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That kind of love

I'm on the train home and the woman opposite me is eating a homemade sandwich from white bread. My face is scrunched up in disgust and I keep giving her snide glances as if she were a filthy person dirtying a spotless carriage. I can't help it. I'm a nasty person. I think she's disgusting and I don't mind letting her know that.
I'm so tense and angry that I want to stand up and smash my blackberry on the floor. I hate her because I can't eat a sandwich from white bread but I can still taste it and smell it so potently... oh so potently...

I'm a bitch at work too, I ignore people,
I wish I could be the kind of person that smiles and is cheerful and lovely to everyone.
I'm not. I'm so wrapped up in my own little world, so self-conscious, so tense, so focused on the fabulous act I have to put on for the next 'person who matters'.

If you don't matter, I don't care what you think of me, so you don't exist to me. I haven't got the energy to waste.
I hate myself for it. When the pretty boy from the other department walks past me, I don't smile and say hello, I look at the floor as if I didn't see him. People don't mistake it for shyness, they mistake it for rudeness.
I was the only one in my class who understood how Mr Darcy was misjudged with 'pride'.

At lunch today Rob told me Harry wasn't coming out on Saturday anymore. Family issues. I got back to my desk completely drained and devastated and stared at my 80 calorie miso soup.
What was the point?
I wolfed it down in one, not caring how vulgar I looked to anyone who noticed. I needed more food, what was the fucking point of starving and making myself look perfect if my target wasn't gonna be there. Without a second thought I snuck out to the kitchen and bought a chocolate bar from the vending machine - 330 calories, moments later sneaked back again to make a large bowl of porridge -400 calories.
My worthlessness surrounded me like a thick shadow. I had rendered myself and my body worthless without him to appreciate it; I didn't want to go to Rob's birthday because he was my friend or because I wanted to have fun - I wanted to go so that I could play a game and feel a shred of self-worth in the only way I know how - male attention.

I wanted to curl up and cry. No, I wanted to curl up with someones arms around me. I wanted to tell someone, I wanted someone, I wanted someone to feel a shred of love for me, spare a word, something, someone,
I battered through my routine on the crosstrainer after work, eyes scrunched up, wanting to cry but no tears inside me to fall.
I got home and ate again. As I stood over the kitchen counter, shoving piece of toast after piece of toast into my mouth, I knew what I was doing - I was trying to fill up the emptiness inside. I was looking for love at the bottom of a box of chocolates.

But all the money, all the shoes and dresses, all the success and reward, it all means nothing. Because what I crave and what I lack - what I have always lacked but never been able to fight for - is love.
I bend over the toilet with my fingers down my throat and just like routine, bang on schedule, I vomit everything back up. Routine.

Harry wasn't coming because his father was ill. A stroke. I don't know how bad he is.
All I know is that I lost that man in my life - father - so I understand. And even though I don't really know Harry, even though he probably thinks I'm cheap and worthless, I just want - more than anything - to tell him that I care and that I send my love.

The kind of love that one human instinctively feels for another when they need it most.
That's all.


  1. Hun, we all have fucked up days, after all, we're fucked up people. but we get past them. hold your head high.

  2. You are an incredible, amazing writer. This was beautiful, from the very first sentence. There was something else I meant to stay, but you've left me rather stunned. Like Clear Girl said, hold your head high. :)


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