contract killers need love too.

I've always made bad decisions when it comes to men, and like many women out there, I am desperately attracted to guys who are completely unavailable and who enjoy torturing me emotionally. But as if that isn't fun enough, and utterly stupid of me to put up with, lately I find myself being attracted to the ones that just aren't quite right.

I'm almost positive that in a few years time, I will see one particular guy I dated on the news for being found out as the serial killer I'm so sure he is.

It's a funny thing though, I can be sitting in a room with fifty normal men, and have this uncanny ability to attract the one who has some weird fetish for urine or human sacrifice. Or gas masks (ugh). And let me tell you, when they say "It's always the quiet ones".   It is.

Ever since I first started noticing the opposite sex, I would always be drawn to the socially awkward one of the group, or the one wearing a black trench coat, who most probably has a police record and who has a shared fascination with knives and guns (which basically describes most of the high school massacre shooters. Well done me), or the one known as, "the quiet one".

Seriously though, is it just me, or is there just something really sexy about a man in a trench coat with a face sporting pure evil? Probably just me....

So, go figure that my ideal husband would be a drug lord, or a mob boss, or an arms dealer, or a hit man, or Satan. I'm really not fussy.

A banker on the other hand? No. No no no no no no. They're so boring and predictable, and usually extremely against a career change into contract killing.  

Now, I don't know quite exactly understand what it is that lures me to such dark human beings, and to be honest, I don't really care. The way I see it is, even the cruelest of men need to be loved. Doesn't a drug lord, after a day of maiming, killing, and addicting small children to meth, need love too? Yes, they do.  And why shouldn't I be the one to give it to them? I could be his heroine. His loooove heroine.

And besides, It's not like I haven't tried to be with the 'normal' ones. I have, but their lack of understanding, and utter confusion to my inadvertent blood lust, love for weaponry, and my total indifference to human suffering, really tends to put a wall between us. And even though I try so very hard to hold in ALL that crazy for the entirety of the relationship, it will, without fail, end in me having a psychotic breakdown after about two months. But hey, I tried right?

I have come to accept that 'normal' and I will never work. But that's okay. My Prince of Darkness is out there for me. Somewhere. 

Nothing interesting, everything horrible.

Its funny how a series of small events can build up to make one massive, jaw-droppingly horrible experience you wonder if it's ever possible you'll recover from. You know you will, but the older you get, the more you wonder: Will this be the one that puts me away for good? 

It begins at birth. Thats bad enough to begin with. Being born is stress enough to make me not want to have children of my own as to not put them through the anxiety I feel when I realise: THERE IS NO WAY OUT EXCEPT FOR DEATH. Even writing and re-reading that line sends my emotionally fragile head into a colossal whirlwind of severe anxiety. And to be honest, makes me want to vomit a little. I completely blame my parents.

Anyway, then comes the 6 trillion dollar question that none of us can answer: How will it happen? Will it be all la-di-da-lovely and I die in my sleep with loved ones surrounding me, and I won't even realise that I have died and stride forth to the other side into a land of bliss and puppies? Or will I be maimed and all my internal organs squished beyond repair in a car/plane/falling vending machine accident, leaving me to suffer a horrible, terrifying death, which in effect, keeps my spirit bound to this Earth for all eternity? 

Hang on, hang on, I digress. 

Going back to the series of small events I mentioned earlier, being a sufferer of depression from a very early age I have learned to take note of the warning signs that can trigger my fragile little brain into full blown episode of depression. It begins with being unable to sleep. Which is all the frickin time for me. Tired = grumpy = more emotional than usual. Then there will be a small trigger. Some random person being a douche bag, or a fight with a family member over putting the fork in the wrong spot in the dishwasher, a screaming kid that you want to smack but can't, even though they totally deserve it because they're annoying and screamy and have no boundaries. Then it seems like Mr. lack of sleep and Mrs. being grumpy like to kick people when they're down and draw unto them - President End of the world. 

Now, El Presidente only comes when he knows you're world is on the brink of collapse. But He's good. He waits and waits and waits some more, right until that perfect moment, and then, ta-da! He arrives with full force, bringing devastation and destruction at every possible moment. One thing after another, but this time, not just little things like arguments over forks and broken nails, nonono. It's the big league now. 

Things like losing a friend for exceptionally stupid reasons (or in my case, three), and having a ridiculous fight with your best friend, all because of a facebook comment, (I mean, really?), And your ex calling you every day with his dramas and saying "you have no idea" about depression. (Oh, really? I don't?). And also, realising you really are meant to spend the rest of your life alone because the thought of anyone being close makes you physically ill. And then, of course, the real kicker, a letter from the Government, when after applying for disability support for a valid and Doctor acknowledged reason, denying your claim for something they mixed up and there is nothing you can do about it because you only got the letter on friday night and you now have to wait till monday to call/abuse some poor unsuspecting person who really doesn't deserved to be yelled at, just to see if there is anything you can do about it, even though you know they will spend the next 2 months fucking you around like they have been the previous 2 months.

BAM.

BAM.

BAM.

BAM.

BAM. 

And then it explodes. Ka-fucking-pow. 

Anxiety + Stress + Exhaustion = complete and irreversible brain shambles, that will stress you out so much that your body literally shuts down. 

As if all that other crap wasn't just fun-tastic, now the merriment really begins. The zombie like appearance, incomprehensible speech patterns, constant stream of tears, anxiety attacks which include, pacing, crying and waving your hands around making you look like a mentally challenged person while being so nauseous, yet frustratingly enough, unable to vomit, along with a complete lack of motivation to do anything aside for the aforementioned. 

Will it last a few weeks? a few months? .........Years? Not knowing how long you will be in this shaun of the dead type state is almost just as bad as not knowing how you're going to die, though making the sweet release of death sound so unbelievably appealing, even if it is a horrible and gruesome end. Anything has to be better than this lonely, dark, empty void that is my head.

Again, I blame my parents. 

Inception? INCEPTION?? REALLY???

So I watched Inception for the first time the other day. I've never had a movie that makes me want to yell and hurt others quite so much. This is me watching Inception:

Now, I don't have much else to say on this topic, I feel as though the pictures speak for themselves. I mean, really, there isn't anything left to say other than this movie should never have been made. I just really felt as though I had to put it out there, because, seriously, what the fuck Inception writer and director and all other people involved in the making of this movie? WHY? WHAT DOES THE ENDING MEAN??

But the worst thing? here's the the worst thing....I will watch this movie again, once if not more (probably more). As if it didn't mentally fuck me up the first one and a half times I watched it, I'll do it again. Aside from clearly being a self loather, I'm apparently also completely full of myself and think that I think I'm smarter than I actually am, and if I watch it just one more time, I'll totally understand it and be better than everyone else, because they didn't get it, and I totally will. But like Donnie Darko and a billion other movies I never fully understood, it wont happen. Well done me.  

I have evil insomnia pills.

They look something like this:

These pills are horrid.

They keep me awake and make me draw stupid pictures and write poems about circumcision, and watch stupid movies about a woman getting raped by a ghost that was made in 1981. (It's apparently a true story.  Really, Lady? Ghost rape??)

Apart from making me feel as if I've eaten excessive amounts of metal, There are a whole heap of other fun side effects I have to deal with.

Basically, they make me feel like I want to die. All the time.  If I'm not feeling sick from my illness, I am feeling sick from the drugs. I think this is an unfair trade for wellness. Especially when the drugs are failing to fix my insides. But It's not like anything will change if they DO fix me. I'll be on these forever. 

So I like to sleep. It makes all the horrible time I feel like killing myself, and/or others, just float away while I dream of fairies and puppies and warm chocolate brownies with melty ice-cream.

..............But no. 

My nights look something like this: 

And to make it worse, It's like this every night. So my day time, night time and afternoon time, are spent walking around like a zombie on heroine, spilling drinks on myself, mostly of the boiling water variety, and dropping things that shatter and go into my foot. Or neck. Or arms. Or eyeballs. What I'm trying to say is that there's blood spurting from my body at least once a day. 

Then yesterday I started two new medications. I don't know what all the side effects are yet, I guess I'll find out after a few more days, but on one of the packs it says (on its own special fluorescent green sticker which reads: AVOID EXCESSIVE  SKIN EXPOSURE TO SUNLIGHT AND SUNLAMPS WHILE BEING TRATED WITH THIS MEDICINE.  Oh good. 

What will happen to me? will I turn to ash?

Will I catch on fire?

Or will I just have no immunity to the suns rays and turn red like a lobster?

Sure, I could look up the reasons why I can't go out in the sun, but that will take all the fun out of finding out on my own. (FYI, I have my money on the lobster one). But here's the thing, it says "while I'm being treated by this medication". Um, yeaaah, the duration I'll be on this medication is only the rest of my life. I can see it now, "Hey Justine, do you want to go to the beach?" "Oh, no, sorry, I might catch on fire or turn into a pile of ash. Thanks though, you have fun!" 

And if that's not bad enough, there's another sticker next to the green one. This one's red.  It says: This medication may affect mental alertness and/or coordination. If affected, do not drive a motor vehicle or operate machinery. Brilliant. Because I don't have enough problems with mental alertness and coordination from lack of sleep as it is. Basically, I just shouldn't be awake and vertical at any point. 

Ode to circumcision.

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please, by all means, stab me in the chest. It'll be fun.

So this is a story about me, an awkward 18 year old who hasn't grasped the concept of eyebrow waxing or any sort of make up, and a hot guy. (Why is it always about a hot guy?)
Anywho, so awkward me meets hot guy one night through her hot, desirable and ultra cool best friend. Hot guy and hot girl are clearly a perfect match, and hot guy is naturally attracted to hot girl. Awkward me never got a second glance, but to be fair, I wouldn't have looked at me twice either because I looked somewhat like this:  

So, we're all hanging out one night getting drunk and talking about life and love and other things we really had no idea about. (Though, obviously we knew everything because we were 18 and drunk.)

Naturally, the hot guy wants to show his undying affection to hot girl, so he cut his hand with a pocket knife....or piece of glass....or really sharp stick....I really cant remember. I think he was trying to drunkenly prove that his love for her will last forever. (I think the blood was supposed to symbolise life foreverness, but really, it was just awkward).

BLOOD + LIFE = FOREVERNESS. 

Of course hot girl is far to cool and hot for hot guy, not to mention she had like five other guys cutting themselves up with sharp things in an attempt to prove their love, so, in a nice and ever so cool manner, she said she loved him too, but only as a friend. And so began a life long friendship.

Meanwhile, awkward me is watching all this with a bitter taste in my mouth while smiling politely and telling hot guy he's really awesome and laughing at all his stupid, unfunny jokes. Because hot people always need their ego's boosted. Not to mention I'm drinking tequila through a straw (because clearly, my self esteem wasn't low enough) and dying a little bit inside with each passing second while thinking "I will never get this guy".

Skip 7 years. I have finally discovered makeup and eyebrow waxing and got boobs. Somewhere in there I also grew a sense of humor and a small amount of confidence. Congratulations to me.
I am still friends with super cool, hot best friend, and who should she bring to drinks one day? why, it's hot guy from, like, way back, man....  ("like" and "man" were common words back then).

This time, hot guy and I get along great, to be honest, I don't think he even knew I was the awkward 18 year old from way back. (Bonus).

We drank, laughed, barely broke eye contact the entire time. I was as thrilled as....well, as an ugly teenager getting asked to the school dance by the most popular boy in the school, only it's not some horrible, demoralising prank played by a bunch of douche bags for shits and giggles. He genuinely liked me. Even hot best friend was sickened and made some gagging noise as she took herself off the the bathroom while he pushed a strand of hair from my face and tucked it behind my ears.

So, a week or so later we went on our first date. Looking back on it, it probably wasn't the best idea to do the "first date" while coming down from a two day bender, and I'm almost positive, a mild dose of alcohol poisoning. But these things happen and we got through it (with minimal vomiting) and within a week we were officially going out. We spent all our time together, cooking dinners for each other, arguing over the when the salt should go in the pasta water (when it's boiled people, not before), and I was going to work each day on a maximum of 2 hours sleep but felt like I'd had 10. It was new relationship bliss.

For about 2 weeks.

So to cut a long story kind of short, but not really that short, he broke up with my on my birthday. ON MY FUCKING BIRTHDAY. "happy birthday *insert funny, cute name he had for me here* (I think it was trashbag. An appropriate name for me during that time of my life. But that's a whole other story.) I just can't do this. I'm not ready. Have a great night out" Thank you so very much, hot guy. You really know how to make a birthday great. Oh, what's that? No gift? fuck you even more. But that's what I said in my head. What I really said was "it's ok, I understand"     Did I?     Did I really?  I understood he was a douche bag, that's about it.

What I have seemingly neglected to mention is the fact he had been married for quite a few years and the divorce was just about to be finalised. His mental state wasn't brilliant and at that time his life motto was: I don't drink to get drunk, I drink to forget. I think trashbag would have been a more appropriate name for him, but anyway.
I WAS THE REBOUND GIRL. I didn't realise this at the time because apparently I'm retarded. But he didn't want anything serious. So here I was, all "la-di-da in like/almost love, and he was all I-thought-I-could-have-a-relationship-but-turns-out-I-don't-and-I-just-want-to-do-you-instead.....how-'bout-it? But retarded me saw I-thought-I-could-have-a-relationship-but-turns-out-I-don't-and-I-just-want-to-do-you-instead.....how-'bout-it? as, he REALLY likes me, my first name would go perfectly with his last name!! YAY FOR LIKE/ALMOST LOVE!! But my new found like/almost love, sadly, was not to be.

After we broke up, we hung out as friends for months. We were still basically in a relationship, but just not without the kissing or sex. We avoided the rest of the world and I especially ignored their stupid logic about how we shouldn't hang out so much because he's only going to hurt me more.......yeah, like that was possible.

It was.

The months of emotional support, the months of trying to cheer him up, the months of him sleeping in my bed and hugging me to sleep which completely fucked with my head, the nights of drinking to forget with him - all fine. But him making out with my pole dancing instructor/friend....at my house...in my bed? Now THAT was the final straw.

But it was time. I had to let him go. The worst thing was he didn't even understand why I was so upset at the concept he made out with my friend...at my house...in my bed. She knew because I told her, no, begged her, not to do anything with him. But she's a massive whore.

By this point you're wondering where the hell I'm going with this story. It gets better.

3 years later... 

It's true what they say about time healing all wounds. From never wanting to see/speak/hear of him again and hoping he burned in the fiery pits of hell for all eternity...

...we eventually patched things up and are now friends. We don't really see each other, (except that one time two years ago when we fooled around), but we talk online a fair bit.

A few weeks ago he asked what I thought of a particular ring. It was a 1-1.5ct black diamond. Me, being a diamond loving girl, said it was fucking awesome and whoever is getting it is very lucky, and even though it looked like an engagement ring, it is apparently not an engagement ring, so I told him to make that clear before she opened it because, that could be massively disappointing. Not to mention awkward when she's like "YES! YES I'LL MARRY YOU!!!" And he'd have to be like "Yeeeah, um, no...."

So tonight I find out that their 2 year relationship has officially ended. Too bad. So sad.

Now, even though I don't have feelings "like that" for him anymore, it's been some time since he's been able to torment me emotionally. So I guess he thought it was about time, and once again, ever so brutally shoved salt into my cavernous, issue-filled, man-hating wounds, and he actually asked if I wanted the ring. Do I want the ring? Hm. Let me think.........................................? No.

Ok, is it just me or is that SUPER Inappropriate?  No fucktard, funnily enough I DON'T want your sloppy-seconds diamond ring you bought your now ex-girlfriend who you loved because she was so "kind, caring and sweet" (was I an evil, horrible, bitch-whore?), and who you could make it work with for two years, even though you could barely make it work with me for two weeks - after breaking up with my on my birthday and making out with my friend....at my house....in my bed, when you knew I had feelings for you.  If you like, you can stab me in the chest with something sharp (a stick?), dig out my heart, stomp on it with your gross, germ covered shoe and smoosh the ring into my once beating but now lifeless heart? Would that be better for you?

Fucker.

drunken behaviour not tolerated by others. Even though it wasn't me.

Here is an email I received in my facebook inbox from a seemingly disgruntled patron from my local pub. And underneath is my response to her massive douchiness. This is what you get when you tell people your name. They can find you. Creepy.

All I have to say to her (aside from my long, rambling response) is: You got fat and while I have too, you're still fatter, and you're ugly. So I can understand your grumpiness in the real world. Maybe I should have just said that instead.

Subject line reading: You're going to think this is a bit rude


Between You and Kate Gannaway

Kate Gannaway 26 November at 15:10 Report

and I apologise in advance for the facebook email... I just really wonder if you realise how loud you are sometimes when you're leaving various establishments around crows nest?

Sleep is precious to me, and about 4am this morning you woke me up - I could hear you coming down willoughby road and along albany street, I heard you still yapping away at the top of your voice as far up the street as oxley street... You were telling some guy that he just talks too much... which is kinda funny...

it's not the first time you've woken me up - but i'm sure you're just not aware how loud you are..... again, apologies for the facebook email - I wanted to talk to you about it last night, but I didn't want to spoil you having a great night out..

take care, speak soon!

kate

Justine Simpson 26 November at 17:23

Ok, so I was at home in bed at 4 am. I left crowie at about 2:15-30 am, got a kebab, then went home. In a cab. Not to mention i wasnt even near willoughby road or albany street?? I dont even know people who live that far down let alone be bothered to walk that far, so that wasnt me. And i certainly dont do walking. I catch cabs. Everywhere. Please feel free to ask any of the crows nest patrons who know me and ask them if i do ridiculous things like getting a cab from the top of crows nest to the bottom of crows nest, because i do. Due to bad knees i CANT walk too much, ESPECIALLY in heels. Hence many ridiculous cab fairs (and many lame apologies to cab drivers for the handful of small change i'm guiltily handing over while trying to avoid their disapproving stares).

And for the record, i go out once a week. Last night it was a thursday, but its usually a friday, (this is due to being sick, therefore being unable to work, meaning i live on $50 a week. So one night out is all I get and i try not to waste it on a weeknight) but again, the only walking do is to the cab rank outside crowie.

If you would like to know my where abouts for all the other times i have apparently woken you, please let me know as i am almost 100% certain that it wasnt me due to afore mentioned reasons. Please let me know if you would like written statements from my parents as to my whereabouts on those particular evenings as im sure that without a doubt, i would have been here, and home (and super depressingly) with them.

You know, it really would have been better coming from you last night at the pub where i could have stated my case in an irrational drunk (yet cheerful) manner and apologised profusely for all my wrong doings and your lack of sleep, even though i'm almost positive they arent mine to apologise for (except for friday 2 weeks ago. That was almost definitely me as its the ONLY time i have been out past 4 am (hell, past 2 am even) in many many months due to a friends brief visit from perth and we did go to the pie shop on willoughby road because, well, we were drunk and hungry and therefore, loud. Massive apologies for that)

Look, Kate, I dont deny that I have a loud voice, I do. Its extremely irritating to most and i once made a dog vomit due to its ear-piercingly painful pitch. But do you think that maybe, JUST maybe, there are other people out there with loud voices too? I am almost certain that there has to be because said person woke you up at 4 am. If my dog could give you a testimony to my where abouts (at home. in bed. with her) i'm sure she would, but she cant because she's a dog. And dogs cant speak let alone write.

I'm sure you will either not believe me, or think that i go into far too much information about my personal life, but i felt it necessary to go into so much detail so I could 1) explain to you at just how sorry i am for your loss of sleep, we've all been there, it's never nice; and 2) prove my innocence from aforementioned claims.

While I know this email is dripping with sarcasm, it is still the truth and one thing can certainly not be denied: your email WAS rude.
Maybe next time a mere question of my whereabouts at 4 in the morning BEFORE making such accusations would be more appreciated. (again, let me know if you want those testimonies) and may I suggest ear plugs? this will no doubt be of help due to your apparent close proximity to the pub or should ear plugs not work, a relocation of ones home? possibly a further distance from a constant stream of loud drunk people next time.