All The Small Things

So heres the thing.

I have the most incredibly wonderful boyfriend who loves me to pieces and whom I love with equal intensity. (Yes, I know that I'm rehashing. I'm going somewhere with this, go with me.)

We have had numerous and in depth discussions as to where this is going. I feel one hundred percent safe and secure in the idea that this is a long term, committed and serious relationship, and that we're on the same page as far as wanting to have each other around for an extremely long time if not forever. (Ditto, ditto, ditto, go with me.)

 

So I think we all also know that I've got some issues when it comes to my self esteem. (C'mon Sass, this is getting boring.)

 

I don't even know where to start with this. Some background perhaps.

GM's house is a boys house. But a nice boy's house. There are Ralph's, and FHM's and Zoo's floating about, but there aren't any nasty posters up anywhere, and the boys are respectful and nice to me. I'm not a huge fan of the magazine scene, never have been. The naked ladies only serve to make me feel fat and ugly and flatchested and lard bottomed and all round horrid about myself. The magazines being there doesn't bother me so much, its not like GM sits there and reads them in front of me.

But in the car on the way home from the McWedding of the McYear, he purchased himself a magazine and was reading it in the car as he sat beside me.

And I found myself getting more and more angry, my fingers clenching ever tighter around the steering wheel, every muscle in my body seizing up. The chest pains started up, and my head started getting really hot and ache-y.

After 20 minutes of this, I couldn't take it anymore and I asked him to put it away please, because it pissed me off that he was reading it in front of me. I told him that I thought that it was disrespectful, and it made me feel like shit. He apologised and put it away.

I coudn't shake it though. I got worse and worse. I started shaking, and I wanted to throw up.

I felt as if I'd been stabbed through the heart.

There was silence in the car.

I kept driving, I had my glasses on, I turned the stereo up, I kept driving, I tried to breathe slowly, calm down, relax.

"Are you OK darlin'?"

I couldn't even talk, I was just trying not to lose my breakfast. I nodded.

He reached over and took my hand.

And suddenly I wasn't angry anymore, I just felt incredibly sad and worthless.

Silent, hot, painful tears of absolute and suffocating misery.

 

I just felt worthless.

 

And I wanted to explain to GM, but I couldn't. I couldn't talk, I couldn't articulate what I was feeling, or give him any indication of why I was feeling it.

Patently, men everywhere read those magazines. They aren't bad - I've read them myself. Some of the articles are very good. I'm sure that my male friends read them, and I know that there is something deeply wrong with me that I have this sort of reaction to something so minor. Seriously, what are the naked ladies going to do? Jump off the page and start bonking him in the car??

I had to drop GM off shortly after this happened, 48kms at 110kms an hour, however long that takes.

He kissed me when I dropped him off and kept asking me if I was OK to drive. He kept apologising for upsetting me. He didn't mean to - I know that, and I have this horrible feeling that next time I go out to his place all the magazines will be gone and his brother will have been given a talking to about keeping them away from the communal areas. Which is silly, because its not about the magazines, its about how I feel about myself.

I said to him that it wasn't his fault, that I'm just a bit of a nutter really, and that although I know it shouldn't I can't help it, it upsets me. I'm just a stupid insecure girl. That it makes me feel like shit, and that I'm so very tired of feeling like shit.

He asked if I'd meet him for lunch along the way, and set the place. I agreed, and off we went, I had a big headstart, and I was driving upset, which always makes me hit the pedal a bit harder than I normally would.

As I drove, there were random bubbles of thought running about in my head, and they weren't in any particular order. Some of them didn't make any sense at all, others were quite lucid.

I'm so tired of feeling worthless.

I have to get past this, because GM loves me, and he would never intentionally hurt me.

I am ugly and empty, and shit.

Something must have happened to me to make me feel this worthless and ugly, and so very lacking in any sort of redeemable feature, but I have no idea what that might be.

Worthless.

I must get rid of this ring, because its just a visual reminder that someone thought I wasn't worth anything.

I feel so barren, and devoid of warmth.

I wonder, if I hit that ditch at 30 degrees, then counterturned the wheel, if I'd be able to flip the car, and slam it down hard enough to kill myself? But I can't do that, I have Nicky to think of.

I'm screwed in the head for thinking that way. I think that I may need to get some help with that.

Unlovable, ugly, horrible, empty, cold.

 

 

And then I started sobbing. And the tears ran hard and fast and hot down my face until I couldn't see the road and I had to pull over. I don't know how long I sat there, sobbing.

And all I could think was that I am completely and utterly worthless, incredibly ugly, and empty inside.

 

Eventually the sobbing stopped, and I could get my breath. That sounds odd doesn't it. The sobbing stopped. But it was like that, sort of disconnected and curious. Like a tap had been turned off, maybe. Or more like the power went out. Suddenly it stopped, but it wasn't me that stopped it.

I don't really think I had full control of myself from the moment that we got back in the car and he started reading. It was like something in my head snapped and the part of me that was driving was running on autopilot, but the rest of me had curled into the foetal position somewhere deep inside, and was periodically getting up and screaming.

I got back on the road and suddenly this incredibly clear dialogue started running through my mind. It was my voice, but coming from a very clear, very cold and detached distance.

Pull yourself together Sass. It is a given that when you love someone, you are opening your heart up to that person. You love GM, and he loves you. You have made a decision, both in your conscious and unconscious self, to open yourself completely to this man.

But what you must realise Sass is that every action truly does have an equal and opposite reaction. If you love someone, and you allow yourself to be open to the complete and utter joy that they can bring to your life, what you must understand is that you then leave yourself open to being hurt in equal measure.

You love GM, therefore you allowed him access to the part of you that is most easily bruised.

And then the phone rang.

It was GM - he had arrived at the restaurant, and was worried about where I was.

I had to pull over, I said.

I must have passed you then - I didn't see you though. Did you have a phonecall?

No. I'll be there soon hon.

Ok, drive safe please.

So we had lunch, or more precisely he had lunch because I was still struggling to keep down my breakfast. He was very gentle with me, I think he was worried that I'd start crying again. I looked like shit.

He held me in the carpark and that made the world right itself to some extent. I'm still feeling rather tender - but more concerned about the complete and utter overreaction than anything.

I guess I just want to be enough.

I want to be ENOUGH.

And I want to KNOW that I'm enough.

How is it possible for me to know that this man loves me, wants to spend his life with me and potentially make small children with me at some future date, but not know that his choice of reading material has no bearing on that?

I don't want to feel worthless. I don't want to feel ugly. I don't want to feel empty. I don't want to feel that I'm being compared to how other people look, and stacking up unfavourably.

I'm tired of feeling like I'm damaged and broken inside.

I'm tired of BEING damaged and broken inside.

I don't want to feel that every time he looks at me he sees my faults.

I don't want to see my faults every time I look at me.

 

I'm quite sure that this entry makes no sense whatsoever, and I'm damn sure that I'm no closer to a solution to this through writing it down. I guess I just needed to get it out of my head.

So this weekend I packed up my jarmies and headed to the much anticipated:

McWedding of the McYear.

And it was McLovely. (See what I did there... with the Mc???... Nevermind.)

The bride was all pretty and thin and tall and beautiful (as usual, only moreso) and her makeup was flawless and obviously waterproof because she was sobbing her heart out and blowing her nose and stuff in the church, and she STILL looked a million dollars when she stepped outside afterwards. And the dress, stunning. And her hair - I wanted to touch it because it was so pretty and shiny and soft and perfect looking. I kept expecting a Pantene / L'Oreal / Mac Cosmetics film crew to pop out of the bushes. Mrs. Macca you could have stepped out of a magazine. (Something like Cleo Bride, not Tatts and Peircings Monthly obviously...)

The beautiful bridesmaids all looked lovely, and the dresses were stunning. Just a little something Mrs. Macca ran up on the machine in her spare time I'm told. As you do.

The Groom, CK, looked his ever gorgeous self, and the sight of the two of them together made you want to close your eyes lest your retina's be ever scarred by the wonder of it all. The wonder and the beam-i-ness of their smiles. And the constant flash of camera flashes. They'll be seeing stars for weeks I'd imagine.

Much disgusted by the groomsmen though - particularly the Best Man.

Never been more appalled in my life actually, than I was about the Best Man.

Almost came and told you so at the wedding, restrained myself though.

Now, lets get serious here for a minute.

I've been on-again off-again single for a while now, and YOU'VE BEEN HIDING HIM FROM ME AND I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU ETC. How can it happen that you never introduced us before??? And now I have a boyfriend. And unlike the previous ones, I love this boyfriend. So whatever. What. Ever. ... Keep your hot friends to yourself and see if I care.

*sulks*

I will very grudgingly admit that all the lads looked super spectacular, and were lovely people all round. As you would expect from CK, who, like our lovely Mrs. Macca, attracts lovely people like moths to a flame. *Flutter Flutter, slams self into window*

The venue was delightful, the band dance-y, the photographer snap-happy, and the barstaff accomodating, and the waiters were nothing short of HOT. (There were brothers!!)

If I had any complaints, they would be that my delightful boy gave me a blood blister on my toe with his chair (ouch) and that I didn't get to handjive with my girl. And now she's not mine anymore. But I do know that she's in very good hands (and musically talented hands too) and I'm sure that we can work out some sort of lend-lease-rental arrangement for handjiving.

I would like to try before I buy however, as God only knows what CK is going to do to her on the honeymoon, and she might come back unable to perform at her handjiving best. I'll have to take you for a test jive Mrs. Macca!!! (Test jive, geddit??)

I seriously considered crash tackling Mrs. Macca's baby sister in order to get my hands on the bouquet, however, due to the tenuous hold my dress had on my upper torso, I decided against it. In hindsight, I believe this to be the right decision.

I will at this point put in another apology for the Reading at the Church - Mrs. Macca I think you and I are going to be arguing about this one in the retirement home when we're both in old people nappies and have no teeth and we have to yell at each other and compete with our squealing hearing aids! 

Mrs. Macca swears that she asked me to do a reading at the church, and I swear with equal vigour that she never asked me.

And because its my blog I'm going to add to that by saying that I know that I'm shithouse, and that I forget dates, and all sorts of things, I forgot to pack shoes to match the dresses that I packed, for example, HOWEVER. I'm pretty sure I would have remembered if you'd asked me to do a reading at your wedding, because I would have been (and AM) absolutely stoked and honoured that you thought of me and included me on your big day. And I'm desperately sorry that I didn't hear the call to get up there and do the reading, and that I didn't mug an elderly relative (from CK's side obviously) for a booklet when I arrived so that I could have read my name in there and known that I should have been up there reading. Particularly because we picked the readings (pending CK's approval) and they meant so much to you. I'm so sorry Mrs. Macca.

I guess all weddings have something go wrong don't they, and unless I missed something exciting like a rello getting smashy and hitting on the staff, or someone faceplanting in the cake, or breaking a leg falling down the stairs, then I am the something that went wrong. Story of my life.

Perhaps THAT is why you were hiding the Best Man from me? Because I'm shit and wrong?? LOL

 

So to recap, here are some....    

::: THINGS I LEARNED AT THE MCWEDDING OF THE MCYEAR:::

1) Cuddle up to the bride from UNDER THE VEIL so as not to pull the brides head off.

2) There is always going to be one cute guy that is super good friends with the couple whom they never thought to set you up with, and seeing that person in a very cute suit will make you want to take the happy couple out. (And not to dinner)

3) Bring a jacket. Particularly if you are wearing sweet FA in the undergarment department.

4) I'm shit.

5) Mrs. Macca makes hot dresses, and I will definitely be hitting her up for that when the time comes.

6) She also makes a rather delicious mudcake.

7) And organises extremely elegant and beautiful weddings.

8) Mrs. Macca and CK deserve each other (in a good way, like cold milk deserves Cadbury)

 

That is all. Unless I think of something else in which case I'll add it later.