The curse of never forgetting.

The start of the year is always a weird and emotional one, no matter how many times I tell myself that I won’t have some sort of melodramatic related breakdown, I always end up having one, and the start of this year has been no exception. It’s currently the 6^th of January and I’m already experiencing said melodramatic meltdown.

The thing is I don’t have any idea why I’m having this meltdown so early in the year, it hasn’t even been 2019 for a week, and yet I’m already giving up on my whole focus on being positive and happier in yourself bullshit, I told myself at five to midnight six days ago, but must of admit six days is pretty solid for me, so well done libs I guess. Sure I’ve got a couple of ideas as to why I’m having this very teenage angst meltdown, that you only see in indie teenage romantic comedies for reference I feel very Palo Alto mixed with The Breakfast Club. But these feelings and thoughts are just reoccurring feelings that I’ve told myself aren’t a thing anymore, that they’ve gone, they left when I spent a whole Saturday sulking listening to Layurn Hill, that those feelings had gone, disappeared and that my heart had badly patched itself back together, that it was now ready for someone to break it apart again.

But of course in classic libs style, that isn’t the truth at all, my head and my heart hasn’t mended itself, it hasn’t forgotten in the slightest and its decided that with a new year old feelings are not forgotten, they’re still their lurking waiting for me to remember something that I tell myself I don’t want to remember. So of course again in classic libs style she’s going to try her hardest to push these feelings down into the deepest part of herself and try her best to distract herself until something becomes way too much to handle and I have enough of these odd meltdown’s that aren’t really meltdown’s and spends hours trying to convince herself that its definitely not that thing, you know it is and it is in fact that thing you keep pretending its not.

There’s a number of things that have lead me to this lovely little six to nine hour meltdown, one being a book that I’ve put off reading for a solid six months because I knew it was going to in the nicest possible way fuck me up real good, in the sense of its way too relatable for my liking and in the other sense that its going to lead me to some kind of writers breakdown, because I know I’m probably never going to write anything half as good as said book, and really I should just give up because there’s no point. The book in question is everything I know about love by Dolly Alderton.

Now if the title wasn’t a red flag for me, then the contents is definitely a big old red flag, like I said before I’ve put off reading this book for the longest time its been sat on my desk starting at me, telling me to read it, so I thought with it being a new year that I was finally ready to read it, that those feelings I had was gone non existent, gone in space, disappeared forever, finito, au revoir, thank u next. But alas I’m not even a 100 pages into the book and I’m having this wonderful little meltdown, I’ve always loved Dolly’s writing probably because it reminds me of my life, some things that she talks about are so similar to the things that have happened to me that it’s just that  little bit creepy. The second thing that’s probably brought on this delightful little meltdown is my wonderfully vivid and stubborn mind that refuses to forget anything good or bad, because I have the curse of forgetting.

What I’m calling the curse of forgetting is just basically me remembering pretty much everything that’s ever happened to me, good or bad, it’s that thing when you think everything is going well, your doing okay and then suddenly that wave of nausea and pranging in your chest then your hit with that memory that you wasn’t even aware you still kept in your head, it shocks you so much that you have to remain in the fetal position reeling about this memory and any other memory you can conjure up, to keep that nausea and stabbing pain around. An example of this would be me last night, after talking to someone for a solid nearly four months and blowing said person off every time they asked if I wanted to go on a “date” using quotations because we all know that translates into dick appointment, I told myself that if they asked once more that I wouldn’t come up with some awful excuse or just blank them completely then use the classic “sorry didn’t see your message”, no because this time I told myself that I would go because one your need for attention is getting extreme and this person doesn’t seem that bad and two this wont go anywhere probably ever which is what you need because despite not wanting to be alone anymore, you need to be because three bad relationships in a row will fuck up a person kind of a lot.

Despite telling myself all these things for a good four hours, and waiting for the inevitably “wanna do something tonight?” text when the said text finally arrived did I message back and say yeah sounds good?” did I fuck. Instead I had a freak out texting four people telling about said freak out, then blanked all messages and assumed the fetal position, talked myself out of it then got so annoyed at myself that I went to bed at half eleven ON A SATURDAY NIGHT I'M TWENTY NOT 56.

Listen my mind gets to the best of me the majority of times I set out to do something, I’m my world’s worse enemy in pretty much anything I do, the self doubt and self loathing is lurking constantly, so I’m used to talking myself out of anything when I put my mind to it, so this comes as no surprise but the surprise is that these shitty feelings and memories that at the time I told myself to cherish, now I want them gone because life sadly isn’t like all of them films that I watch, Hugh grant wont come after me on his wedding day, tell me he’s made some huge mistake in the pouring rain, I wont say some cheesy line about how I didn’t notice it was raining when clearly I did because its pissing down and I’m cold. These films have given me false hope for as long as I can remember, they influenced me in ways someone who is so easily influenced by anything shouldn’t be influenced by, because I tell myself and others on countless occasions, that I don’t believe in this sort of thing and I’m not a hopeless pathetic romantic that wants the ending of Notting Hill or Bridget Jones to happen to her, but I do, I always have, mix that with the curse of never forgetting and your truly fucked.