Positively Difficult

This whole being positive thing is harder than everyone says. A lot harder. Being positive means ignoring a lot of thoughts that my depression filters into my every brain wave, and sometimes it can be exhausting to cherry-pick the things you want from your own brain.

Being positive means ignoring my girlish instincts to be jealous of all of my boyfriend’s ex-girlfriends. The thing is, it’s all a big mystery with him. He hardly says their names, but every once in a while we encounter remnants of their presence. Today it was a box in his truck, complete with two bras, a DVD, a pair of shoes, and a can of Spaghetti O’s as far as I could see. All items he has yet to return to Miss No-Name. Look, don’t get me wrong. Part of my brain is rational, reasonable and tells me that ex-girlfriends have the “ex” part for a reason. After all, if it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be with this guy now. It just sucks to have that other part of my brain in my head, noticing that he has a missed call for one of the guessed ex-girlfriends. Hip hip hurray for insecurity time! It’s bad enough I have to occasionally be reminded of the pictures he still has on Facebook of relationship’s past…but then again, I’m being harsh. (But then again, I don’t have any photos up of me and my old boyfriends.)

Being positive means ignoring the fact that my grandparents are old and dying and want to see me all the time. But because of said age and health, they can’t visit me, which means I must visit them. But I’m always so damn busy, I never seem to find the time. When I do, however, I am filled to the brim with so much sadness and love that I promise myself to visit more often. Then I return to my life, and am swallowed back into the teenage world of grad parties, going to the movies/out to eat/park/mall, having a crappy part-time job, my boyfriend, and hours upon hours of sleep. And they call, send their love, and I drowned in a vat of guilt. They couldn’t go to my graduation, and so my grandma left a card at my house that she’d hoped to give me in person. Where was I? Not there. That card will have illegible, cursive signatures that wish me luck and love, and have money that was set aside for me, and me alone. And I can’t remember the last time I saw them, just that my grandpa teared up as he asked me to not stay away for so long.

That just kills me inside.

Being positive means ignoring the tears that were falling down my face yesterday at dinner when I realized I couldn’t pay for my meal. I had plans to meet my friends at the movies with my boyfriend, whom I was so excited to see. Then bam! out of nowhere I remembered that I couldn’t even fill up my gas tank, let alone my stomach. I’ve been in the process of looking for a second summer job for maybe three months now, and I haven’t landed anything. So right now, all my expenses are being supported on a job I work one day a week at, for three hours or so. I felt like the biggest failure in the entire world, because not even McDonald’s will take me.

Being positive means ignoring all this shit on my shoulders, and I don’t know if I really have the capacity to cut myself that much slack. At least not now.

Whoever said that their struggles encouraged them to stay strong obviously didn’t have much of a guilty conscience.

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About diagnosemylife

Okay, if I can't keep all this stuff about my life in my head, how do you expect me to shove it in this little box?

Posted on 06/04/2013, in This Whole "Life" Thing and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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