Slept in as long as I could, but I also wanted to get a lot of stuff done today. Surprisingly, I actually did.
Today’s focus was more of the same: finding a job. I sent off a ton of applications, and followed up on even more. We’ll see what happens. Applying to jobs constantly feels like a dead-end process for me.
Finding a job is like trying to find a space in a mall parking lot. Except, in my case, it’s like trying to find a space in a mall parking lot on Black Friday, I’m driving an SUV, and all of the spots are for compact cars or handicapped people. Surely, at some point, something has to open up, right? Do I keep circling, or do I sit in a row and just wait for what I want to become available? I don’t know anymore. Mondays are supposed to be the day when things happen. And nothing fucking happened today. Fuck.
Anyway, after a ton of emails, cover letter edits, applications, and researching executives’ email addresses so I could spam their personal inboxes with my CV, I worked out at Casa Z, packed up my stuff, and went downtown to see Bryan. I picked him up at his apartment, and we drove to La Carnita in The Beaches for dinner. It was a really good time. Obviously, I hadn’t seen him in a while, so it was nice to catch up in-person. The evening actually went better than I thought it would.
Bryan is very easy to talk to. There’s no argument about that. However, one thing that I’m trying to be a lot more cautious of – especially since the Logan situation – is sharing too much about myself with someone. It’s not that details of my life will never come out, but I felt like I completely over-shared with Logan. I told him so many things about myself that I shouldn’t have. I made myself seem very unattractive mentally/emotionally, and I’m still embarrassed about it.
I have a very hard time holding back when it comes to revealing intimate details about myself. It just pours out of me like word vomit. That struggle is not unique to my romantic life, either. I’m a completely open book with so many people, even strangers. I’ll say things that might seem really deep, but what people don’t understand is that everything I say has so much else attached to it. When I reveal certain details about myself, but don’t give it with proper context, it makes me look like a crazy person.
Fuck. I am a crazy person. Let’s cut the bullshit here. Just look at me over-analyzing all of this right now, even. Why do I care so much about what people think of me? I hate this insecurity shit.
Back to Bryan. The dinner was good. Bryan even insisted on picking up the entire check, which was very thoughtful of him. Everything Bryan does is thoughtful. It kills me. His consideration is everything I want from a partner. Yet, it feels like there’s another piece that’s missing. I haven’t figured out what it is, though. Maybe that piece isn’t even something on Bryan’s end. More than likely, it’s not. It’s on me. I’m not able to let go of the past, live in the present, and accept the future.
Bryan and I talked for a long time in my car, both near the restaurant and on the street outside his apartment. I would have gone up to his place, but I remembered I worked at 7 a.m. tomorrow morning, so I decided to go back to Casa Z and spend the night again.
I know Bryan likes me more than I like him. It makes me feel so guilty. Everything makes me feel guilty, it seems. Even leaving my parents’ house makes me feel guilty. I feel guilty that I’ve been given every opportunity to excel at life, yet I’m not. I feel guilty about the way I act towards my parents, what I eat, what I do, what I watch, and what I listen to. There are so many parts of my life that make me feel as though I’m not measuring up. I know a lot of that is in my head, but it doesn’t stop me from being hard on myself. I’m my own worst critic sometimes. Most times.
I meant to write this yesterday. You know that picture I took in my mirror? The Mariah Carey album cover one? I was looking at it all day yesterday. I just kept staring at myself in that pose, thinking, “This is what I wanted.”
Every night, I wish on a star. I look up and focus on the first one I can see, and then I say to myself, “I wish I was thin.” I’m not exaggerating, either. I’ve actually wished on a star and prayed for that exact thing every night since I was 12-years-old. Now, look at me. I don’t have the dream body I envisioned – which is another topic of discussion altogether, because I don’t know if I’ll ever be satisfied with myself after years of low self-esteem – but I don’t hate it. For the most part, I’m not ashamed of my body, either. I put a lot of work in with my daily exercising, so there’s definitely a sense of pride that has developed as a result. But, if this is what I wanted for so long, why am I still not happy?
I thought that losing weight would solve everything. That everything would just happen for me after I slimmed down. Well, here I am, at a somewhat steady 175lbs, and I cry almost every day. I’m unhappier than when I was 18-years-old and weighed 230lbs, and it doesn’t make sense. What is missing? One would think that I have everything, yet I feel lonely and depressed all the time. Unloved, under-appreciated, and unwanted, despite everyone around me providing me with those feelings. I look at that picture – the Mariah Carey one – and it makes me sad.
I still wish on stars. Every night, I make a wish on the first star I see. Except now, I only wish to be happy. I don’t even know what that means, or what “being happy” would entail, but that’s what I want.
After a long conversation about everything, Bryan walked up to his apartment and I drove home. We really did talk a lot. Again, I know I revealed too much about myself.
Bryan had bought me a bulk sized bag of Cadbury Mini Eggs. He tried to give them to me in the car, insisting that I take them home with me. It was hell. I didn’t know how to handle the insane inner panic attack I was experiencing at the thought of that much chocolate in my life. After Bryan would not take, “No, thank you,” for an answer, I had to be very blunt with him multiple times. I could not take those goddamn eggs home with me. Remember Dad and the Peanut M&Ms from Costco? Exactly. I’m not going down that road again. Bryan took the candy upstairs with him, and we’ll see each other tomorrow night.
Back at Casa Z, I got high and took a trip down memory lane. I went through my iPhoto library, and stumbled upon the picture of a 17-year-old Kurt in his 2007 Hairspray Halloween costume. That photo is very important to me. It reminds me of how unique I am. I was 17 years old, 230lbs, unaware of my own sexuality, unbothered by others, and living my life to the fullest. I don’t want to go back to all of that, but I can’t help but feel like I’ve lost a lot of that free spirit. I’m trying to find my confidence again.
I’m getting three tattoos tomorrow. A Sankofa symbol, and two small butterflies. The Sankofa, in particular, really means a lot to me. It’s an African symbol that I discovered last summer, and it represents the need to understand your past as you prepare for your future.
“It is not wrong to go back for that which you have forgotten.”
Lately, I’ve found my past to be a great source of knowledge and strength as I attempt to move into my future. My past reminds me of what I am capable of and what I have accomplished. Yet, it also reminds me not to make some mistakes a second, third, or seventh time – whether it be in my personal/mental life, my professional life, or my romantic life.
I’ve stayed up too late, as usual.
Goodnight xo
@yalittlenasty Instagram post from this morning.
The “Mariah Carey” photo from yesterday, for reference. Witch Cave, Toronto
#1’s - Mariah Carey
This is me at 17, dressed up for Halloween as Edna Turnblad (John Travolta) from 2007’s Hairspray. Newmarket, Ontario
Time for bed. Kurt’s Bedroom, Casa Z