Awful.

I’ve never been so depressed in my life. I’d been invited out by some friends and thought that post-break-up it’d be good to have a night out on the town. How wrong I was.

Steevie was invited out too, because hey, he’s their friend and I still enjoyed his company. It’s odd thinking about him as the ex-boyfriend now. Painful actually, even though I did the dumping.

I wanted to talk. I wanted to see him. I missed him a lot. You know what? I kind of do want him back. But I doubt he’ll have me back, seeing all the shit I put him through. And my friends (his too) would not approve. The worst part is that I can’t guarantee that I won’t do the same thing again. I don’t know why I ignored him. I don’t know why I wanted to see other people. In frustration over something, I must’ve somehow come to that conclusion. I mustn’t have been thinking straight.

I had time to introspect on the bus ride home. It’d been a while since I’d caught this bus home - I usually used to stay with Steevie at his place after a night out. But over the course of the last few months I’d been withdrawing from all the people I care about - my mum, my friends from high school, my uni friends, the gays. And Stephen. I’m at a loss as to why. My life is falling apart. I want it fixed again.

I want to tell him I still care strongly about him. How I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. How I regret wanting to be apart from him. But I feel like I’m getting the brush off. Stressed and busy, he says. I used that one on him not too long ago. I can’t say I blame him.

A friend who came out with us tried to tell me he wanted me, but somehow he told me without saying it. I should’ve seen that coming. And I feel awful for having to let him down, too. I want to just crawl into a hole and never come out.

Break up

Broke up with Steeevie this evening. Over coffee at Starbucks. He didn’t want to, and I didn’t want to either. Not then. He looked like he wanted to cry. I wanted to too.

See I have this thing where I like being with him when he’s with me, but when we’re not together I resent him. That’s how I’d explain it.

Probably for the best. Wasn’t really making the effort to see him anymore, anyway. I was bored.

I miss him now.

Still dating…

A few weeks back I kinda did break up with the boyf. A week later, I buckled, and asked him to take me back. But now I’m right back in the position I was in then: thinking we should see other people.

None of the underlying problems were dealt with when we got back together. Although I don’t know how you solve the problem of we-should-see-other-people other than seeing other people.

I’m not treating any of this lightly. It tears me up inside. This is the longest relationship I’ve ever been in. I do care deeply for this person. But all I get from some of my friends are toyed emotions and frankly awful treatment. Sigh.

Break-up playlist

Baby Can I Hold You - BoyZone, (Where We Belong, 1998)
Never Had A Dream Come True - S Club 7 (Sunshine, 2001)
Have You Ever - S Club 7 (Don’t Stop Movin’, 2001)
Say Goodbye - S Club 7 (Best - The Greatest Hits, 2003)
Last Goodbye - Jeff Buckley (Grace, 1994)
Hand On Your Heart - Kylie Minogue (Enjoy Yourself, 1989)
Alone At The Drive-In - Instrumental (Grease, 1978)
Sorry Seems To Be The Hardest Word - Mary J Blige (Bridget Jones: The Edge Of Reason OST, 2004)
Final Cut - A*Teens (Greatest Hits, 2004)
Closer To Perfection - A*Teens (Pop ‘Til You Drop, 2002)
Breathe In Now - George (Polyserena, 2002)
Being Boring - Pet Shop Boys (Behaviour, 1990)
Kissing You - Des’ree (William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet OST, 1996)
Young Hearts Run Free - Kym Mazelle (William Shakespeare’s Romeo + Juliet OST, 1996)
Better Be Home Soon - Crowded House (Temple of Low Men, 1988)
Ain’t No Sunshine - Eva Cassidy (Time After Time, 2000)
Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now - The Smiths (Hatful of Hollow, 1984)
Vibrate - Rufus Wainwright (Want One, 2003)
Pretty Things - Rufus Wainwright (Want One, 2003)
New Soul - Yael Naim (Yael Naim, 2008)

The Verve

Now the drugs don’t work
They just make you worse
But I know I’ll see your face again

‘Cause baby, ooh, if heaven calls, I’m coming, too
Just like you said, you leave my life, I’m better off dead

Head health

I don’t usually like to talk about my mental health. I’ll tell people if they ask, but I never bring it up. I’m not proud of it at all. Luckily not a lot of people I’ve met post-high school know about this side of me, so they don’t know to ask in the first place.

I’m not a happy camper, and it’s been like this since my slightly-more-turbulent-than-average years of adolescence. Every now and then I’m put on some kind of medication, and then I get better so I don’t need them anymore. But something happens and I’m back on the pills again as if nothing ever happened. It’s this part of the cycle that I’m on right now. I saw the P-doc the other week and he gave me a new prescription. Ergh.

I hate having to take these things. I feel better and all, but I just don’t feel right. They make me act like someone else, and even though I can recognise whats happening, I can’t make the connecting and cognitively do something about it. Tonight for example, I met up with Steeevie, but I wasn’t especially responsive to him. I could sense my unresponsiveness. I could rationally feel it in me, and I could feel it being reflected in him. Didn’t so much as touch him. I ended up just going home.

Then again, it could be that I’m just needy. He’s been busy lately and hasn’t been showing me much attention. Cheap shot to blame it on the pills. Bah, boyfriends: expensive to keep, and constantly toying with emotions.

Sex bomb

I’m disturbed that my sex drive is higher than my eighteen year-old boyfriend’s. He’s meant to be peaking right about now, isn’t he? And I’m meant to have peaked circa three years ago. That last thing I want to be is a sex maniac.

I came to this realisation (pardon the pun) this morning. I hadn’t seen Steeevie since we got back from Avoca and in the intervening days we’d both become quite antsy. Yeah yeah, I know. It’d only been, like, a couple of days. But after spending a week together, both day and night, and then not being together– well, you know.

We were going to have dinner together last night, and then have a quiet night in. The plan was for me to meet him out the front of his place and we’d walk up to the high street for Thai. Quiet night in, my arse. Literally. We had dinner much later than planned, and a B-double would’ve been quieter. I don’t know what came over me. I turned into this power bottom that I’ve never been before. I think I tired my poor little boyfriend out. I pawed at him this morning and he swatted me away. Poor bubs.

A queer getaway.

Today I got back from a trip with friends up the coast. The post-holiday depression is sinking in. Bah, home. Not where the heart is at all. I can’t kiss my boyfriend’s forehead whenever the urge strikes me anymore. And the urge is striking me now. Urgh.

Eight of us trekked up to Avoca on the day after New Year’s Day for a week, on a trip we’d dubbed A Very Gay Holiday Away, or AVGHA. Not that there was anything particularly gay about it. We’d rented a rather swish house near the beach and most days were spent lazing about on the beach or being pummelled by the crashing waves. The only thing gay about it all was that we were all on the ’same team’ - three couples and a pair of singles. Oh and the eight of us lined up, sitting on our beachtowels, rating every boy that walked past. I suppose that’s pretty gay too.

The squeaky beds provided some moments of mirth. The noise each bed made was subtly different, so you could tell who was playing hide the sausage after the lights had gone out. The funniest instance were the pair of boys who had snagged the King-sized bed in the master bedroom, easily the loudest in the house. It could’ve been the amusement at the noisiness of the bedframes, or just par for the course for these two, but most nights were were lulled to sleep with the sound of several five-minute bursts of frantic sqeaking intersperesed with bouts of giggling from the master bedroom.

Aside from the beach there was much drinking and boardgames. And dinner at the local Thai restaurant, where none of the staff semed to actually be Thai. Amusingly, most of the waitstaff were white, and one seemed to be of Filipino extraction. At a pinch, I suppose that counts. Good food though.

Very much missing the boyfriend right now. Sleeping alone seems so wrong.

Pigeons

We have a pigeon problem at my place. Ever since we moved into this flat in 1991 we’ve had pigeons nesting and sometimes rearing young on our balcony. Up until this year it hadn’t been a big problem. We used to use the balcony a lot; often in those early days we’d sit there on a balmy summer night and have something to cool drink, or back when Dad was a smoker he’d go out there to suck one down. The space between my building and the one next door was a bit of a wind tunnel so a nice breeze always blew, and ambience sounds of a TV or radio somewhere (or even someone practicing guitar) would echo from all the concrete, brickwork and various other hard surfaces that cover everything around where I live. Our regular presence out there would usually keep the feral rats of the sky away.

Dad gave up smoking pretty early on and we didn’t seem to spend so much time out on our balcony anymore either. It’s not as if there was much of a view anyway - just the driveway and garages of the building next door, and yet more balconies, too. The pigeons came back, but I kept them at bay with my SuperSoaker 50. I used to have so much fun shooting at the pigeons. It went further than just merely shooing them away. I made it my mission to hit them with a high pressure water jet as they flew away or past. What can I say, I was an odd child.

Just recently the pigeons have been becoming a major problem again and I’ve been indulging in that old pastime of shooting water at them once more. Alas, my SuperSoaker 50 is long gone and I’ve had to make do with a pansy little spray bottle. It’s changed from the brute force of water-under-pressure to something akin to chemical warfare - I use a solution of rubbing alcohol and water now. But I long for something more powerful. I wonder how far SuperSoaker technology has come in the last fifteen years.

Restart

This is not a foodblog. I ‘bought’ a cookbook with a gift voucher (that a picked up free when I bought a wedding gift and which I promptly spent on myself) and I found the most out of place and pretentious recipe, considering its title: “The Great Aussie Barbie Cookbook”. Ergo, pancetta-wrapped spatchcock with honey and thyme.

Back from a bit of a blogging holiday. It starts again.