WARNING: Reading this could make you hurt. It’s making me hurt.
It’s fall. I hate it. Everything is dying and it reminds me of all the people I’ve lost in my life and how certain people have left a huge gaping hole that has never been filled. And what’s sadder still is only one or maybe two people understand who left that hole in my life. Honestly, there are less than five who really know that much about me to understand it and even less who have seen the that dark place I go to at this time of year just because it’s fall.
This year it seems harder and it’s probably because of that milestone birthday looming around the corner. I am starting to look hard at my life and realize that there are things that were dreams that are unlikely to happen. Like my modeling career. Seriously though, there are things that are lost to me forever and I know I shouldn’t be looking back, I should be looking forward but I need to acknowledge and mourn what’s lost to me before I can try to find a new way. I never thought at this point in my life I would be where I am and I never thought I would let so much fear stand in my way of doing what I want. I used to be fearless. And not just about the cancer. That was a different fearless. I used to just do what I wanted. And I am so afraid of people thinking I am weak, and disappointing people who look up to me to inspire them, and disapproving looks and letting people down. I shouldn’t care what anyone thinks but me. And yet I do. And I am mad at myself because at this point in my life I should be beyond that. It makes me feel like a needy child. I don’t know why I need approval. It shouldn’t matter what other people think. It should matter what I think.
I know where it comes from. It’s all in one of those stupid shoe boxes in my subconscious where I stuff all the hurt. All the disappointment, inadequacies, the shame, the failures, the let-downs, the fuck-ups. The secrets no one knows and the things that I’ll never tell. And maybe it comes from the fact that I am so afraid if people really knew everything I’ve done, everything I’ve seen, they wouldn’t like me. The same reason I am hiding in this barricade of fat – because if I got close to someone again, they might actually care about me and I am not gonna risk being in love again.
Yeah, so this is painful honest and brutal tonight. And you know, I’m actually embarrassed and thinking maybe I shouldn’t post this, because it might upset someone. And then I think I don’t want people to feel sorry for me. And then that strong me, that’s buried under the fat and the sloth, and the shame, and the fear, trying to scream “fuck that, it’s what you need to say”. I’m listening to you little voice. I need to listen to you more. I need to pick at this scab. And the snarky me is saying no, what you need is a vodka slushy and to have your effexor dose increased. Maybe a couple percocet and maybe you should see if Andy could hook you up with some herbal medicine. Cause pain is funny.
It just seems like I am always in the wrong place at the wrong time. And even though I know that everything that has come across my path makes me who I am, and even though I know that despite my faults, who I am is a pretty amazing woman, I still feel inadequate. My dream was to change the world, travel the globe, be smart and witty and unique, do crazy adventurous things, be an artist, a writer, a poet. And I know I have time to still do a lot of that, but I feel like I’ve wasted so much time, and that none of that may ever come true. I don’t even have a fucking passport. Who doesn’t have a passport?
My brain is still saying don’t post this. People will pity you, then try and make you feel better, and they will think you are whining and looking for pity. Then that will make you feel worse, because look at you all fucking whining like you are really suffering. For crying out loud, you had cancer, you were gutted and you weren’t even close to being the big crybaby you are tonight. Your bills are mostly paid, you have a roof over your head, clean clothes and a pint of gelato to watch SOA tonight. Buck up, pumkin.
The thing is that writing through this has made it less of a monster than it was an hour ago. And I know that there will be plenty of more dark days ahead until January. And that’s why I write. It’s better than going on a random killing spree or stabbing myself in the eyes with pencils. Although I realize I have been trying to eat my way through my sorrow, and that it is making me ultra uncomfortable, so if you really want to help me, the next time you see me shoving a doughnut into my gaping maw, say hey, Diane, I think that doughnut represents your angst…do you really want to stuff your feelings? I’ll probably say something sarcastic and eat the doughnut anyway, but at least I will appreciate your concern for my emotional and physical well-being. Wow. Holy run-on sentence. Just don’t tell me that that nothing tastes as good as being thin feels. Because I will eat you.
Thank you and good night.