9 Sept – Broken Hearted

Have you ever had someone break your heart?

 

It’s funny how one simple sentence can completely change you’re entire perception of somebody and your history with them.

31 July – 10 Events

Tell us about 10 important personal events from your life from the last 10 years.

10 events from 21 – 31…

1. Turning 21 and having none of my friends turn up to my birthday.

2. Turning 21 and being dumped by the guy I was seeing because he had a boyfriend.

3. Having a massive falling out with my father resulting in not speaking to him ever again.

4. Getting fired from my first ever job because I threatened my boss.

5. Being diagnosed with depression.

6. Getting told I’d never dance again.

7. Discovering Les Mills.

8. My share-house experiences.

9. My ex-best friends.

10. Meeting hulk.

Feb 10: Problems in Perspective

Do you think you do a good job of keeping problems in perspective?

I will admit that as I’ve grown and I’ve matured (read: become a heartless bastard who’s dead on the inside) I’ve certainly been able to remove emotion from the equation when faced with problems. I can look at a problem and look at purely the facts and make a judgement. Something which I’ve never been able to do.

However, in saying that, there’s no denying that I certainly have my moments where I will get all fired up in the heat of the moment and say shit because I’m full of emotion that I don’t necessarily mean, and basically act like a child, because I can’t put anything into perspective.

I have noticed moreso in just the last couple of years that I really do have this ability to remove emotion from a situation and become quite blunt about things. To some it makes me seem like a heartless bastard / nasty bitch – moreso if I’m not siding with them (usually because we’re friends and they’re actually the ones at fault), but I come across as just being cold-as-ice instead.

Now that I find myself sitting here doing some more self-analysis (this whole blogging venture has been great for doing that!) I sometimes tend to be quite black-and-white with decisions. I find that there are too many complications, or too many people involved, or too many process to achieve a result, which really should just be quite straightforward and simple… but never is. Which, in turn, really drives me fucking crazy. It shouldn’t be so difficult.

…and this is where we insert the thesis about my non-existent tolerance levels.

I just don’t have time for drama. I don’t have time for bullshit. I don’t have time for half-a-dozen people to rally together to form a committee or some special group to discuss the pro’s and con’s about what to include on a registration form, or a confirmation letter. Are you fucking kidding me with this shit?? God, it’s no wonder I’m so mentally exhausted at the end of the day. I have to put up with so much bullshit. I think this is why I just take ownership of almost everything  that I do with work, because if nobody else is involved, and I don’t have to consult ten different people about what I’m doing, then life is much easier. If people don’t know about it, then I can’t be questioned. If it fuck’s up, then I’ll admit that, and I’ll own it. Simple as that.

The total contradiction to this, ironically, is that I really hate confrontation. Most of the time. If I’m in a bad mood, however, then bitch, you better strap yourself in for the rage that I am about to unleash at you. It’s quite sporadic, and it can change in an instant – like the wind. I can be fine one minute, then BOOM!! Full of white-hot table-flipping rage. If I’m asked to get involved with solving a problem, then I’m usually looking at both sides of the argument and trying to help each other understand each other. But if I’m in a bad mood, I’ll spell it out for you and shut. that. shit. down. Because when I’m in a bad mood, and you have a problem that requires my help, then I’m sure as shit not going to waste my fucking time on your ridiculous childish bullshit. If I have to hurt somebody else’s feelings in the process… so be it.

Daily Prompt: Forgive and Forget?

Share a story where it was very difficult for you to forgive the perpetrator for wronging you, but you did it — you forgave them.

Perhaps I should just say that I’m a Scorpio. I don’t forgive people. Even when I say I forgive people, I’m not really sure that I forgive them… I think I just get over it and move past it, but I will never forget whatever it was they did to wrong me.

Scorpio’s certainly know how to hold a grudge. We also know how to take things to extremes. In saying that, people generally don’t do anything that requires me forgiving them… they just know not to get on my bad side because I’ll lose my shit.

I think one example of me forgiving somebody was an ex-friend of mine who ‘outed’ me to a group of people. I remember telling her something that I thought was in confidence. Unless you’ve dealt with the stress, the inner torment, the anxiety of ‘coming out’ to people, you probably won’t understand – however, to those of you who have, you know what I’m talking about.

It was hard enough coming out to my own mother, and even that in itself took twelve months to happen. It’s something that you need to do in your own time when you’re ready to; when you’re comfortable enough.

This bitch robbed me of that. I told her this in confidence. Granted, it wasn’t news, but for me to confirm it, was like having a small weight lifted off my shoulders… and I had a lot of small weights that needed lifting. So even after the long discussion we had about me not being ready to tell other people, especially other friends (well, now ex-friends) of mine until *I* was ready, she pretty much hung up the phone and told them all. Later that night I got calls and text messages from them…

HOWEVER, they were all upset and angry at me, wanting to yell at me for not telling them; for not feeling comfortable enough to tell them, and instead, choosing this particular friend over the rest of them.

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Here I am feeling quite vulnerable and you’re yelling at me for it??  Oh HELL NO.

I was pissed. How could you rob me of this moment? I know that she was excited, and really happy for me, and yes, at the end of the day I was going to end up telling them anyway, so I did look at the bigger picture and forgive her for doing what she did. She was young and naive.

…and I was foolish for thinking that I could trust her.

However, that was one of the last conversations that I had with that group of people.

 

Like I said, I may forgive, but I will not forget.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/21/prompt-forgive/

Daily Prompt: Mad as a Hatter

Tell us about a time when you flew into a rage. What is it that made you so incredibly angry?

There are countless memories I have of when I’ve, quite literally, gone into a white-hot table-flipping rage

But I think the one incident that tops this list belongs to one particular evening when I had a confrontation with my father on the telephone.

It was back in 2003 in the lead up to my 21st birthday. He had expressed some desire to want to visit me in Melbourne and spend time with me for my birthday. Apparently the previous 10 years of not really wanting to even be around him didn’t seem to get the message across to him, so you can imagine my confusion when he said he wanted to visit.

I should point out that at this moment in time, I had been living in Melbourne for almost two years, and made it crystal clear to my mother and my brother that under no certain terms, were they to disclose my address to him. The result of this, was that he would then send letters / cards to my mothers house, and she would then forward them on to me, along with a letter from herself as well.

More often than not, as soon as I saw his handwriting on the enclosed envelope, I’d roll my eyes, sigh heavily and mentally prepare myself for the emotional drivel that was contained in the contents of the envelope.

Then, naturally, I’d call mum straight away

And this one particular night, after a very, very long counselling telephone conversation with my mum, I reached the decision that I had to be upfront with him and that I had to tell him that I didn’t want him to come to Melbourne and I didn’t want to see him.

See, as much as I can be a bitch, I actually get stressed out when it comes to confrontation. I can’t do it. In my head I can, but actually physically following through with it is a completely different story. So, when I’m on the phone to my mum, I was getting all fired up saying stuff along the lines of ‘yeah, and I’m gonna tell him I don’t want to see him! And I’m gonna tell him not to bother coming to Melbourne at all! Why the fuck should I be the one to feel obligated to drop everything to see him, of all people I can’t stand. Fuck that. Right, well, I’m gonna go call him now and tell him and get it done with!!’.

I was ready for a fight. I called his number and waited for his rough, masculine voice to answer the phone.

Over the course of that almost three-hour conversation, not only did I bring the heat for my ‘fight’, I bought twenty years of repressed emotional turmoil that my father was responsible for. He brought me to the door, and I opened it.

And it all came flooding out.

All of it.

Everything. Every instance and memory of emotional blackmail. Every moment he destroyed a small piece of my soul. Every time he made me feel like I didn’t exist… did somebody say daddy issues??!!

I unleashed twenty-years of pain, and wasn’t taking any prisoners. I was out for blood.

Nothing had prepared me for what came out of my fathers mouth during that conversation. One little sentence, which I will not repeat here, but one little sentence that completely changed me. Permanently. One little sentence that ended everything right there and then.

Completely shocked, speechless and outraged, I hung up the phone and sat there in a stunned silence before everything suddenly made sense.

I called mum immediately, incoherent and crying incoherently.

I relayed the entire conversation verbatim to her, and tried to make more sense of it. In doing so, I also put mum into a table-flipping rage. During our conversation, I managed to briefly calm down and the sadness and the hurt and the pain quite rapidly turned to rage. It also didn’t help that during my two-hour conversation with mum, he tried calling at least 9 or 10 times.

By that stage, I’d had enough.

‘Mum, he’s calling again. I’m gonna go and deal with this….’

Just as I hung up the phone to mum, he called my phone again.

‘…WHAT?!’

‘I, ah, I just wanted to see if you were okay?’

I needed to take a couple of deep breaths before I responded because all I could think in my head was pretty much:

I tried to remain as calm and rational as humanly possible. I think it lasted maybe three minutes… maybe. I don’t really remember much of that conversation because I was so full of rage, I was physically shaking. All I remember out of that was telling him that I was done and as of that moment I wanted nothing more to do with him, and he was dead to me.

The last I remember hearing was my father on the phone crying and apologising and asking me not to say that. Correction, asking me not to ‘joke around’.

Who’s joking? I was serious. I was done. You don’t say something like that to somebody, ESPECIALLY YOUR OWN DAMN CHILD!!! As soon as I hung up that phone, nothing would ever be the same again. I was crying, he was crying, I was in a rage. I hung up and called mum and had a complete emotional breakdown on the phone.

I, again, relayed the entire conversation verbatim to her, in between my uncontrollable fits of crying. By the time I had finally calmed down it was about three or four in the morning, and I was feeling guilty about keeping my mum awake for so long and listening to me. We said goodnight and I hung up the phone and fell asleep.

On the floor. In the corner. In the dark. Where I had been crying.

I woke up later that day, and dragged myself into the shower. I then put myself to bed, cried myself to sleep, and didn’t leave the bed for another two days. I don’t remember eating. I think I had a biscuit at some point, and maybe a Berocca, but I’m not even sure about that.

I do remember that when I did get up, I felt confused and disoriented. I sat on the window-sill in the lounge room and called mum and asked if what happened, actually happened, or whether it was just a nightmare, and she confirmed everything. That day, I began the start of my new life.

From that point on, my father was dead to me. He was nothing to me. Nothing. At that point I decided to renounce my fathers influences on my name – middle and last name – and began the process to legally change my name to my mothers maiden name.

It was one of the best decisions I have ever made, and since that day, I have never looked back or had any feelings of regret for doing so.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/2013/12/19/prompt-mad-hatter/