Stress, mental scars and other realizations

I miss my gynaecologist, I miss my dermatologist, I miss my urologist and I miss my general practitioner. They are the only men that can save me from falling apart.
Some physical examination.
And no, I am not a hypochondriac. I just think the doctors in the UK aren’t capable.
For the past month, I thought I was having seasonal asthma, but it has been an on-going panic attack like never before in my life. Now possible rosacea on my face and again a sensitive kidney. How did that happen? Or did I have it coming? I can’t even leave my room without tons of make-up. I don’t know what the doctor has just prescribed me. But it will be the first time to take oral medication for skin treatment. If it’s so bad now, I wonder what my skin will look like in ten years.

I can smell autumn; it’s been a year since I’ve felt these shivers. And they feel good.

People still won’t shut the fuck up: How are you how are you how are you how are you how are you???
God, I don’t want to lie to you, I wish I could.  Devil, I wish I could. How about I keep my mouth shut?
It’s so typical for the British to apologise for every fucking thing. Or maybe I just don’t understand the word “sorry”, but to me, it has only got one meaning in this country and that’s a pity.
“Sorry”, as a word itself, is usually one of the hardest things to say (among “I love you” or “help me” or “thank you”). Here, “sorry” is used to express pity.
Whenever I feel someone pities me, I just want to smack their gob, especially if I know they don’t even care.
Germans would simply say “Tja” as in “get over it.” I hate it as well, but it’s much more effective, it’s almost like a slap in the face, no pretence.

Wow, the last time I remember feeling this way was January 1st. And then I got absorbed in writing. I could continue doing the same now if it wasn’t the future. I’ve been putting the future on hold for a year and now it’s seeking double attention. Fucker.
There are creative people who don’t know what to do with their lives. If ever their artistic abilities are required in marketing or advertising, the artist’s art becomes a victim of exploitation; the piece of art is used to make the audience throw its money out of the window, but it doesn’t go to the artist, because he has sold his soul to the firm that he works for.
But isn’t it inevitable nowadays? Mr. Hicks, please come and save us!

I have realised a lot of things, but most of all – how stupid I am. I just can’t relax my shoulders, you know.
I think we’re in the exact same era again like in Dos Passos’s book, except I’d call it ‘London City Transfer’. I remember that man saying on the bridge: “What’s the point?”

There are a lot of points. And I haven’t run out of them, yet.
You see, I’m stupid. All I’ve got is a creative mind that keeps me going. I think my I.Q. is just a little over 110, which is low, right? However, my level of E.I. outweighs yours. And yet, I’ve always wished to be free of emotions.
But I can read your body language, I see the twitch at the corner of your mouth, I see the fake smile, I see your dilated pupils; I can sense almost everything that your body emits. Most of the time, it’s making me sick, because I understand you too much, your emotions become part of me. I can even tell whether or not you need a therapist.
I’m still stupid because I’m not doing anything about your emotions, like, I wouldn’t send you to a therapist. Do I care?
There are so many people who can’t think for themselves.

I’ve also realised that friends are not there to be relied on. You can’t rely on anybody. But you can rely on me and that’s my greatest burden; a weakness that too many have discovered. Besides, I think about everyone every day, but a lot of people out there only think about you when they need something. Once you’ve helped out, they forget that they have a favour to return, or they are being plagued by laziness. Everyone fucking lacks gratitude. I was expecting new logos for this blog from two people – nothing ever came. Also expected a drawing for my novel – not done in time.
I personally never ask for favours, no major ones anyway. There is just no one to rely on.

I also realised that I need to make another big change – health-wise. Three years ago I replaced my actual breakfast (corn flakes, bread) with fruits and I noticed a positive change. I’ve been eating fruits for breakfast ever since. I haven’t drunk cola for two years and generally, I avoid soda drinks. I haven’t chewed gum for years, either, because the idea of aspartame turning into scum that settles in my body puts me off. Scum is harder to get rid of, whereas fat you can burn.
Coffee and black tea have been deteriorating my skin, so I will replace them with green tea from now on, just one cup a day, because one cup of green tea can, in a worst-case scenario, keep me up all night. I will stay away from contaminated Chinese snacks (they ALL include preservatives and therefore glutamate).

Do you fucking think I’m exaggerating? Well, you don’t even know that your metabolism’s fucked up and that your body’s intoxicated. You will soon see.
I’m teaching myself patience, it’s all coming too soon – the illness.

When I first had eczema at the age of 13, I didn’t understand what it was. How stressed must I have been at that age? It went away a year later. Then seborrhoeic eczema evolved on my scalp when I was 16 – it’s even here now. In my early twenties, facial eczema returned and worsened, panic attack introduced itself, etc. I remember going to the GP twice to make sure I didn’t have asthma. Of course, I didn’t.

Yes, stress-induced. Lovesickness-induced, deadline pressure…

There was a lot more to it: gluttony, weight gain, and weak immune system leading to flu, migraines and mid-ear infection. But those times are over.

Then, stress had another idea…
It would make me forget about thirst, so my kidney started poking.

Over the years I’ve learnt to control emotions, and sometimes they aren’t even there. I just find it hard to control anger. Though, it’s an energy that I find advantageous sometimes for creative purposes. There are so many people to be angry with. They are ruining your life, as simple as.
Do you think I have loved? I can assure you I haven’t.
I only realised a while ago that I’ve never loved my ex. Throughout the years of dating (on/off) it was just the “idea” of being in love; the “idea” of first love being precious…apparently. The truth was that I hadn’t been happy, not for a minute. There was never a sense of security, trust or whatever, but the “idea” and imagination of it. I started lying to myself which wasn’t fun, it’s still not fun. I never used to lie to myself.
In the end, I was just used to being with him. He still stalks me on social networks. On my blog, he is my top visitor. I think that every time he visits this site, he looks for a hint of him in my words. Here are the words. Empty words.
Nothing left but paralysis, numbness and nausea and a bad bitter taste in my mouth whenever I waste a thought about the past. Other guys left a sweeter taste on my tongue. It’s because they care about health. I think that says a lot.

Now I understand why I’ve been dreading love so much – that chemical reaction. Even my feelings for Nick were stronger, they are still vivid, it’s because nothing ever happened. I have kept the feelings in my Jil Sander bottle. If you ever smell Jil Sander on me, it’s because I like you.
That chemical reaction is fictional – that’s the saddest thing about love. I wouldn’t recommend anyone to think that way. I’m just too Houellebecq-ian and Cioran-ian, except that I believe in hope.

Well, there was no second I didn’t suspect him of cheating. That, first of all, triggered me to start lying to myself, which was worse than hearing his lies. This explains why I even lie to myself today. What does this say about me? That I have become an obsessive dick myself?
I was thinking that because my protagonist (OCD, Narcissistic Personality Disorder and Post-traumatic Stress Disorder) sees a link between her and her obsessive admirer. At least it’s an obsessive admirer capable of making decisions, able to think for himself and able to let go in the end, let go.
For four years I had cherished an “idea”, the “idea” that later unfolded in self-destruction and it’s still in progress, but I’m making my protagonist the victim…
…because I’m selfish.
In German we have a saying…if you dig a grave for someone, you’ll fall in it yourself. Yes, I know.

Anyway, the feelings for Nick are kept in my Jil Sander bottle. If you smell Jil Sander on me, you’ll know I like you. You can enhance those feelings, so please do, before I fall in that hole and crumble away.

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