<Here’s me-above-showing off. Can you see the sadness in my eyes?>
I have come to a realisation that all I seem to identify with now is my problems. I realised that, perhaps, some day when I am happy and all of this is in the past (as much as can be left behind), I may have nothing to talk to people about, like there is nothing else about me that is of interest to others (or even myself).
I have only ever been told, upfront, once that I talk about myself too much, and that was today, by my own boyfriend. As mean as he has been lately, and without having good reason for it, I fear he is right.
As conscious as I am of it, and as much as I try not to, most conversations I have now- with anyone- revolve around me and my issues. For god only knows how long now, I always have some sort of a problem and some sort of drama in my life to be discussed. I don’t have many friends, I can literally count them on one hand, and so there are a special few who I feel secure enough with to confide in about these things.
I talk to my best friend on the phone often and I will always start out our conversation with the intent to spend half the conversation concentrating on what is currently going on in her life. But we usually end up talking about me for about an hour and then spend only ten minutes talking about her week or what she has been up to at work, how she and her partner are and so on. I mention on a regular basis that I feel an immense amount of guilt for burdening her so much and so often. She is so good though. She just expresses that she loves me and how she knows I would do the same for her if we switched lives.
But what will I even do with my life when all of this is over?
I spend my days in bed, sick and exhausted. Before this eating disorder came back to me I had another physical illness keeping me in my bed for over seven months. I have actually forgotten what real life feels like, for real people. I live in this tiny bubble of watching Netflix, smoking endless amounts of cigarettes and never getting dressed. Most of my time is taken up by worrying; by feeling sad, anxious, depressed, hating myself, punishing myself and so desperately lonely.
I wonder what will happen in my brain when all of this goes away.
I think this is why I find it hard to imagine having a normal life, because I have been in this position for so long now.
If I am not concentrating on my anorexia, concentrating on my depression or mania, or fixating on drugs and alcohol, then what will my focus be?
It is a terrible thing to have to admit, but this is me, it’s who I am, it’s what makes me up: I am an unpredictable, badly troubled, high maintenance loose cannon.
I am forever wondering why people should choose to have me in their life. It makes more sense with my best friend because we met at school when we were fourteen, and back then I was a different person; my entire character was rounded differently. But with men who choose to take me on as their partner… Well I just wonder.
It is true that I only really show my ‘best’ side when I want to have a relationship with someone, which I’m sure we all do. But- with me- pretty quickly I show my true colours, and that I am all of those things I’ve just written above. I allow them to see how vulnerable I am.
I think most of my boyfriends have found that to be a redeeming quality at first, perhaps they have that typical complex where they want to save me but I can assure you that the novelty soon wears off.
It is like I am a damsel in distress, but my dark side soon manifests itself, and that dark side is much darker than most.
The irony is that, although I have now become accustomed to this lifestyle, I can barely live with myself. I have become so used to being difficult, argumentative and probably a little spoiled over the years that- not only are these qualities part of my character- but they have become completely habitual.
But it is not just me who automatically makes the connection between ‘Michaela’ and ‘difficult’. I could take a wild (but most likely educated) guess that everyone who is close to me has come to expect that problems follow me around. I am constantly paranoid that people like or love me a bit less for that, or that they don’t look as forward to spending time with me as perhaps they did when I was much younger. But there has always been- and probably always will be- one person on this earth who has never given up on me, and that is my dearest and beloved friend, Emma (whom I have mentioned several times in this blog).
A lot of people- mainly romantic interests- just reach a certain point where they cannot take anymore and give up on me. Two of my previous relationships ended based solely on the fact that they could not put up with my ‘emotional baggage.’ It hurt like hell when they told me that, and I was resentful for a long time, but in the end I don’t blame them one bit.
But I don’t want to be this person; the person people associate mental difficulties with, a friend or girlfriend that constantly needs looking after, because it turns out I am totally incapable of taking care of myself. I’ve (unbelievably) not been single for one day since I was just eighteen. It sounds crazy, I know, but most of my relationships broke down because I met someone else and literally switched between the two men within a day. The truth of it is, however, that there were obviously serious underlying issues with those partners that drove me into the arms of someone else. I still take full responsibility- especially for when I cheated, but I was desperately unhappy when I ran away from boyfriends. Each and every time I switched relationships I thought these new men in my life would be the ones to rescue me, as this had failed to happen in my previous relationship.
But in the end, after perhaps a couple of months with a boyfriend, my illnesses manifest themselves and I’m not so fun or attractive anymore.
But I have no clue as to what to do about this. My relationships with men and my close relationships with friends and family are doomed to fail because I am just too much to put up with for most. I’m exhausting.
For all my life (and as has been written in my teenage diaries), I have been waiting for some sort of big explosion in my life; something that would change everything, forever. Something which will fix me and kick start me into being a different person, without all of my problems getting in the way. Something that will finally allow me to love myself, and leave behind all of this self-destruction.