I’ve been on this planet for over 50 years now and have been lonely/depressed/despairing/suspicious/suicidal/furious/homesick for as long as I remember.
When I used to curl up by the fire and wish myself away when I was small, I was told to go out and play, make some friends, and asked, what was wrong with me anyway?
When I was bullied at school by local yobs for being ugly and a ‘swot’ i.e. someone who could string a sentence together, I did not know why I didn’t fight back, especially when I was able to hold my own in fisticuffs (well it was more like cage fighting really) with my brother who was three years older than me, because, in my heart I did not blame any of them for hating me. My own family seemed to hate me so why would they feel any different?
When I was in my early teens, the weight piled on, and as a result of being teased/mocked about it, I started eat excessively in order to compensate for my isolation and tamp down all those unacceptable feelings inside. Then, something weird started to happen. After stuffing myself, I would then creep out into the garden and make myself sick. Bulimia, I can hear you say, nodding sagely. Well yes, but I didn’t know that. There was no such thing as anorexia or bulimia back in the day let me tell you (you young folk are just so lucky!), I just thought that as well as being ugly, fat and geeky, I was now barking mad and didn’t dare tell anyone in case my parents had me carted off to the local ‘looney bin’ as it was affectionately dubbed and people would put me in stocks and throw rotting veg at me at fairs and burn me in a whicker man. The North West was pretty primitive in those days.
Then, as if by magic, the flab disappeared, I sprouted tits (which immediately took the attention off my face), my legs elongated and for the first time in my life I was sought out and given positive attention. Simultaneously, as if summoned by all that rubbing/dry humping, my sexuality rose genie-like to the fore, shoved my Catholic guilt to one side, raised its pretty little pink head, winked, and (after one proper healthy relationship with my first love) went on the rampage, reigning over me, my values and my life choices for the next 30 odd years, as it was the one thing that made me feel of value. And it knew it, the little minx!
Whilst for intermittent periods over the years, interspersed with long periods of celibacy, I would use my body and fitness for attention and validation. The voices in my head knew it was the only ace in my hand and reminded me frequently that I would never be loved for me. And when I was raped, they told me I had asked for it and deserved it, so I papered over the cracks, pretended everything was alright, and locked the memory away along with my heart, soul and emotions where they could not be reached or harmed again. But whilst I thought I was protecting them, I was also starving them of love and companionship, and whilst I am better at letting people in than I used to be, to this day, the people I trust and allow close to me are very few and far between.
So far so clichéd?
I could go on, but I shan’t because (a) it’s boring, and (b) I don’t have a violin and (c) I’ve fucked up so many times, I could be here all day relating my tales of woe.
Bottom line is that I don’t actually get what I’m here on this earth, in this life for? For as long as I remember, I’ve always felt like I’ve been dropped off at the wrong planet, so have tried to be as inconspicuous as I can in the hope that someone will realise I’m missing, come and pick me up and get me the hell outta Dodge.
This of course means that I haven’t exactly done the best for myself to date, I’m jobless, have few friends, a shit social life, old age is looming so my sexual attraction is diminishing like a rotting Stilton and I have yet to hear from my real planet, the selfish fuckers, so I’ve finally come to realise that I’m stuck here for the duration.
Therefore I need to fight for something a little better than just hanging on by my fingertips. I need to slowly but surely get back out there (leaving the house helps, I’m told) and whilst I’ve made some progress in 2013, I’ve only just unlocked the door and opened it a fraction, and it’s awfully lonely, cold and musty in there…
No pressure 2014, no pressure at all……