Missing In Action

So I have been extremely crap with posting recently. And I would love to report that it has been due to my ever expanding social calendar, but, alas, it has not. It has, in actual fact, been due my ever increasing crapness on almost all fronts. I don’t want to bore anyone with another list (lists are so yesterday), so I will explain as best I can using actual paragraphs.

Ok. First of all, my extreme crapness has recently taken the form of a deep, black hole of depression. I have always considered myself to be a mildly depressed person, stretching all the way back to my fist day of primary school, but now it has just gotten ridiculous. That was one thing: this is something else. It actually aches, my body actually aches with sadness; sadness for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Snacky, bite-sized sadness all through the day. Sadness that needs to be fed with chocolate and tea and magazines which end up making me more bloody sad. They say that a symptom of depression is no longer finding enjoyment in the things you once loved. The things I once loved now make me spontaneously combust with anger and despair. I’m super fun to be around. Which is why I have not posted anything in ages. Grandma always used to say: If you can’t say something nice, don’t say anything it all.
(Or as my grandma actually used to say: “Pass the gin. NOW.”)

This black hole of doom stuff has, obviously, impacted on the way I see the world. And also on the way I interact with it. Example: I shoved someone on Friday night. Shoved them. Multiple times. As in three or four violent shovings. Of insanity.
I am not a shover, people. This is highly unusual. And although I had my (extremely good) reasons for shoving said repulsive life form, I am not proud. Violence to me is not a last resort; it’s a don’t-go-there-ever-you-idiot resort.

When I’m not shoving people I’m moping, as one does. Most of the moping is done in public bathrooms. Not that kind of moping, pervert. Actual moping.
These are places fraught with emotional booby traps. Firstly, there are the rows of sinks and mirrors, where everyone can watch you squinting at what now looks like a cancerous growth under the fluorescent lights. There are the toilets, which are usually a sight to behold. And then there are the gaggles of BFF’s standing around laughing and posing for each other. Bitches. I don’t have a BFF anymore (see here), so I am left to shuffle awkwardly and stare at my feet. Never do I feel as utterly alone as when I am standing in an overlit bathroom, trying to conceal my curiosity at what it must be like to be nineteen and with a girlfriend you can share everything with.

Bathrooms aside, public places in general seem fraught with all kinds of terror these days. It may be that neon is back in style, bigger and badder than ever. Or it may be that my group of extended acquaintances now includes someone who is comfortable with calling me chicken girl. Who knows? The point is, I’m doing what I can to NOT turn this into a complete whine fest. So if that means not posting every couple of days, so be it. Your sanity, and mine, will be all the better for it in the end.