistic, what I am actually capable of achieving.

So, I think I'm going to give it a few more days, see how I'm doing and where I'm at, then try to decide what goal would be achievable and sufficient for my petty revenge.

Operation Skinny For The Wrong Reasons starts tomorrow... (There's always another reason to starve, isn't there? And right now I'm damn glad about it, I need incentive to stay on track; I could pretty much use incentive for a lot of things these days.)

Positive Thought of the Day:

I absolutely adore the girl I'm stealing for today's picture, her outlandish glamorousness, her almost inhumane body posture in that glittering suit - very David Bowie Ziggy-Stardust-era; also reminds me of the foam-spilling poise of his alien character in The Man Who Fell to Earth in a way.

(Bowie himself never seems to eat, does he? Certainly didn't during the seventies, when he lived on "red peppers, milk and cocaine"...
Alas, that doesn't really seem like a recommendable long-term plan either.... still, I wouldn't mind to posses the otherworldly razor-blade-ish grace of the Thin White Duke.)

Cal count standing at 550 and I'm actually going to bed now, because I feel like a walking trainwreck - so that's quite agreeable!