Broken Bella Donna











{October 6, 2013}  

I feel repulsive. I really do. I don’t know if I’ve ever been as unhappy about my appearance as I am right now.

Of course, it doesn’t help that I am hormonal as all shit ATM. So I’m probably bloated too. I never used to get bloated, or as hormonal as I do nowadays – is this change of circumstances or just something you get to grow into, like weird random coarse chin hair?

I just feel so… blargh. Tonight I feel sad. I feel like I’m on the verge of that dangerous spiral. The downward one, as Nine Inch Nails termed it.

I could come up with a thousand causes, as all of them would have contributed but none more so than the others, I don’t suppose. Just the usual collection of sadness regarding family, stresses in general life, disappointment at past failures and disintegration of previous relationships. Lately I have been missing things that I have lost from my life in the last few years, more so than usual. I have been thinking a lot about those who have left me in the living-and-breathing sense, and also about those who have walked from my life of their own volition.

But mostly I’ve been thinking of two pets I have lost – one has her two year deathday tomorrow – and of bloody Pervy Policeman. Partially in a representative way, partially in a specific way. By representative, I mean that I’m lumping him with all the other people in my life who just walk out on me and leave me feeling like I invested a lot more into the friendship than they did. By specific, well I mean him specifically. Obviously.

This is tough. Because it makes me think so many things, a million different thoughts. So few of them stay in my head long enough to even be able to form into coherent things I can write down. The rest bounce around, never settling long enough to let me think them over and get any sort of sense and hopefully closure on them. Just rattle around to keep me buzzing.

Tonight I looked at the calendar and realised it was nearly time for him to come back to work after his forced holiday. This means I can no longer sit relaxed, knowing that A) there was no chance of him arriving unannounced (or announced for that matter) and B) soon I can no longer use his time away as a great excuse as to why I had stopped speaking to him, and therefore of him. Now the people around me will again expect me to start referring to him in conversation, and they will wonder why I stopped saying “Pervy policeman was telling me” or “I was chatting with Pervy Policeman last night”… and they’ll ask me why I don’t. When the last time we caught up was. And I’ll have to lie, or dodge the question. God forbid I should tell the truth. Oh, we don’t talk anymore, it was fine whilst we were just flirting but it got too awkward to remain friends after we fell in love. Or, at least what we thought was love at the time.

I will remain pissed off that we lost our friendship until the day I die. Or until the day he walks back into my life. Which ever comes first.

The yearly gala event I’m involved in has nearly come around again. I am only attending two of the events this year, the first and the second last. I would probably attend a few more but events conspire against me. The first is the opening, which should be fun and I’m quite looking forward to. The second is a much bigger deal and has caused me spazz attacks for the last few years so I’m not looking forward to that one so much. Once I’m there I enjoy it quite a lot, but this year it has the added spazz inducing bonuses of a massive media outlet and the potential that it could very well prove to be the first time i see Pervy Policeman since That Night. Which would be six months.

Six months is a long time in anyones books. I keep wondering how  much I have changed in that time? How much has he changed? I know that inside, I have changed a LOT. So much, possibly more than I can ever try to imagine. But no one is privy to how much I have changed inside (thank christ!) so does this translate to the outside? I don’t think it does. I don’t think I’ve gained nor lost weight, I haven’t changed my hairstyle, I haven’t made any body modifications. I think I probably just look like me still. This makes me WANT to do something, I WANT to look different, I WANT the changes that have occurred within my mind and heart to be represented on the outside. I want to run out and get a Monroe piercing. I want to get a tattoo. I want to cut all my hair off into a dramatic and funky style. I want to colour it. I want to lose weight. I want to do all these things. I want to do NONE of these things.

I just want to walk into the place and just exude… peace. Comfort with myself. Confidence, class, fun. Independence and even a little cockiness. And if I can’t make it, I wanna fake it.

But mostly I just want to believe all of that.

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