An Illustrated Life

In a relationship, which sex is the bigger arsehole?

It’s the ultimate question “which came first? The chicken or the egg”, but in this case “who was screwed over first”. Did your perspective male partner get his heart chewed up and spat out by a vicious vixen? And in turn, treats you like how he would treat her, if he ever had a chance to go back a rewrite his tragic story? His fear of losing emotional stability again and spending months on the couch covered in food chunks, whilst sobbing over re-runs of their favourite show on Foxtel, is now so deeply rooted in the nether region of his soul, that he will continue to be the arsehole that you see in front of you. Continually suspecting that you are imagining a new and profound way to graphically rip the beating heart from his chest cavity.

What started this chain of arseholes? As now that you have had to deal with an emotionally terrified arsehole, you yourself have turned into an arsehole, to petrified to take a risk. As last time, you ended up losing your shit, talking in riddles through sobs with random bursts of unexpected clarity “HE IS A DICKHEAD!”,  Some kind of language only understood by the crazy cat ladies of the world. In fact you contemplated getting a kitten, as a form of emotional soothing, because lets face it, what makes you smile more than a fluffy little feline? However, this still meant you have well and truly lost your shit, he left you on the platform and you took that train all the way to crazy town, but fortunately it was a return ticket and you eventually found your stop, ‘platform semi-normal’.

Back to reality. So, whom is to blame? Was it that bitch of a vixen who screwed Freddy up so baddly that he treated you like some sort of emotional punching bag? Which you justify as “okay”, because he’s had a tough time of it and doesn’t know how to act like a normal regular human being, with genuine consideration for the woman in his life that cooks, cleans and unconditionally loves his bullshit. But who screwed the vixen up, or was she always a vicious predator? When and where do you draw the line at being screwed over, and how close to that line lays your turn to become an arsehole?

My personal favourite is the ever continuing optimist, who believes that the “next one” will be THE one, and he will get down on one knee, with his handsome 1950’s James Dean hair cut and sweep you off your feet and show you a world of white picket fences and well behaved children, that will of course be genetically flawless because they carry his genes and they won’t have your bad eye sight . I have one word for this, Vomit. The dating world sucks, its a festy bowl of left overs, as all the good ones are literally taken or gay, but you grab a fork and dive in for your fill anyway. Which in turn leaves you with a bad taste in your month, and deep confusion as to what that was, all you know is that, it didn’t agree with you.

I do believe, however, that there are normal people out there, somewhere, probably lurking past our solar system. Normal, my definition is they are less crazy than that of the regular bogans you encounter on the dating field. Its much the same as a footy team, mostly bogans, one or two “alrights”. However, as I am claiming to be one of these people, who hasn’t quite lost their shit completely, as yet, status pending. We don’t put ourselves out there, we are not the bogan at the bar wrapping his alcohol soaked arm over the next blonde he sees, we are not that guy who sends over a drink in hopes that the chic he has spent 30 seconds looking at will sleep with him. We are reserved, mildly terrified and looking for our own kind. Sadly we camouflaged just a little too well, so we end up passing each other on the street and find crazies instead.

You take on a crazy, because you search for the normality in them, see a small glint, not even a glimmer of it and you hold on tight. But a glint is not enough compensation to deal with the crazy, so the sequence of events continues, you get burnt by an arsehole and next time you, yourself won’t give anyone a chance. You are a heartless ice queen who can chill a drink with just a touch; its a neat party trick.

Where does this leave us? Hopeless, to be honest. My suggestion, get out! Find a new city, you have been through enough crazies in this one. Concentrate on the things you love and see where that leads your life. Stop thinking that Freddy will change, because he won’t, he is an arsehole.