I tried so hard.

I forgave you so many times. Gave second chances so many times. Tried so hard to be good enough for you. Only to be let go of again. But by phone, on my airtime.

Shame on you for hurting me once. Shame on me for letting you hurt me again. And again. And again.

I deserve better than you.

What a waste of my limited time.

High Hopes

So it’s 2013.

I’m sitting at my sister’s house, watching the Royal Variety Performance as the fireworks erupt around us in the neighbouring suburbs. Sounds pretty average, but there’s one thing wrong that has never been wrong before. I have stage four colon cancer that’s metastasised to my lungs and abdomen.

I’ve said that word so many times in the past few months, and i hate it more every time I say it. CANCER. But, it’s here, and I can’t change that. I can not go to pieces though, and so that’s the stance I’m taking.

2012 has been a terrible and great year. I moved in with the love of my life, only to have it crumble. But the moving in together is still one of the highlights of my year and life. I loved him very much and it was hard to let go of, but it’s done now. I made new friends, changed jobs, only to have my latest gig let me go because, “we need to run a business” and someone with cancer obviously isn’t conducive to that. It’s a good thing though, because with the chemo, I couldn’t work anyway.

So my wish for 2013 is to live. Plain and simple, this time next year, I want to be with my family in the UK and raising a glass to the year I beat cancer, the year I found love, the year I got a great new job and the year I found my health in every way.

My sister asked me today “how are you not going to pieces about being given a possible death sentence?” Well, what makes the tears flow is seeing my family upset. I’ve always struggled with depression and suicidal thoughts. So to me, losing my life isn’t too much of a shock I guess. Seeing my family and friends hurt is. I really REALLY don’t want to die though. Having a death sentence has made me realise that life is something valuable. Worth dying for, if you will. However, if me dying saves one really great person, I’ll do it without complaint.

Again though, I don’t want to lose my life. I still have so much to do, and I have stupidly sat, for years, saying I will do it tomorrow. I’ll lose weight tomorrow. I’ll stop smoking tomorrow. I’ll get fit tomorrow. Now, I need to do these things today as a matter of life and death.

So please let me be here next year. Please let me beat this. Please let 2013 be the year I get up, and walk on.

One week

Wow. In the space of a week, the love of my life dumped me and found someone new. I’ve been dumped and replaced, lost my house, lost a wonderful cat and lost a future with someone I deeply loved.

I’m not to sure what to do from here. I thought he cared enough to behave like a decent human being. Now he feels that I am un the wring for bring upset about it.

In the space of a week he’s gone from “i love you so much, I can’t live without you” to “yes I’m seeing someone else.”

I don’t care if it happened unexpectedly. If he never intended it. What he’s done is hurt me deeply to my core, something he always said he would never want to do. But he has, so much.

He’s left me feeling utterly worthless, which is shitty as all I ever did was look after him and be good to him. He’s behaving like an asshole and I am the one suffering for it.

You’ve ruined my life, you asshole, and you’re just sailing onward with no consequences. Thanks for leaving me in pieces and carrying in as if the year we were together meant nothing to you. It’s good to know that all the love I put into us was for nothing.

I am so angry and hate you so much right now. But that’s what you want, because then its easier for you to just up, leave and move on without any responsibility. You said you wished you could make this easier for me. Well if this is how you do it, you’re not the good person I thought you were. In fact, you definitey aren’t.

The Past Year

Life’s gone up and down. I’ve changed jobs. Twice. I left a cult-ish type spiritual organisation. I lost like 10kgs. I moved out of my little bachelorette flat and into a house close to the city. I have become step mother to the most wonderful cat in the world. I’ve come off a lot of medication. And I fell in love.

It wasn’t the first time it’s happened and may not be the last. But he’s been in my life for well over a year now and I’m still as hopelessly amazed by most of what he does as I was a year ago.

Sometimes he makes me very sad. But most of the time, he makes me happy and want to try harder at doing good things so that I am a better person. Except the gym. Just can’t get that motivation up and running.

So in his honour, here is a video of a cat, lip synching to metal.

Just some normal friends

I don’t want friends on crack. You’re all crazy.
I don’t want friends on smack. You’re all insane.
I don’t want friends on alcohol. You’re loud and difficult.
I don’t want friends on the 12 steps. You’re in a cult.
I just want some normal fucking friends that aren’t drug dealers or into swinging.
I Just want some normal friends who aren’t boring.
Please.

Creep

Special? I wish I was special, just like Thom Yorke wishes he was.

I love too much, and that makes me not special. My father says it’s a gift. I say it’s a curse. In the movies, people who love too much are the heroes.  In real life, we’re the losers.

We give ourselves so easily. We become boring to those we love. It’s like having Christmas every day. It’s not an effort for anyone to be in our lives. Well, the people we’re in love with. It’s not even their fault. It’s my fault.

Little things. Little messages. Little efforts. Everyday little things we do seem so common, they get forgotten, or accepted as normal. But they aren’t normal; they are special to us. We just feel so much that we like to show that we love, everyday. And the smallest sign of love thrown our way means the world to us. We never forget it.

It’s a paradox, really. Love and lose them. Be indifferent and hook them.

Best cats of the web

1. Kitteh wif so much ennui and noir: Henri

Henri and his daily plight with the French Noir genre.

 

2. Cats on treadmills

 

The song makes it to awesome. And the white cat.

 

 

3. Dance of the kitty cat (especially for Gummy)

 

Keeping SEO Copywriters sane, worldwide.

 

4. BootsCatsBootsCats

 

Cat bee!

 

5. Funny Cats Collection

 

A bit long, and the background “laughter” is a bit annoying but the kittehs make it worth it.

Game of Thrones is back?!

Whatever. I have a 12-pack of condoms to finish by Friday.

How to save a life

Step one, you say “we need to talk”
He walks, you say “sit down, it’s just a talk”
He smiles politely back at you
You stare politely right on through
Some sort of window to your right
As he goes left and you stay right
Between the lines of fear and blame
You begin to wonder why you came

Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend
Somewhere along in the bitterness
And I would have stayed up with you all night
Had I known how to save a life

Let him know that you know best
‘Cause after all you do know best
Try to slip past his defense
Without granting innocence
Lay down a list of what is wrong
The things you’ve told him all along
And pray to God he hears you
And I pray to God he hears you

As he begins to raise his voice
You lower yours and grant him one last choice
Drive until you lose the road
Or break with the ones you’ve followed
He will do one of two things
He will admit to everything
Or he’ll say he’s just not the same
And you’ll begin to wonder why you came

I really fucking hate it when people come onto my boyfriend. It fucks me off to the highest amount of fucking off that is possible. Yes, it’s a little because I usually feel less-than these trollops who are usually thinner than I am. But it’s mostly because, I KNOW WOMEN.

I am a woman. We are devious, bitchy and horrific creatures. I’ve had two men cheat on their long term girlfriends with me, so I am just as bad. I really didn’t give a crap at the time, as I was single, on the rebound, feeling shit about myself and very horny. I had never met these girls, so what the hell was the problem? As Earl will tell you, it’s KARMA. Karma is a bitch. I paid heavily for leaving my first boyfriend for someone else. I paid for it from 2004 to 2008. Four years of absolute horrible heartache.

First, my so-called best friend at the time pounced on my newly single ex that I had left my previous ex for. They are now married and living happily in London together. Then my next boyfriend left me for another woman and they are now about 2 weeks away from becoming parents. I remember he and I always said we would call our first born after his father, Andrew. Doubt he’ll remember that come two weeks time when his girlfriend with the shiny face is pushing out his offspring. And that isn’t even including the four other women he cheated on me with. Karma, you fucking bitch.

Wait though, I was a fucking bitch. I stole someone’s ex a week after he dumped my friend. He also happened to be my ex’s best friend as of a week before that. When I was pretty and good looking, I knew I could get men eating out of the palm of my hand and boy, did I hurt a lot of people. Now that the shit hit the fan for four years, of course I regret it, but at the time, I felt important, accepted and beautiful.

I’ve always had a very fucked up (heh) attitude to sex. And you know what? I am so-not alone. I think most women do. When did you last meet a woman with a healthy attitude to sex, men and relationships?  I used to believe that if a man was willing to see me with no clothes on, with the sight being so disturbing, they must REALLY like me. In reality, it was more the opposite. I got used and I used them too, happily and ignorantly, thinking that I was a better person because I was desirable and my life was like an episode of Melrose Place, minus Heather Locklear.

The point I am trying to make is that, it really bothers me when women chase my boyfriend, because I know what it’s like to be that woman. Low self esteem, hectic image to uphold, inconsolable need for attention and affection. And that need is a pretty strong need and, in all honesty, makes you completely devoid of a soul. I should just sit back and watch and laugh. I should just not let it bother me. But when there are hot chicks (that I think are way hotter and therefore way better and more desirable) that are hell-bent on biffing my boyfriend, of course I am freaked out. My self esteem ain’t great y’know. I don’t think I am particularly valuable at the moment because I find myself repulsive because I am fat.

I put myself in the shoes of said boyfriend and see what the choices are – loose, slutty metal chicks who have perfect figures and are into the same music and social scene as him, and me, who is repulsive and a trance head. I trust him, believe me, but to me, I would pick the slutty metal chicks. And that is so hard to get over.

So, slutty metal chicks, off is the general direction I wish you would fuck. \M/