Last Saturday I got into a fight.
Two actually. With my boyfriend and a member of staff in a bar in Euston.
I was angry at both, but I was also angry at many other things.
On Saturday night, my boyfriend and I met up with some friends in this bar and the staff were impeccably rude from the moment we walked into the joint. I asked what ciders they had and the girl behind the bar grunted and pointed to the board on the wall which neither of us had noticed. Then walked away. My boyfriend said that he barely even noticed her behaviour however I let it eat away at me. Later on, my friends also became wound up at the rudeness of the staff towards them.
Anyway, to cut a long story short the more intoxicated I became, the more angrier I became until I saw a member of staff mocking one of my friends after she called him out for throwing rubbish down the stairs which had just missed our heads and I got into a heated altercation with the guy and his friend who also became involved to vehemently defend the “honour” of his friend and was thrown out of the bar.
I was furious at that guy for the way he had treated me, but I was also angry about a lot of things:
- That I’m being bullied at work and had an unsuccessful meeting with my union rep a couple of days ago.
- That every mistake I make is a black mark against my name and because I put so much pressure on myself, that when I fail I spend whole days in bed crying, which is what I did on Friday.
- That I didn’t use my study day on Friday more productively.
- That my new mantra has now become that I am not “normal” but everybody else is, which is why everybody else can cope while I can’t.
- That on Saturday my boyfriend pointed out in front of his friend that I’d spent the entire day before in bed and therefore had no reason to be tired.
- That my friends do things without me now because I’m either too busy or too sick to accept the offer and I have to find out about it on my Newsfeed instead.
- That my mum was right because I cannot control my emotions and I am full of anger. At work I’m a pro, but outside I’m a witch and unrecognisable sometimes even to the people I love.
- That I’ll never be good enough for this career I’ve dreamed of doing since I was a child because of everything I am.
- That a friend of the family lost their cousin in the Westminster terror attack and I can’t explain why it’s hit me so hard….
And all of this anger came out on Saturday.
I probably did overreact to the situation. I could’ve carried on bitching about the situation with my friends and devise schemes to pay him back for his arrogance and unkindness, but something inside of me was triggered. I’m the kind of person who wants to trip somebody up because they’re walking down the street looking at their phone instead of having the decency to look where they’re going; who sees red when somebody doesn’t have their oyster card ready at the barrier and holds up the rest of London while they root through their bag. And then I get the same angry when I see injustice like a dick head mocking a friend. There is no in between.
This weekend has been a dark one. It was Purple Day yesterday and I couldn’t even get out of bed. I was so ashamed at myself for drinking so much and jeopardising a good run on Zonegran.
I’m thirty years old, thirty-one in a few months, and I feel like I still can’t look after myself and how long can I blame my crappy parents for that? Thankfully my boyfriend is so understanding.
However not everybody is. I’ve been bullied out of every job.
I was even bullied out of my own family. What does that say about me?
At the moment, I’m giving up. Not because it’s the easiest option, but because fighting is killing me.
And I’m tired of being angry all the time.