“it’s too close to home, and it’s too near the bone”

I should have written about this as soon as it happened, caught up in my righteous indignation as I was then; but the little white box scared me out of it, and so I let it go for a few hours.

Work was cancelled today, in favour of a much-needed jaunt to the doctors and uni stuff. I am now an official mental with ‘urgent’ counselling and real proper medication. I also booked in for a smear test, my first, and I am absolutely horrified at the prospect; possibly because I remember being told it was like scraping your insides with a trowel, but that may not be accurate. Anyway, my gynaecological health couldn’t be of less concern to you, I’m sure, so on with that which I would avoid saying.

Walking back along the posh main road I was lost in a chatter with my dearest girlfriend when some prick sped by in a car I hadn’t even noticed with a shockingly loud exclamation of:

“FATTY!”.

Now, we all know that he wasn’t talking to the size 10 walking next to me, and one can only assume that the incongruity of the Diet Coke in my hand provoked this troubled individual to action.

No, enough with the glib, it was like this stranger I didn’t even see had stabbed me in the heart. You know when actresses, really good actresses, do their reaction shots and it takes a good few seconds for them to run a gamut of emotions and then settle into a measured reaction? That’s what my face did. I always thought Judi Dench et al were simply showing range and putting it on for effect, but I felt each muscle move in time with the little bursts of different feelings that bitchslapped me one after the other.

I did try laughing it off, it’s what I would usually do. But hello? I’m depressed and hyper-sensitive to criticism so how do you think I took it? I’m on crying jag number three, and the book I’m trying to finish taking notes on is now a tear-stained mess (Democracy in America, since you ask). What makes it so much worse is that my instinct is to comfort eat. I want all the things that made me this way, because the familiarity and the short, sharp bursts of serotonin will make the whole thing seem more bearable. Yes I know, addict talk, but there you have it.

Very shortly, I’ll remember that this random guy is a social cripple with a tiny penis and a lonely brain cell. I’m just not quite there yet.

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11 responses to ““it’s too close to home, and it’s too near the bone”

  1. Oh honey pie! I’m so sorry. You will indeed reach the mindset of the last sentence before long but for now it bites horribly. I don’t know what to say other than that, sorry.

    Hugs to you darling.

  2. It’s just so unnecessary – did he think I wouldn’t know without him pointing it out? Honestly! Blah, shall get thin and never be shouted at again etc!

  3. People like him don’t care a jot if you would be offended or not. That’s what makes them all the more insufferable and nasty.

  4. He’s lucky I had such delayed reaction, else he’d have had a can of Diet Coke through his windscreen.

  5. Did you get the license plate?

    Kinda tears of rage from this corner. My RSS reader has only just let me know you posted this.

  6. Nah, it was over in a second, and I wasn’t even looking at the road. We were both a bit stunned, since it’s a bit 15 year-old joyrider-y and we don’t get much of that round our way 😉
    If I had, I would have rung crimestoppers and told them I saw the car being nicked.

  7. I’m going to go beat up some 15-year-old joyriders at random tomorrow then.

  8. Aw, hit them with a brick in a fitba sock from me, would you?

  9. They were twats. And I’m a size 12.

  10. If you say so, dear 😉

  11. Put it all out of your head now, honey. I dare say he crashed a couple of miles down the road anyway.

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