For some time now I have been silent. Haven't had much of anything to say in this blog. Nothing inspired, anyway. I feel like I have said it all. Again and again and again. The same thing over and over until I am sick of hearing myself whine. One day up, the next day barely getting out of bed. Hoping for another up day, not knowing how long I will wait. Maybe if I try this or do that or wear magnets on all twenty fingers and toes I can participate with those I know and love in this brutal, viscous, hungry game called life. I got sucked into a pathetic reality show, Secrets Of A Trophy Wife, and stared mesmerized at Kim Kardashian look alikes pumped full of silicone and collagen and botox driving around in Bentleys. It was better than a bad car accident, I just couldn't look away. But for three days after I couldn't do anything but compare myself to them, and the $115 million reasons that separate them from me. I felt like a loser, pathetic, sorry. "But you got sick!" my angel said. "Doesn't matter," the devil spat from my other shoulder. "It's no excuse."
And then I read my friend's blog. Mid way through the sob overtook me. Fat tears rolled down my cheeks as the cleansing and healing experience of knowing someone else lives the same whack ass reality I do quenched my emotional pain. And I got it, why I write this blog. I remembered why it's important to the scope of my life. I remembered that even at my healthiest I shunned Orange County trophy wives with a vengeance. I never wanted to fit in, be one of the crowd, like everyone else. I never wanted to do what I was supposed to do. I just wanted to be me. So why on earth do I care about that now? With a shudder I realized it's because I can't. Even if I wanted to, I can't. And that sucks. Having options taken away from you, even if they are options you never even wanted in the first place.
I have no more grace or dignity with these viruses and conditions sucking the life out of my bones. I have nothing to give and I’m losing the drive to stick it out. I’m angry. I feel the losses every day. Fibromyalgia mocks me. I don’t recognize myself in my behaviors anymore. I’m sullen and sarcastic, morose and private, believing again that I do not deserve to be loved. I've said too many unkind things, exhibited too many harsh tantrums. I've become a shadow. I covet, I yearn, I grieve. I even hate sometimes. How can I be lovable? Girl Interrupted ~ Sleeping Beauty Awake
Thank you my sister for writing my heart. For reminding me why ripping mine open all over the world wide web wasn't such a bad idea after all. And renewing in me the purpose of it all. Survival.
Thanks for joining,