It's really difficult to tell yourself that you're not a victim when, let's face it, all roads lead to that conclusion.
I've been on countless interviews in the last 3 months, all of which have proved bullshit and a waste of time. Same can be said for my dating life. Yadda yadda yadda, same shit, different day. Same shit, different YEAR.
Einstein said that the definition of insanity is to do the same thing over and over again, only to expect different results. Einstein was a smart motherfucker. I do believe I could very well be on the brink of insanity, based on that alone. So I stopped thinking of myself as a "victim" of this shitty economy and this shitty hand that I've been dealt, and decided to take a different path.
I've been toying with the idea of starting my own business for a while now, and one of my friends is extremely supportive of this plan, helping me with ideas for a website and marketing strategies. I've given in and spoken to my parents about financial support. I'm going back to school this summer. I've changed the way I eat and lost a couple pounds. Not enough, but it's a start.
I spent the morning researching financial aid plans and deciding on my first course, after a lengthy workout at the gym. It's a beautiful day outside, and as I headed home from the coffee shop I had been working at, I probably had a faggy little spring in my step, feeling all good about myself.
As I turned onto my block, I heard one of the losers who hangs out on his stoop all day yell out "Relacore."
I knew he was talking to me. I tried to ignore it. Why he thought this was an acceptable way to get my attention I have no idea. But guess what, it worked. "RELACORE". As I passed by him, he then shouted, "But that fat ass is niiiiice."
I couldn't help it. I turned around. "What's wrong with you?" I demanded to know.
"Nothing." he smiled. "What's wrong with you, Relacore?"
He kept taunting me, and my fatness, all the way down the block. I started screaming obscenities at him, he screamed some back, and he watched me walk into my building and slam the front gate shut, still screaming.
Do I give a shit if he thinks my body is less than perfect? Probably not so much, although I didn't really need him to remind me...but unfortunately all the feelings of inadequacy that I have been trying to fight off these last few months came rushing back, making me feel like a victim on my own street, in my own home, all over again.