The thing is, no matter which way I look at my life, I’m fucking up. Of this there is no doubt. When I actually try and look at it, it’s amazing how fucked up a normal person can be. But trust me, I don’t look at my life that often. But maybe that’s the problem.
My life is full of bars that I can’t go into, banks that make me feel sick if I walk past (to the point that I don’t walk past anymore), colleagues that I have to avoid on a social level. Internet sites I can’t visit, telephone calls that I avoid and mail that I don’t/won’t/can’t open. People, places, dates and conversations that I have to avoid because they are attached to an overwhelming sense of embarrassment and have been the source, scene, subject or result of one of my fuck ups.
Last week I spent the best part of two hours on the verge of vomiting and / or running away from a group of, actually very ordinary and pleasant, colleagues. Why? Because one of them had been present at a less than satisfactory moment in my life and I passed the two hours in fear that this would become the subject of conversation. As you have probably guessed, I am not only prone to fucking up, but as a human, I myself am actually pretty fucked up.
I have a great job with an excellent salary. I am blessed with great friends and a family that love me. Or at least they all love the ‘me’ that I present to them. They don’t really love me because they don’t know me. Of this I am sure. If they really knew me, really knew me, they wouldn’t like me, let alone love me. Although I guess you don’t have to like someone to love them.