What a terrible end to a fantastic weekend.
I left home late on friday morning, slightly anxious but mostly excited for what was to come. My mother was terribly mean to me, more than usual, but I kept thinking just a few minutes and you're out of this shithole for three days and it totally helped my stomach ache and my nausea. I met up with friends and started queuing for Jake Bugg at 4pm. He's my lover boy so I had to be front row. After some weird ass plot twists, everything went well and I got some cheeky half asleep eye contact during the gig and I was over the moon. We didn't get to meet the man himself but we got his pizza leftovers so there's this.
On Saturday I went to see Phoenix with Jane, Juliet and her friend Alice. Once again, we had a blast, I didn't even panic when the crowd pushed to be closer to the singer who was crowd surfing close to me. I was so proud of myself. I even ate after the gig, all was good.
Then on Sunday I went to see Swim Deep with Jane and Juliet, and my sister Blandine. I had fun but I still felt a bit tense, my stomach was sensitive (I chewed gum all afternoon so I was in pain) and when we went back home to watch The Day of the Doctor I felt really nauseous. I managed to sleep okay, and when I woke up I had to go to the loo to make sure I wasn't sick but that was it. I had the whole day to do whatever I wanted before going back home by the end of the afternoon.
When I started walking to the station, this horrible stomach ache came out from nowhere and I honestly don't know how I managed to keep walking. It died down enough for me to walk some more, but creeped back again when I reached destination. I sat down and felt this hot flush shaking my bones. Automatically my throat felt tight and I felt nauseous, and then I needed to go to the restroom. I waited for my sister and she took me to the loo. I had some badass full on diarrhea. If I could have panicked more, I would have died. I felt so awful. I thought it was it, I was going to puke my bowels out in the open, for the whole population to see. Then I felt like crying. Some very clear thoughts made their way through my conscience and I needed to break down to let go of the pressure and soothe the nauseas. But I couldn't. Not with my sister. So I still have everything bottled up, because texting is great but I need something real right now. I honestly think these heavy panic attacks are just my brain telling me to let go of some of my negative vibes and shit, and right now it's still ongoing because I haven't let my hair down.
I'm just tired of being scared of my own mother. I needed to text her to tell I was staying one more night and why, and I was so scared of her reaction. I'm actually dreading her actual reaction when I come back home tomorrow.
I'm tired of only living the life I want in my head. When I'm lying in bed, pretending to have something better going on in my life. Pretending that this handsome famous dude I'm currently obsessed with is my boyfriend, and my friends are like this and that, and I'm 10cm taller, and 10kg skinnier, and I'm so rich and I am carefree and never sick or anxious. But it only happens in my head and it's eating me alive. The difference between what I imagine and what I'm really going through is too much to take. Back in high school I had a few problems but I had school, friends, a love life, a daily routine. I could allow myself some quality daydreaming. I actually daydreamed about a guy I saw everyday, so it wasn't too frustrating. But right now? God help me, I have nothing. Not one thing is actually a tiny bit like I want it to be. So when I snap back to reality, it hurts. Next year will be a bit better when Taylor is here, but she's only staying for 6 months. Then it will all be back to boring ass life killing me softly. I just want to be somewhere else, with other people, in a different situation and why not as a different person. I want to be in London, I want to be a photographer, I want to go out for brunch with Taylor and some perfect friends I haven't met yet, I want to have a loving, funny, clever, creative and goddamn handsome boyfriend (if Jake Bugg or Dylan O'Brien are reading...) who is going to love me rightfully, and support me, and be everything I need him to be when I need him to be. I want someone to be amazed at how lucky they are to know me, I want to actually see the love in their eyes when they look at me. But to be honest when I say all that I don't even believe it's going to ever happen to me. Nobody would ever feel like that for me. It's just not happening.
I'm sick of being such a stupid prick who can't even fuck the world off and do her own thing. Who am I sick for? Not myself Because it sure ain't helping me in any way.
Please someone somewhere do something.