bit ranty n emo, will prob regret later
I’ve wanted to update for a while, but I guess something has been holding me back. Like a black cloud in the horizon either foretelling impending rain, or an oppressive darkness over the sun, I haven’t felt ready to write about how I feel. And don’t really feel I am now either. But perhaps the process of writing will bring some clarification, and blow some of that cloud away.
We went back home to Boston this weekend, and while Rossy had a great time, I felt wretched and misplaced. Boston is a town, which I have dreamt about escaping my whole life, yet also found some love for the people there. But something with me has changed, and I’m still trying to come to terms with it.
I found myself feeling angry. Which is not an emotion I feel very often and certainly not towards something like this. My friends, for the most part, did not seem to bothered that I was back (apart from Rozi that is, n j, who I only saw for a few minutes) And nobody asked how I was, (again, apart from rozi, she doesn’t count in this moan!). Normally this wouldn’t bother me, as I would much prefer talking to people about how they are, than talking about me, but I haven’t been back to boston for a year, you’d think people would at least say…’oh and how are you?’ Or ‘what are you doing with yourself these days’ or something! I have just completed what was the most trying, and so far, important 3 years of my life and got a fucking amazing degree…to have no pat on the back. No well done. No nothing. I’ve already said on here how I was confronted with a strange sense of nothingness towards my achievement, perhaps because I haven’t celebrated, perhaps because I’m not good at acknowledging my achievements. I was concerned that celebrating in Derby would be inconsiderate to people who were unhappy with their results, or perceived as arrogant. (A fear of being perceived as such, perhaps in part disallowed me to be happy with my result in the first place) So I had been harbouring this naive notion that when I get home, my old friends would be happy to see me, interested in what’s going on and happy for me, which in turn would make me feel happy in myself.
But, as I said. Nothing. And I felt angry. Seethingly angry.
This emotion was not abated by my parents. My mum’s got a lot going on, and she did get me a card. She did a degree herself a few years ago, so at least has some understanding of the work that has to go into one, and the emptiness that accopmnaies it if the achievement goes unnoticed, for she was the first in the whole family to get one. I am the second.
But my dad. When I called him to tell him I’d got a first, he said well done, and then said he had to go because he was wall papering and had to put some glue on the wall. When we met this weekend I found myself recessing into a teenager, unable to articulate my emotions and express my anguish at his neglectful attitude. He’s recently bought one of my brothers a mopehead for getting an A at GCSE, and Alex he took out for a meal and a film when he recently got a cleaning job. But me, who has spent 3 fucking years working as hard as I could….nothing. I mean, it’s not like I got fat for nine months and popped out a kid. 3 fucking years, where I hardly went out, studied for about 8 hours a day most days, 12 hours towards the end. Nothing.
I told him I was upset that none of my friend seemed bothered. That I didn’t even get a drink bought for me or even a fucking well done, but really my rant was directed at him. I found myself pulling away, like I’ve out grown him, and felt i had little to say. I knew I was behaving poorly, but I’m sick sick sick or him saying semi guilty things like ‘was I a bad dad, sausage?’ and me having to mutter something to alieviate his guilt like ‘naw, of course not’. Thing is, he was not there. He was never there. And his inability to recognise the growth I have undergone (mentally I mean, not a nasty tumour - at least I hope not…oh god!) in the past few years has cemented his inability to see me as who I am. He doesn’t understand what a degree is and seems to think that its all about the ceremony. But it’s not, most ppl don’t even bother going! It’s about the journey and the result. And I couldn’t have done better.
I just wish somebody would recognise that.
Do you remember who I was? What I was? I drank. Smoked. Relished in hedonistic pleasures. Flashed my boobs! Let down my friends. Was late constantly (come on, you have got to remember that!) Quit college 6 weeks towards the end. Ran away. Lived in squalor. Stole (yes - a can of beans does count!) Cried. Died. Lied. Cheated and was cheated on. Broke and had my heart broken. Lived with men, too many for my young age. And wandered through life, lost. Lost.
Whatever. It’s all in the journey. And as for the person I was, I’m surprised sometimes that you still want to know me after the things I did. Most of the people I saw back in Boston are not my true friends, they seem to be getting fewer over the years, but the ones I do have are rich and intricate and beautiful. People who I would like to think appreciate who I was and who I am now, and the struggle it has been.
It’d just be nice to hear a well done once in a while.
We went back home to Boston this weekend, and while Rossy had a great time, I felt wretched and misplaced. Boston is a town, which I have dreamt about escaping my whole life, yet also found some love for the people there. But something with me has changed, and I’m still trying to come to terms with it.
I found myself feeling angry. Which is not an emotion I feel very often and certainly not towards something like this. My friends, for the most part, did not seem to bothered that I was back (apart from Rozi that is, n j, who I only saw for a few minutes) And nobody asked how I was, (again, apart from rozi, she doesn’t count in this moan!). Normally this wouldn’t bother me, as I would much prefer talking to people about how they are, than talking about me, but I haven’t been back to boston for a year, you’d think people would at least say…’oh and how are you?’ Or ‘what are you doing with yourself these days’ or something! I have just completed what was the most trying, and so far, important 3 years of my life and got a fucking amazing degree…to have no pat on the back. No well done. No nothing. I’ve already said on here how I was confronted with a strange sense of nothingness towards my achievement, perhaps because I haven’t celebrated, perhaps because I’m not good at acknowledging my achievements. I was concerned that celebrating in Derby would be inconsiderate to people who were unhappy with their results, or perceived as arrogant. (A fear of being perceived as such, perhaps in part disallowed me to be happy with my result in the first place) So I had been harbouring this naive notion that when I get home, my old friends would be happy to see me, interested in what’s going on and happy for me, which in turn would make me feel happy in myself.
But, as I said. Nothing. And I felt angry. Seethingly angry.
This emotion was not abated by my parents. My mum’s got a lot going on, and she did get me a card. She did a degree herself a few years ago, so at least has some understanding of the work that has to go into one, and the emptiness that accopmnaies it if the achievement goes unnoticed, for she was the first in the whole family to get one. I am the second.
But my dad. When I called him to tell him I’d got a first, he said well done, and then said he had to go because he was wall papering and had to put some glue on the wall. When we met this weekend I found myself recessing into a teenager, unable to articulate my emotions and express my anguish at his neglectful attitude. He’s recently bought one of my brothers a mopehead for getting an A at GCSE, and Alex he took out for a meal and a film when he recently got a cleaning job. But me, who has spent 3 fucking years working as hard as I could….nothing. I mean, it’s not like I got fat for nine months and popped out a kid. 3 fucking years, where I hardly went out, studied for about 8 hours a day most days, 12 hours towards the end. Nothing.
I told him I was upset that none of my friend seemed bothered. That I didn’t even get a drink bought for me or even a fucking well done, but really my rant was directed at him. I found myself pulling away, like I’ve out grown him, and felt i had little to say. I knew I was behaving poorly, but I’m sick sick sick or him saying semi guilty things like ‘was I a bad dad, sausage?’ and me having to mutter something to alieviate his guilt like ‘naw, of course not’. Thing is, he was not there. He was never there. And his inability to recognise the growth I have undergone (mentally I mean, not a nasty tumour - at least I hope not…oh god!) in the past few years has cemented his inability to see me as who I am. He doesn’t understand what a degree is and seems to think that its all about the ceremony. But it’s not, most ppl don’t even bother going! It’s about the journey and the result. And I couldn’t have done better.
I just wish somebody would recognise that.
Do you remember who I was? What I was? I drank. Smoked. Relished in hedonistic pleasures. Flashed my boobs! Let down my friends. Was late constantly (come on, you have got to remember that!) Quit college 6 weeks towards the end. Ran away. Lived in squalor. Stole (yes - a can of beans does count!) Cried. Died. Lied. Cheated and was cheated on. Broke and had my heart broken. Lived with men, too many for my young age. And wandered through life, lost. Lost.
Whatever. It’s all in the journey. And as for the person I was, I’m surprised sometimes that you still want to know me after the things I did. Most of the people I saw back in Boston are not my true friends, they seem to be getting fewer over the years, but the ones I do have are rich and intricate and beautiful. People who I would like to think appreciate who I was and who I am now, and the struggle it has been.
It’d just be nice to hear a well done once in a while.