I’m a bit depressed. I got a cat today. Wanted a kitten. Wanted a boy, got a girl, got an 18mth old cat.  She’s very cute. But maybe being a cat she reminds me too much of our beloved family cat who died last year.  I’m a bit depressed I think be cause I 1) got something I’m not sure I really want (+ it’s alittle life) 2) It makes me feel alone to be with something that depends on me 3) I fell very lonely. Maybe it’s PMS – how cruel that something that gives you pain, offers new life (when you’re not maternally inclined) so seemingly has no point but to make you bleed, cramp and be depressed. I’m hoping my pattern of depression during period wll play out in and in a few days I’ll wonder what the big deal was.

Saw Ben Button yesterday. Made me sad to think about the people in my life dying, and me being on my own. I assume I’ll out-live them. I don’t really know how to live my life any different and I’m not sure if I’m living it very well. It’s so small. But I’m doing the best I know how.

Ex-boss, still works at work but not in same country is in same country. I think I misconstrued a stressful, traumatic experience I was a part of that happened to her as a bonding experience. I thought we became friends. But all evidence points to not-friends. It points to ‘worked together’. Truly indifference is worse than rejection. I just don’t feel like I can assume a friendship when I have no idea what value I offer to her. Of all my friends I know I have some value, they want to see me, we share conversations, we share laughs. With this one we share an unspoken of history, that I think was more impactful on me than her. Do I say, “Sorry, I thought we were friends, but I realise I was wrong.” Do I just say nothing and leave it. It was mostly my contact that kept it going. (a source of bitterness. bitterness and hurt. see how I’m blaming myself – this is what I don’t like how unkind I am to myself about this ‘relationship’. ) The difference I suppose with this is the depth of the traumatic experience. I think, my little voice is saying, ‘let it go’. If there was anything there, it’s done. I deserve to be treated with more respect. What I like about my friends is that I can be me, but they challenge me. It’s all challenge with this one. No contact for six months, and I was fine. Career and vocation discussions can be channeled elsewhere. I think I should let this go. Which is very sad to me. But there’s nothing there for me, except judging myself, judging the quality of the relationship, hurt. I do wonder if I’m expecting too much. At minimum what do I expect from a friend? Contact. Sharing. More than one connector (not just work).

But then I worry that I’m reading more/less into this than is real. She did have a traumatic event. So I can’t ‘call her out.’ However, she’s booked time with everyone else. I think I’m just embarrassed.  I feel foolish. Even when I write am I making more of it than there is, I  know – deep down -  I deserve to be treated with the same respect I give others. I made a mistake. I read more into it than there was. I wouldn’t have done anything different in terms of tokens of support I gave. I just wish I didn’t have expectations of reciprocations. I’m crying now. For the loss of a friendship that wasn’t there. For investing in a relationship that wasn’t reciprocated. For being vulnerable and being…not rejected, just not returned. Happens all over the world, to millions of people.  She’ll always be the biggest professional influence on my life to this point. We’ll still have a professional connection. That’s all.

Doing Jenny Craig, 8 kg to lose. Lost 2.9 in 3 weeks. Gained 400gms today. Shit. 3 cupcakes – really? Forget the 30 min runs, the 30 min walks, the indoor soccer – 3 cupcakes (oh, and the finger-size ham and cheese croissant and scone) . Am I that adept at gaining weight that three cupcakes will do it. Obviously I am. And obviously I’m not going to stop JC. Maybe I shouldn’t have watched so much food tv and Ramsay’s Kitchen Nightmares tonight but I feel like binging, just eating and eating -chocolates and biscuits, and making stuff and eating it. I won’t. I just feel like it. Better to type it then act on it. 4 days off cos of public holiday tomorrow. I’m gonna run for an hour everyday, plus do the gym. You can bet you’re ass I’m not gonna put on any grams next week. Goal – extra exercise to lose 1.4.

OK. So I realise I can achieve whatever I put my mind to. I want love, I want intimacy – envision it. So ‘The Secret’, so new-agey, but I know it works for me. Or at least I believe in the power of my sub-conscious given I credit it as they main source of my creativity. So I’m visualising this ideal relationship, this ideal man. And then I get to an intimacy bit and I realise “why would anyone want something from me?” “why would anyone seek affection from me?” “what do I have they can’t get from anyone else?” How super sad that I don’t think I’m worthy of being loved. It’s like, “shit! – how do I get out of this one” I’m not 20, not a young naive (naive in many ways, but not in years).

I had a good childhood, parents who fight but still kiss eachother when Dad gets home from work. No abuse. No drug past, no drunken parents. No traumatic events (that I can recall). Sure Ma was big on praising everyone but her children, but as an adult I know she’s proud. What is it that has made me the way I am.

What’s worthy of love? Then I thought, well, the me, right now, she’s a bit of a wreck – know her one way (i.e. one snide remark, playful put down, or askance look) and I’d just deflate/melt into oblivion. Maybe I need to visualise a me that I like first.

I extra-notice all the relationships I see in this state. Look at wedding ring fingers. Think how lucky people are – even in bad relationships, at least they have the ‘x’ I seem to be missing to attract. At least they have experience. Of course, my secret paranoia is that I just never noticed someone attracted to me. But c’mon – I ain’t oblivious to people around me. I’ve got to read people and have empathy with all kinds of situations to do my job. I do actually think it goes back to the “I’m not worthy of love”.

Who’s worthy – or maybe, who’s the ideal me?

• confident in my own skin
• comfortable as myself
• self-assured, but not arrogant (I think when I get arrogant at work it goes back to the fact that I think being good at my job is the only thing that makes me special – gives me a purpose or place on this earth)
• kind, not a doormat, but generous in spirit
• confident in my creativity, and lover of learning – aha, but I am thinking of work and vocation here. I ain’t such a lover when it comes to self-learning because I can tell you I’ve been in this thought space before

I feel like I’m onto something here. I shall stop and let it mull.

I’m quite down at the moment – sick family member, search for purpose, mid-cycle, etc. Seem to have found a way to manage martian. Relief. It’s interesting this mid-cycle depression – everything seems hopeless, writing this even seems pointless. And yet I know in a few days, everything will seem possible, purpose will seem clear, current fears will seem like ’so what!’’s. But when I’m here it all just seems so pointless. And I feel completely…alone. Perhaps part of the problem is I see everything – like I have a view of the earth and can see everything going to pot, instead of seeing little successes and the parts of the whole that make it worthwhile. Thing is, do I just stay in this space for a bit (knowing no way out of it) and wait it out or do I try and battle out, putting up posters of positive messages, and catching negative thoughts. I’m hoping that writing about it will in some way help me deal with it.

When I saw a blind woman walking down the street arm-in-stump with a handless possibly-thalidomide gent I thought, Holy shit, if a blind woman can be with someone how repellent must I be that I attract no one? (They looked like a pretty happy couple so I did like that – I like people being happy.) Today, woman at work who lost her husband a year ago (died, unexpectedly) tells me she’s met someone. Today, Martian attacks me in a meeting. Repeat of meeting yesterday where we had a screaming at each other fight resulting in me telling him to “wipe that stupid cheshire cat grin off his face” I would have liked to have added ‘fat face’ but, y’know, you work with what you’ve got. I don’t like what I’ve become at work – angry, negative, cynical. I’ve got a slightly cynical edge normally, but I’m all edge lately. (this entry will all add up soon). At work today ‘motivational’ speaker talks about commitment. She also said something about happiness = purpose. Adding up the ‘I’m (supposedly) nothing special’, ‘people live this normal life why not me (as per my perceived conventions of babies, own home, partner, sparkling career) ‘, attacked and attacking in a job I don’t love but doing a discipline I do I reckon maybe because I’m not committed to what I perceive as my true talent – design, humour, production, gifts – I have no purpose = not happy. Maybe what it is that people get from babies, partners, careers, is a sense of purpose. (I’ll probably later riff on the people having kids subject). Maybe what I’ve got to do is find my purpose, connect it to my talent and trust that good things will come. I know it’s no-one’s fault/responsibility but my own. Maybe I’ve got to commit to fulfilling my talent. Because I know, blessing/curse – whatever I set my mind to and believe I can achieve I achieve. I’ll never be loved – hey, look at that – never been loved. Want to get all the way through Knights of Cydonia on Guitar Hero – hey, second go I get all the way through. If I can harness that awesome power I have, I may just be happy. Purposefully and consciously. And who knows what world that opens up to me. gotta do it. gotta do it. Otherwise, what is the point, existence ain’t living.

Dr Phil (who I don’t like but he did say this next line) says to people who describe their habits and the lacklustre results they get , “How’s that working out for ya”. Revelation – I live very inwardly, don’t offend, don’t upset – consequence, few connections, no intimacy – how’s that working out for me. Not so much. OK. I work that out, how do I remedy it? Do I cease to think about other people’s feelings – I know I don’t like it when people are needy…perhaps it because I am needy, uh, uh??! But am I actually protecting people or just perpetuating my theory that I don’t matter, wouldn’t be missed, am just a satellite part of people’s lives. I’m a fucking misery when I see it in writing! I lately think I have a slow metabolism for living. Takes me a while, but I get there in the end. But that’s career, money. That stuff’s easy (relatively speaking) when compared to relationships which I completely suck at. Which I probably suck at because I think I suck at them. I kinda don’t want to be 60 before I’m loved. One of my big dreads is living a long life – because if it’s this life than I just can’t think of anything more like the definition of suffering. How pathetic. I sue pathetic in the evoking sorrow sense, not the contemptibly inadequate sense.

Probably my rage and feeling towards work is because I have no such passionate outlet outside of work. Pathetic. I do wonder why I am the way I am. Deep down I think (hope) it’s because I’m meant for something more. Underneath that deep down I fear it maybe a bit-player part where in 20 years time the hero of the story asks me the time or directions and my bit is done.

I used to love what I did at work – not necessarily my job. But loved what I did. Now, I have a tension headache from all the bullshit I’m having to deal with.  Fucking martian who acts like a schoolboy by sharing his emails with junior staffers. Criticising manifested email frustration in front of juniors. Maybe he was right and I was inappropriate but he so fucking changeable in terms of what going wrong and what’s right. Yes I know I get frustrated with hierarchy, but I think leaders should protect junior temps from some things. Anyway, don’t give a fuck about rambling or being inconsistent. Really want to take a sickie on monday. I really don’t like who I am at work – I’m angry, I’m pessimistic. I have no faith in the management. I get frustrated when martian can’t come up with a straight answer and keep rehashing why things would’ve been different if he was listened to. But worse still the gos of the managers is seriously putting me in a position of compromising my integrity. I can’t put my name to reports when such bullshit is going down. I do wonder what I’m staying for. Which was I’m progressing the passport research. Days of headache. Days of going in later and later. This isn’t me – I like working hard! I love what I do. I’m a great designer. I just ain’t doing design. I think I will take a sickie on monday. Why not – being dedicate doesn’t seem to be adding up to much. Perhaps I should spend the day focusing on my other work – portfolio, cv, website.

So angry, so frustrated – pourquoi? Work. The same work that I feel guilty about stealing 5 minutes off. And Why further? Fucking Managers and their fucking egos. And their fucking ability to shit on things and say it smells like fucking roses. The fucking fuckers. Yeah, I know they’re ‘people’ I know they’re not evil. But they sure are out for themselves. (just an aside – love this blog thing! – such a release. Get Outta My Head is the name for a reason, huh).

Back to the rage – it’s annoying because I go through these righteous indignation speeches in my head. Usually to someone I respect or think can make a difference. These things never actually happen. Although I must say there are many times that the things I say (over and over and over and over ad infinitum) in these ‘rehearsals’ occasionally (frequently) pop out in the course of a conversation. And then their gone. It’s somewhat satisfying. What’s annoying is the rehearsal. The repetition. The waste of energy. Especially because it’s usually on fucking fuckers.

I ran a 7k in 41min 43 secs last weekend. Was aiming for 45. Super chuffed. Really proud…until, person I work with who I also saw running, ran (for the first time, mind) in 43 mins something. First thought,…even though I ran a great time for me, even though I like this other runner, first thought, “man, something else I don’t excel at. Something else, to mark me out as ‘not special.’ Ok, a trier, but, myah – there’s plenty better, plenty worse.” (just an aside, I hope this blog doesn’t reveal me to be a deeply depressed, a-touch sociopathic – or at least emotionally moribund, nut-job :: E!THS dreams on a disease-of-the-week budget).

Anyway, point is, and it made me think on the way to wok this a.m. “maybe that’s why people have kids (not the only reason) but you’re practically making your own fan club by giving birth. How much more special can you be, with everyone saying how motherhood is the most important job in the world, fatherhood – well, you don’t not what it is to be human until you hold that child in your hands and it looks in your eyes and, you know, y’know, you know that this little human being is the reason you exist”. Not so useful if you’ve not been born with a maternal bone, nor instinct, nor wisp of want. What’s to make me special if not the conventional route (love, babies, home, friends, etc).

Related aside: I read a quote from the Talmud years ago, to wit “A person will be called to account on Judgment Day for every permissible thing he might have enjoyed but did not” I’ll wager that I may be called to account for a lot. Worse, I fear that someone will just wave me through, and I’ll spend eternity under the radar. That would mean I’m in hell. I don;’t think I’m nearly special enough to warrant that. And there in lies my annoying contradictory nature that I will be tracking on this journalling journey.