The New Year

At this time last year I was finishing up working at Macy’s, had run a 10K and made myself ill by not fueling properly, spent my free time watching A Scandal in Belgravia and packing to head back to Scotland.  I was a mess of mixed emotions and for that reason I didn’t make any resolutions, at least not on paper.

Right now, I’m not in the best head space.

I do tend to get a bit nostalgic at the new year, and think back to better or worse times.  I’ve been doing that a lot the past few days, and it’s occurred to me that I’m not really much different than I was 15 years ago.   Something happened one day, where I was pretty much told that I was a horrible person and that something must have made me this way (my parents were insinuated as the cause, and while they were not perfect, they definitely didn’t raise me to go into someone else’s house and tell them off).  The person in question just didn’t understand how I could be the way I was.  I still don’t know.  I’m just me, for better or worse.  I may have an attitude a mile long, and more neuroses than I can count on both hands, not to mention a ridiculous stubborn streak.  I’m fairly sure if I could find my journal from 1998-9 it that day it would have read “Are you bloody fucking kidding me? Where the hell do YOU get off telling me how to act or how to be?”

Who knows, maybe she was right.  Maybe I am unfit for any and all relationships like she implied.

I guess I’m still that fucked up person.  I still make mistakes- all the time.  I still have no idea how to have conversations with people or how to not have a panic attack practically every time I set foot out the door.  I’m still a miserable, neurotic mess and I’m in pain, every single bloody day.

So what does this mean for the new year?  I have no idea.

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