Strung by parties

This year is shaping up to be yet another that is being joined together by memories and photos of social activity, namely parties thus far, completely against the pact that I made with myself of not partying too much and concentrating on my mental and physical health a bit more. It feels okay though. Consuming class A’s and partying in to the early morning, sometimes early afternoon, sometimes for the whole of the following day, married with a lack of real routine or job and a lack of concentration on the mind & body really was eating away at my very core. The essence of me was being destroyed.

However

…less (note not all) class A’s are being consumed, less alcohol too, sleep at a reasonable hour and I get to see my friends, who let’s face it are the epicentre of my life at the moment. Without them I’d really leave a sad and lonely existence, apart from my family of course, who are a constant and I’m grateful for.

Also, my mind is more sharp. My diet is regulated and filled with goodness, for 6 weeks I’ve monitored what I’ve eaten – so much fibre, fruits, vegetables, a healthy home cooked meal, plenty of nuts & youghurts & oily fish etc etc, and a shit load of water every single day. I notice the results in my mind and my body. I also work out daily. I feel good when going to see my friends now, instead of couping myself up, alone with my terrible and wandering mind, thinking about how they all hate me. When really I hated myself.

Already this year there’s been a leaving do for a friend moving to Canada, my birthday, my sister’s birthday, an event yesterday at my sister’s work place, which was brilliant by the way, then this forthcoming weekend is a friend’s bday, the following weekend is a friend’s birthday too.

Without being ungrateful, when does it actually stop? And do I really want it too?

On other plus notes, I’ve started a TEFL course which should push my ambition to travel and my online business is doing reasonably okay. I have to take note of things progressing in a positive way. I also attend a free course on positive thinking, which has opened my mind somewhat. I’ll be going again on Tuesday, with a couple of my guru-like mates, so we’ll see what happens there.

I guess this post is about appreciation for the positivity that is being bred within and it all started with a change in diet.

Me na la us.

Thursday turned in to Friday and with that it was my birthday. Meanwhile I had been chatting to this guy online, filling the late night with random banter.

Two days later he is cautious in doing so but declares what he believes to be a state of ‘in love’ with me. Between my ventures in to the night with friends who fulfilled a need of which I am so grateful for, humbled almost, I spoke with him online.

Before I dismiss how brilliant a time I had on my birthday, I am most grateful for my friends turning up and my mother for cooking with love hearty home meals. They made me laugh, we talked of ridiculous and probably vile stuff, we laughed some more, drank and ate, and were merry. The following night we drank in the city centre and ended up at a bar before returning back to mine, in what has come to be known as The Party Bedroom. I gave it that title by the way, and I don’t think anybody has referred to it in such a way.

So anyway, the guy was online. This one’s from Greece. There’s something about a connection like that that is ever so surreal and endearing in equal measure. I don’t love him and I think it’s absurd for him to think he loves me after just a couple of days, but damn is it nice to have somebody appreciate me like that.

For four weeks now, I’ve been changing my state of mind through my stomach and through abstaining from blatant self destruction and I feel the benefits. I’m on a spiritual path, through a couple of friends’ help, they’re guiding me somewhat.

I feel so positive, loved, appreciated and I’m back on my way to feeling whole again.

Now, just need to stop missing him, after I locate my feet back on the ground.
He’ll be gone soon, I think. But that doesn’t make me sad.
I just don’t want him to go yet.

Another year, another blameless pound.

It’s my birthday soon. I’ll be 28. Usually for somebody of this age, it’s a time for celebration. I’ve not been feeling most acquainted with a celebratory mood due to the fact of my forever whinging attitude to life, and the blame culture of which today I’ve convinced myself it’s completely fine to uphold.

The blame on my father for leaving us to get remarried, ultimately landing on my fragile head the role of “man of the house”. Of course no members of my family purposely attributed this role to me, it just so happened. But I’m over that now. And that role isn’t mine. Though if I did man up a little, some pressure would probably be taken off of my mother. Even though she’s given me her bank card to get a hair cut tomorrow and be able to get in to town to meet somebody who will become a part of my online magazine team. Hardly helping with relieving the pressure, huh?

The blame on the government for somehow being the cause of my jobless effect and the tirade of application rejection of which I’ve yet to become accustomed to, even after a year and a half. Of course in the latter stage of this period of time I hardly put in the effort to get a job, so I’ve relinquished such blame in an absolute way, none entirely though. Today, I read another rejection, and for a job I really really really really wanted. The repetition of “really” is only to convince myself, and you the reader, that I did in fact really want it. I think deep down, I was just kidding myself. Because what I want to do is go forth with my own business, which leads me on to the next point.

The blame on my uncle & auntie for stealing my name for the benefit of them. Now that I am the owner of an apartment, however lovely that sounds, I have no rights to any benefits that are so due to me. I hate benefits but they did ease me of the torment of staying couped up inside with my narcissism and random negative conversations I have with myself, and quite the bad attitude at times too. Although my name is on the apartment, I reap no rewards from this; a pawn in heavy tax avoidance, that is me. No benefits, no little tiny hint of life, no real progression and interaction with the world. They’ve drained me of my freedom, the one thing that my spirit so needs and the one thing I had control over.

I could probably be artistic with the above, I’m an emblem of these times, of a horrid government. If only I could paint I’d decorate the canvas with pain, boredom, loneliness, helplessness, depression, stifled claustrophobia, lack of self esteem and lots of cigarettes. Ironic that I could maintain the luxury of smoking through all of this; yet another reason to beat myself up, taking from the poor (my family, who by definition are not poor but just making ends meet) to feed my habit. That’s by the by.

I am a person of strength, a quiet strength, a lonely strength. I battle with myself most days, quietly, unassumingly. My sexuality, my personality, my ethnicity, my roots, my social circle, my ageing skin, my body, my penis, my lack of job, my lack of role in society.

On the plus side, my friends are coming over to mine to devour my mother’s home cooked curry, of which she hasn’t done since we moved in to this new house last March. That in itself has put a smile on my face and I am so fucking over the moon that people are coming around to see me, little old me, on my birthday. They probably don’t know how much I appreciate it right now, and I probably won’t have the balls to tell them, but maybe that can be the conclusion to this random and unforeseen post:

tell everybody who counts how much they mean to me, and give thanks.

And then I listen to music and it’s like a big hit of heroin.