‘Coleman! I’ve had the worst nightmare! I was poor and no one liked me. I lost my job, I lost my house and it was all because of this terrible (alter) ego….’
Yes, this actually happened to me.
Last night, I dreamed I was back in my old life.
The rose coloured specs version natch.
I was with friends in my favourite restaurant. I was dressed well, my nails were manicured, my hair was recently highlighted. I was still working. A holiday in the sun was in the not too distant future. I didn’t have to rely on anyone else’s charity.
And I was telling them that I’d had this awful dream where I’d been let go by Bastards Inc, had a breakdown, lost everything, I was poor, I had no friends yadda yadda…
And then I woke up.
Welcome to the ‘Feeling Worse Before It Gets Better’ phase of group therapy.
I’m sorry I haven’t been blogging of late, but it’s been a tough time. Nothing but bad news and more of the same, and of course my writing, along with everything else that’s good for me, crumbled. How many more times could I tell you the same story but in different words?
I was bored, boring and as in real life, didn’t want to bore the people I cared about with my tedious, self pitying shit.
Until today. The irony of dreaming I’d dreamt the nightmare that was and is my reality was too ironically, cruelly amusing not to report back on.
And like Dan Ackroyd’s Louis Winthorpe III, I momentarily felt like I’ve had a life that was actually good, ripped away from me. But unlike Louis I couldn’t blame anyone else. Because it was down to me. I cracked wide open from 50 odd years of trying to play the part of someone that didn’t actually exist at all, the shiny facade that passed for my real self.
And whilst I would and could never go back to such a life, I do miss aspects of it.
Being respected in a tough industry. Having an impressive CV. Being solvent. Being able to have holidays. Buy presents. Pay my way. Feeling financially safe. Well, safer than I feel right now.
That said, whilst I liked and still do like nice things, I have coped with the spending restrictions admirably.
But some things I cannot, will not accept.
Some of my fellow nutters suggested a group evening out after therapy at a free concert in London.
I was reluctant. I hate crowds, central London and the band they wanted to see.
‘Oh come along it’ll be fun! It won’t cost anything! And we can go into Asda and grab some sandwiches and a couple of boxes of cheap wine….’
And there it was; the straw that broke this camel’s old hump.
Let me make this quite clear, I’m not a snob. I know this because I have friends that are very snobby. I on the other hand, love a bargain, buy vintage, am not impressed by designer labels and cannot tolerate waste.
But cheap wine?
As some of you will know, I love food and wine. Food is how I comfort myself and have done since I was a child, but it has to be good quality. I’d sooner have some fried left over potatoes with rock salt and home made mayo than a mass produced meal at a rubbish restaurant.
And let me tell you, cheap wine, like cheap chocolate, will never ever pass my lips. I’ve had too much of the good stuff to go back now.
People drink cheap wine for the same reason as they drink moonshine, cheap supermarket spirits and meths; not because they like it, but because they want to get wasted.
And the idea of drinking something akin to warm vinegar whilst munching on mark down lunch time sandwiches that taste of nothing (and were probably made by illegal refugee slaves) in a public place for all the world to see just filled me with despair. Especially as my infrequent but relatively consistent part time work has suddenly stopped dead.
Presumably due to something I did or did not do, or said or did not say. I have no idea.
And then, after my oath to myself to do yoga every single day, I broke it on the fourth.
And whilst I’m not doing anything that good for myself, I’m trying really hard not to binge on food which is my first point of call when feeling this lost and lonely.
I’m even the odd one out amongst my fellow BPD-ers!
But I always knew that.
So. What the fuck I am going to do now?
I don’t know.
And unlike previous posts, I’m not going to even try work out a plan and promise to do it. As I’ll only fall flat on my arse and let you lot down yet again.
I just wanted to share.
I’ll drop by again when I have something to say.
Oh and this is the song that inspired today’s blog post title.
Pray for me please?
Namaste all xx