Moving on

I was half wishing that by the time I posted anything on this blog, my latest dumped-by-BF-on-birthday crisis had ceased and passed away. Unfortunately, and without any significant surprise on my side, it's still there.

I will not probably name it a "crisis" anymore. I'm feeling less depressed than before. I managed to find out what is wrong with my head (cause I honestly thought I was in a process of going mental, like proper sick in the head). I succeeded ignoring everyone at the office, thus making myself less annoyed. In general, I can say that I'm doing better.

BUT, I also know that I cannot lie and say everything is sparkling good. Have you ever been in that situation when mother nature is just taking the piss at you now? It's like the whole universe conspiring to push your buttons, and you are left there wanting to scream your lungs out: WHHHHHYYYYYYYY??!! You know?

It's funny that in this specific moment, I can always point out what's wrong with me but not with other people. Everybody else seems perfect, have perfect life with perfect house and perfect spouse, not to mention the perfect newly-born-baby. While, I'm the perfect sore loser who recently just got dumped and went into severe burn-out stress with dead-end job. See? It's so easy to make myself feel or look like a sorry-ass-cow.

BUT (again), everybody keeps on telling me that blaming myself at this point will prove useless. First, it's not really my fault. So, I might be crazy... a bit, but that doesn't mean my craziness was the only cause of the fail relationship. Second, it takes two to tango, said my sister. And sure that sounds right. I can't continue blaming myself for everything. Even though, victimising yourself can be so entertaining (in an obscene-depressive-horrid way). My beloved ex contributed the shit that I (we) had to go through.

They are baby steps; I have only made baby steps. Perhaps, baby midget steps... not that it makes significant difference. Point is, I don't want to put this issue as a central issue anymore. It's bloody frustrating. It exhausts me. It makes me feel that every dude in the world is just a different form of punching bags. Or a sack of potatoes.

Let's put some mantras: getoveritgetoveritgetoveritlupalupalupalupalupalukalukalukalupalupalupa

Amen.