Of Christmas

Hello. I know it’s been a very long time since my last post and I wish I could say that I spent it writing a novel. But that would only partially be true. Or even not true at all, depending on how you look at it. Either way, my absence has been caused by events and circumstances far less positive than I would wish them to be.

It’s Christmas though and I thought to myself: „Maybe it’s time I wrote something about what I’m going through. Maybe that would make me feel better”. So here it goes.

I feel a lot like Cindy Lou. I look around and see the Christmas lights and the Christmas tree and I try so hard to remember what it felt like when it was the most magical time of the year. A time when anything was possible. I can still recall the excitement I felt before Christmas Eve, when I knew that under that tree would be a wish come-true. And it wasn’t so long ago, that I looked expectantly at my pups, waiting for them to talk to me at midnight. Now, things don’t feel so bright.

First of all, my wishes have become far too complex for Santa to be able to keep up with the list. It’s not about a new Barbie doll, not even about that new PS4 I would love to have in my possession. It’s more about: „Santa, Jesus, whoever… Can you please make it so grandpa sits back in his spot on the couch… Can we sing Christmas Carols together again?” or „Santa, can you please erase the memories of T.? I can’t stand to think about him anymore. He’s not coming back. I know we are not going to get back together like we would in a Christmas flick, so can you make it so I don’t wait pointlessly for my phone to ring? I just want him to tell me he misses me. Actually I don’t, no wait, I do, no please don’t let him call me, just make him call me.”

So you see, Santa may have a very hard time making all those wishes come true. And I’m scared that, when in my depressed state I imagined myself jumping of a bridge so many times it feels more like a memory, and makes life so unreal it seems like I’m constantly dreaming or hallucinating, I may have killed that child in me that believed in Christmas magic. But there is no such thing as Christmas magic. And I’m saying that now, still scared that by stating it, I’m slaughtering something hidden deep inside of me. Does the fact that December 25th has become just another date in a calendar, mean that I’m a grown up now? Does the fact that the bell from Polar Express makes no sound to my ears, mean that I have officially entered into adulthood? I don’t think so… It just makes life a little less… Magical. I still don’t have all my stuff together, my priorities straight or no idea what I’m actually doing. Where I’m going.

So… Yeah. I wish Christmas came back in full force. I want the Christmas lights to turn back into promises of joy instead of commercial, overly expensive reminders of the fact that we need to go shopping and spend money and fuel the economy so the rich can get richer and the poor can… remain poor with some more useless stuff in their homes. I want to believe that magical things can happen, even if it’s not people coming back from the dead (because let’s be honest, that would be terrifying) or people who never appreciated you when they had the chance, coming back into our lives with promises of everlasting love (they probably wouldn’t keep past December).

So what is there left to wish for? Well… Love. Not necessarily the romantic kind, even though as a romantic I always put that on my Christmas wishlist. But love among mankind. I want to turn on the news and hear that people have donated outrageous amounts of money to those in need, instead of buying new iPhones they really don’t need. That will probably not happen either but… It’s a worthwhile wish, isn’t it?

I for myself will try to resurrect my Christmas joy and instead of mourning the passing of a loved one, appreciate the people I still have in my life. Instead of wishing for a lost love, wish for a new love, hopefully one that will stay and be true. Instead of contemplating suicide, try and look forward to the future, because I still don’t know what it might bring. And perhaps, it will be magical?

Merry Christmas!


Make a wish…


Of Double-Standards

Inspired by a story shared by a friend… And sadly, countless other stories.

She slept with you, so therefore it’s ok for you to treat her like crap, you don’t need her anymore, and she’s probably a slut who sleeps with everyone. Or maybe you treated her nice but then got bored and so you tell her some bullshit lie and move on, assuming that she’ll be fine. Eventually she will be. Or not, but who cares? And you live like that, leaving a trail of scarred humans, who will carry those experiences into their new relationships, always afraid, that the same thing is going to happen… Again. In turn, they might hurt others, people who don’t deserve it, just because they can’t allow themselves to love again. Because how can they forgive themselves for making those same, bad judgement calls over and over? How many lessons do you need before you finally learn? And what’s the lesson? And who hurt you in a way that made you the way that you are?

That is what I find so frustrating about this narrative. There isn’t a villain on either side of the fence. We do it to each other constantly. Girl breaks a guys heart, so he breaks ten others, and they break mens’ hearts, and so on, and on, and on, the vicious cycle goes. And the other way around. Maybe it all starts with the parents.

Some men I spoke to, who consider themselves progressive and feminist told me that it’s the women’s fault. How ironic. Quote „Women just want the bad boys. They chase after assholes and they reject the nice guy because it’s too easy”. Guess who is the nice guy in that statement? The sentence itself is only partially true. It assumes that you can put all women in one category that wants the same exact thing and poor you, just can’t figure out what it is that they want? What do these women want? Well, what do humans want? Humans want to be loved and cared for, but also want to feel good about themselves, they like to be successful… You know, lotsa stuff that has not much to do with dating. And yet it has everything to do with dating. You don’t want to be living with someone whose ambitions or passions or interests don’t match yours. So as a „nice” guy, what do you bring to the table? How far have you really gone out of your way to show her that you care? Can you give her what she needs? Did you take the time to figure out what it is that she, specifically needs, to be able to give it to her? Maybe you didn’t, because you don’t really care and the „nice guy” is just a facade to cover up the fact, that really, you’re not much different from the „assholes”?

Now, what defines an asshole is another matter. One of my friends recently posted a story on Facebook about this guy she met for drinks at a bar. Straight away, he told her  all he was seeking was sex, she told him she wasn’t interested, and so he left. After 10 minutes apparently. Ok. Not the nicest thing to hear or do, but at least he was honest? I mean, of course women shouldn’t be treated as just sexual objects, so the fact that you even feel like it’s ok to say something like that is a problem, but you’re not trying to play anyone at least? From my experience, it’s far better to hear that sort of thing right away, because then you can just move on, as if nothing ever happened. Because it didn’t. You were made a proposition that you either took or refused and no harm was done. It is far more devious to trick somebody into thinking you care for them, and then after you got what you wanted tell them the truth. Well kind of truth, because  really: it’s not the truth. The truth was, you just wanted to fuck, now you have to make up a story that doesn’t make you seem like an asshole. Which you are. Definition: „I’m being honest, I’m not looking for a relationship and I don’t want you to feel like you’ve been used”. Can you say that again please? You went out with me a bunch of  times and slept with me and now you’re telling me you’re not looking for a relationship, but you didn’t want to use me? That is the definition of using someone!

And honestly sometimes when I heard that kind of stuff I really wondered… And maybe that’s just me, having too much faith in humanity, but could it be possible, they really didn’t realize what they were doing? Or maybe they just weren’t thinking about it because the penis was doing all the thinking? But that doesn’t make it ok, does it? Because I’m still locked up in my bathroom two weeks later, crying over something silly like: spilling my tea. Because the truth is I’m hurting all over. I’m disappointed, sad, angry. Yet, I’m not allowed to express that. I’m not allowed to be angry or hurt. I certainly can’t show it. Because I was never allowed to care in the first place. We’re only supposed to care when the guy cares. If he shows up and tells you he has feelings for you and you reject him, you’re a bitch who didn’t want the „nice” guy. That probably means you’re superficial, and only chase after attractive douches, because it is not possible, that you simply don’t reciprocate his feelings. So we’re forced to be strong and indestructible, after you told us we were just a piece of ass you messed around with, but if you tell us you want us, we’re supposed to fall at your feet and be vulnerable and gentle „I’ve found my hero, now I can be the distressed damsel I’ve always craved to be”. We’re women. We are made to love. I don’t care how many females broke your heart, I am yet to meet a woman who doesn’t ultimately seek love. That doesn’t always mean a committed relationship. But you won’t have a conversation, or try to understand. You get a hint of feeling and you run away because it scares you. You took the love when you wanted it, and it made you feel good as it always does, but giving something back? Hell no, got too much sperm to put into other uteruses.


To Be Continued…

In the next rant: dating, men, women, sex and double standards.