So I Wrote

Down, down, down the rabbit hole.

Over the past few days I've written several very eloquent blog posts in my head... which have inconveniently slipped out of conciousness before I had a chance to actually write them down.

Nothing much is happening here... besides almost constant nausea. If I didn't know for sure I wasn't pregnant, I would suspect I was pregnant. Good lord. Am I going to hork again? Why do I feel the need to hork all the time? I want to go to the gym damnit.

Instead of going to the gym I have spent a lot of time in bed staring at my laptop, internetting. I've interneted so much that there's nothing left to internet. I've watched Long Way Round through twice. I've re-read the entirety of my favourite blog. I watched a documentary about prostitutes. Napped. Lots of napping. No fapping. Lolololol.

This has left me oodles of time for thinking. Thinking is a dangerous rabbit hole I try to avoid going down when I know I have no therapist to help me out with what I find there. I think I've dealt with everything I know how to deal with and what's left I just throw my hands up at. Desperate for that letter with a date and time to come so I can feel like I'm on my way. Maddening how there's always something to fix with me. I can never just be.

Maybe the lack of husband is just depressing me. It's really brought home the fact that besides my husband there is no one here for me to hang out with. Really, nobody. Not one. I tried to get my brother to go canoeing with me. What is wrong with me?! I cringe at the thought of myself trying to speak to anyone at this point, online or off. It feels so obvious to me that I am not wanted and yet I act like... that kid in school who is oblivious to the fact that they are, in fact, just not liked and manage to butt in everywhere.

Or maybe people are so used to me not being a friend that when I try they are stupified into silence.

I am lonely. That's what it boils down to. I went to a cafe with my former best friend the other week. We had not seen or spoken to eachother in over three years. We somehow have ended up with plans to go see a concert together. Good lord it was nice to see someone. To chat, to laugh, just to be around. Hi person! Let us converse! I texted her after, saying we should do it again. She said yes. I texted her again a few days later to make more specific plans. No reply. Do I smell? Do I have something on my face? What? WHAT? I feel like leper from society.

I don't know. I am pretty down.

Le update

Right. I was going to start this post off with an apology for the more than fair bit of whinging I do here but then I thought that, actually, there is nothing more annoying than people apologizing for things that need not be apologized for. And also this is my blog, my diary, my place on the giant internet so fuck off with your incessant demands!

One could say I fell off many horses after I finally stepped enough out of the denial regarding my therapist situation. Oh jesus fuck me, am I fucked or what? I can't afford the private therapist he recommended. Comfort eating galore. Surprisingly, however, I did not slack off school one bit. I will be studying this occurrence for years to come because WTF.

Speaking of school, I had a presentation due last Tuesday on sexual health and reproduction. At first I was completely shitting myself because seriously? I have to do an assignment with a group of girls I've never met in my life, forcing me to be social and accountable to other people (OH THE BLINDING HORROR!), and at the same time having sex shoved in my face every day for a couple weeks. I foresaw much wringing of hands and flinging of curse words... but in reality it turned out lovely. The girls were lovely. We laughed a lot, we worked really very well together and the subject matter was interesting and didn't make me run away at all.

I didn't forsee my problem to be after the presentation was done. Am I friends with the ladies now? Can I tell text them and harass them on facebook? They all seem keen to talk and are full of plans to hang out again but are they just being polite? I am so socially inept and penguin like about friendship that I really have no clue what is going on. Ah jesus. I would like to have them as friends.

In other news, my cat James turned three yesterday. And yes, he is adorable.

Stephen Fry makes me all sorts of things

Instead of spending the day immersed in my university literature, I opted to lay in bed reading Stephen Fry. It seemed like it was the sensible option as I am getting pains and spasms in my back yet again and I am on the third day of detoxing from the thing that, if it were alcohol, I would be laid out in a park with no posessions apart from a bottle of cheap liqeur. Sugar. Carbohydrates. The thing that I cannot consume in any moderation.

Funnily enough, in Stephen Fry's latest autobiographical book he talks about his addiction to sugar in such a way that I had to put the book down a few times because the magitude of the feeling of recognition I felt reading it became entirely too much for me to handle. My levels of excitement when I come across someone I relate to become so high that my enthusiasm usually scares the other person away. OMGYOUARESUPERSENSITIVETOSUGARTOOICANTBELIEVEIT. WEAREOBVIOUSLYMEANTTOBEFRIENDSFOREVER. BESTFRIENDS.  

But Stephen Fry also makes me feel sad and a tad hopeless. Talking about how in university he would spend hours drinking wine with his friends, discussing a given subject endlessly. That those moments are what university and education are really about. It makes me sad that I won't experience that. I won't meet a Hugh Laurie who I instantly mesh with and become lifelong best friends with. I don't drink alcohol. Only if it's champagne. And sometimes when I'm really upset. I don't really make friends, because I am convinced I will like nobody and nobody will like me. And then that nobody will turn out to be somebody, and that somebody will exit our friendship years down the line and I will be left, as I have been a few times, crushed.

Whoa wait, what was that bitter tangent? My goodness.

Anyway. Stephen Fry. He makes me hopeful and hopeless. Hopeful because someone who suffers from manic depression, tried to kill himself many times, went to jail etc can make his way on scholarship to Cambridge University and find his place in the world and be alright. I guess the hopelessness is that I'm not reading my own story when I'm reading his book. I don't know where I am going, or where I am going to end up or if I am making colossal mistakes each day that will bring me misery and despair later on. Am I making the right choices? Will I be unhappy? Will I be poor? Will I always be like this? Will I have friends? What is going to happen to me? What is going to happen to everyone else? What will I end up doing?

WHAT WILL HAPPEN?!

It's like those books that end in the maddening vauge ways, where the author is all 'fill in the blanks yourself! I am too lazy to think up the end (or too cowardly to put my ending in incase it upsets anyone).

I want to be like Stephen Fry. He knows so much, I like knowing things. He is inviting and adorable and quirky; I was I was more that than just plain awkward.

Anyway, here is a lovely video of him speaking about things that brings a tear to my eye everytime I watch it.

 

Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

As my mother in law likes to exclaim.

Well, the summer has officially passed and being back in Sweden and all has put me back in project mode. I gained around 3,8 kg (around 8 pounds) by stuffing my pie hole with Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, root beer and wheat-free brownies, cookies, pasta etcetc. I'm also sorry to say that I didn't work out a lot. Some, but not a whole lot. I'm excited to get back to the gym. I'm one of those really annoying people who actually likes going to the gym. I love the feeling my body is strong and improving every day. I also need to stop eating carbs like yesterday, but more like 'after my husband's birthday on Sunday'.

I'm planning on working on two things in therapy this fall: The subject which will hereby be known as 'sex trauma' and my terrible social anxiety.

I spent the entire spring denying and fighting my therapist when he said I have terrible social anxiety. 'Pfft!' I said, 'Social anxiety? I don't have any anxieties about that. I just don't LIKE people. People will just hurt me.' Uhh, yeah. Most of my friends are (awesome! lovely! the best! not putting them down in the least!) online. And with 'most of' I mean 'all'. Well, I guess that really depends on the defintion of 'friend'. To me, a friend is someone who I can text or call without any real reason to and someone who I can say 'duuuuude I feel like shit today' to. My husband hangs out with a guy and he's cool, I like him. But he calls my cellphone and asks to talk to my husband. I'm a secondary friend, friend by association. Which surely is my own fault for being aloof and hard to be friends with. Still a headscratcher though, calling my phone to ask to speak to someone else.

My current plan of attack to curb my social anxieties is to meet people from a forum I frequent. People who may actually read this because the link is (sort of) in my siggy there. So err, hi, how awkward of you to drop by! to them. I figure we at least share one point of interest and if we don't really hit it off it's easy to avoid eachother on a crowded forum.

I really would like a friend. I just don't know how to get them, have them and then keep them my friend. Forgive me for using this phrase, but I am completely socially retarded. I'm like Chandler from Friends, just spewing out one-liners and jokes and I get so incredibly wound up and in my head thinking "OH GOD x DOESN'T LIKE ME STOP TALKING STOP TALKING STOP TALKING EVERYONE CAN SEE x HATES ME NOW. OH JESUS. I AM SO SORRY". I blame (blame!!!) high school and bullying and my best friends deciding not to be my friend anymore and never telling me why. I am convinced nobody likes me. But people do like me, when I let them get to know me behind the awkward spewing that is my tourette-like social anxiety mouth. I think. Mostly I am too scared and busy thinking 'shut up shut up shut up shut up now. Stop your stupid yapping mouth, they don't care!' to really notice. 

Even now I am telling myself to just SHUT UP already. Even though this is my blog. Even though nobody really reads it. Oh, there's a thing called self-esteem? I wouldn't know, because I suck too much to have it.

Phew. Anyway. So errr how are you?