Mr. Lonely

How much longer can I keep on pretending that magazines, my kindle or laptop and a glass of wine are perfectly suitable substitutes to fill the lonely void inside me?

They say that you can only learn to be happy with someone else only when you can learn to be happy by yourself. I achieved that quite a while back, when I loved getting to cook for myself and choose what to watch on TV when everyone else was out for the night. But when that odd occasional solo night turned into three nights a week, which soon turned into five or six times a week, the novelty of getting to watch The Real Housewives of New Jersey and enjoy a half bottle of Pinot Grigio by myself each night quickly wore off.IMG_0932

They say you can feel at your loneliest when you have lots of people around you – if only I could be so lucky. Just today I sent a message to a friend with a picture capturing my bored home alone life (a glass of prosecco, magazines, and an episode of the The O.C on my laptop), and he replied: ‘you’re always on your own! It’s like you live on your own!’ Obviously this message was meant to come across light-hearted, as this particular friend doesn’t know I already feel lonely, but this brief message caused me to burst out into tears and down the rest of my bubbling prosecco.

I could go down the cliché route and blame this on my female hormones or place it down to being a stereotypical needy girl, but the truth is I really might as well be living on my own. During the day or night it’s either A. a miracle if my mum or brother is in for the evening, or B. a miracle if my mum actually listens to me at the kitchen table when I come to enjoy her company – it normally ends with me asking aimless questions, just trying to enjoy human proximity, but those questions go unanswered or I get shooed away as her laptop or any phone calls consumes any life she has at home.

If I actually lived alone then it wouldn’t feel so disheartening cooking another meal for one or watching the clock tick by till someone comes home. I have my two cats (this story is really hitting rock bottom now isn’t it?), but they don’t always provide the greatest conversation or companionship. They may be vocal and lovely when they want another food pouch, but once they have a bowl full of food they cast me aside like yesterday’s cat litter.

Another route many will go down is asking: “but what about your friends!?” This is one question I dread answering and now filter my answer down to: “They’re on holiday… She’s working… Oh, and he doesn’t live in London… And yes mother, I have tried texting!” Rock bottom when your own mother seems to have a more thriving social life than her 22-year-old daughter.

I don’t want this to be a pity party post; I do try my hardest to stay afloat. Unfortunately the future I want isn’t in reach until I finish up my degree down in Exeter (something I am desperately trying to avoid and very much dreading heading back to the books, dissertation and late all night library sessions).

So till then I guess it’s just me, myself and I (and my two cats). But really, is it too much to ask to feel like you have a family life that’s active and loving or present? I guess in this century, where marriages result in divorce and where emails or phone calls dominate home life there’s not much hope. So for now, I’ll just prepare myself for another night in and slowly turn into a 22 year old Miss Havisham type figure – Charles Dickens meets lonely London suburbia, a hit seller in the making.P1000274

Copy Cat?

Ever since I can really remember, I have always copied and lusted after other people’s personalities or abilities. Despite the old saying that ‘imitation is the highest form of flattery’, perhaps my imitations were all down to my lacking sense of who I was.
My first offence started when I was just about 10 years old. Growing up, I would go to school and spend holidays and weekends with my parents close family friends, the B’s. I guess in a sense, we were all one big family – all eight of us, at least that’s what it felt like. The ‘grown up’s’ aside, we were the gang: Daz, Minx (me), Willis, Patch. I always idolized Daz; she was smart, pretty, and she could draw so well. She loved drawing stars, or wearing star jewellery. I always wanted to be just as good as her, but when it came to painting ourselves onto a wall in our ‘den’, it was quite clear, despite my hardest efforts to copy her painting technique, that I just couldn’t be as good as her.
My second offences started when I was fifteen. At this time in my life, my best friend was E – and she was and still is absolutely stunning. I loved all her clothes, her make up and all her perfumes. We would always go shopping every weekend together – I don’t know how I had the money to do that at the age of fifteen, but still. With E, I started buying and wearing clothes in her style, I even went so far as to buy the exact same pair of Reebok trainers. This carried on until I realised that I was barely 5ft, and E was much taller than me, with long legs to carry off those trainers. When I wore them, my legs just looked like short little stumps.
Even here at university, I still find myself changing what I wear or how I do my make up because of people around me. When I want to go see my friend I, I want to wear cute girly clothes. But when I want to go out with L, I get obsessed with her lipsticks and eyeliner flicks – I don’t even normally wear lipstick on a night out for Christ’s sake!
My latest obsession is Millie from Made in Chelsea – this time I even went so far as to take a picture of her to my hairdressers so I could achieve her gorgeous caramel blonde locks. But, this obsession won’t last too long, considering my student budget can’t afford beautiful heels and feather gilets from Zara or Kurt Geiger.
If I think back over all these times and memories, I can only realise that I don’t quite really know who I am, or what I like to wear. I would love to make my own choices on my clothes and make up, regardless of what my friends around me are wearing. On the bright side, I’ve been told that university is the place where you ‘discover yourself’ – so maybe in two years time I’ll be able to clothe and wear make up just exactly how I want to wear it (and hopefully have a degree as well).