Do you remember when Ozzy and Kelly Osbourne released a
cover of ‘Changes’ which was possibly the worst thing ever? Just in case you
don’t, here’s a reminder:
Now you’ve towelled the blood from your ears, I should
inform you that this song is the official theme for this blog entry. The
excruciating execution, half-hearted sentiment, and misguided intentions match
the forthcoming content uncannily.
I want to affect some kind of a change in my life. I call
this my Vapid Attempt at Generic Enhancement, or VAGE. A life of sitting in my
room watching my waist expand, my fear of sunlight burgeon, and my bin fill
with coagulated tissues isn’t agreeing with my current state of mind. It’s like
being locked in a cell with the one person I despise the most. I’m trying to
convince myself that I hold the keys to improving my situation – that after 135
job applications I still have the power to find work; that my career as a
writer can still take off; that I can conquer what is, suitably enough, the
catalyst for VAGE – loneliness.
Recently I attempted to solve this by re-establishing
contact with a girl whom I dated for a short time last summer. At the time I
blamed her for the demise of the relationship – it coincided with the onset of
a serious bout of depression, and I believed that she used it against me. It
was ugly.
Now I realise that it was far more my fault than hers.
Although I was genuinely struggling with depression, I used it as an excuse
because I get scared in relationships. My longest lasted 3 months. I’ve never
been in love. The medication I’ve been taking wreaks havoc with my sex drive. I
don’t know how to be with someone. I let this fear get the better of me and I
looked for a way out.
I got it into my head that she was the answer to my
loneliness. My urge to apologise was genuine, but I also believed that I could revive
our relationship. She had been kind, understanding, and, something so rare for
me, we clicked. So I was surprised when she didn’t reply to my message. I
pushed it further, forcing a polite reply or two, but nothing more. I don’t
know what I expected – anger, perhaps, or cold disdain. Perhaps a part of me
expected her to fling her underwear over my face. In fact, she reaffirmed what
I already knew – that she’s kind and understanding. But that doesn’t mean that
she wants to know me anymore.
This is the problem with VAGE – like Ozzy and Kelly Osbourne
crooning at each other, it makes me insufferably misguided and painfully
annoying. It’s a kind of selfishness I can’t escape because, despite knowing
better, I can’t shake the belief that it’ll lead to my happiness, just like I
always believed that losing weight would fix my life. It might be the case that
this girl would make me happy – in so many ways, I believe she was good for me –
but that doesn’t matter. By pursuing these blinkered ideas of how to fix my
life, I’m only going to bring pain to myself and, far worse, to others. And I
want to believe that I’m a better person than that.
