I feel as bad today as I have on any day of my life.
About 3 years ago I had double pneumonia, pleuresy, and 5 broken ribs.
A few years before that my business went bust because my partner was stealing all the capital I put into it.
Before that I quit / lost my highly paid job in banking, and at about the same time I got divorced.
A sorry tale, but today I feel as bad or worse as a I have ever felt in my life.
I suffer from life-threatening mental illness called Borderline Personality Disorder, and the myriad symptoms are making me feel stressed, distressed, and depressed. Add that to the flu I had this week and my life is hardly worth living.
As I said, today, in fact all of this week, I feel the worst I have ever felt in my life.
This is how I feel today.
to love and to be loved is the ultimate,
but to love without being loved back is the truth.
If I said I had met both the Clintons, and that I liked him but didn’t like her, might either suggest that I lacked taste, or that I once moved in some exalted circles. Well, maybe I did both. I got used to turning left when got on the aircraft, having hotel receptionists know who I was without asking, and having bartenders mix my drink without me having to say it was a vodka martini. Fuck! just how pretentious was that?
The trappings of success are seductive, money makes life much easier than it is for the less well off, and it seems that successful men attract better looking women than do the average office drone. And, take it from me, when it comes to looking good most of what I had was clothes and charisma.
The circles I worked in, attracting top dollar, were filled with very attractive, well-dressed good looking women and men who could have had a career in Hollywood. And there was I, a product of the post-war depression that gripped England. Low calorie, vitamin deficient, crap medical care, and non existent dentistry. We were a nation of short, maladjusted, angry, troglodyte, geniuses.
Among a nation of pretty brilliant, if mal-adjusted guys, I was in the upper quartile, at the far end of the bell-curve. And that’s a hard place to live your life. In England, at the time, being the top scholar in a grammar school just got you beaten up. Ergo the smarter guys hid their lights under a bushel.
Then the worst thing imaginable happened. Valerie Nelson, the prettiest, nicest, most attractive girl in my year had an obvious crush on me. Valerie came from money, she was always suntanned in a town where the sun was always hidden behind the dirty cloud from the coke works. She holidayed in Kenya, whereas I spent a week in Whitby. She had a manicure and I bit my nails.
I’d like to say that the story had a happy ending.
I was her Quasimodo and she was my Esmeralda. There was a sexual incident. That was the first time I knew I could be dangerously violent.
It broke her heart when I walked away.
I may get over her one day. I may spend the rest of my life trying.
Paris is Burning