It’s nearing 8 o’clock here, and I haven’t posted a thing today. I’m in a strange funk. I want to write, but everything I want to write about seems verboten. Not that I can’t write what I please here, but the issues on my mind are personal, what some would consider “private”. But really, if it’s my life I’m writing about, then who decides that it should be private? Me?
I just have so much going on inside my head, so much I wish I had answers for and don’t. Talking with friends or my sister about all these pent-up thoughts and feelings helps some, but I wish I could just let it all out here. You know, spill it, then log out, so it is someplace other than in my head and my heart. I guess this is why I go to therapy, though that never seems as good for me as seeing my “insides” out on a page. Maybe that’s what I need to do…turn myself inside out.
Endless questions with either difficult or no answers. I can do the difficult. Hell, I am beyond proficient in “difficult” when it comes to life, though I wish that wasn’t true. Let’s just make a list, shall we?
I want to be loved. Not the normal, everyday, boring kind of love that many of us seem to settle for, but the all-consuming, B.S. kind of love, like in the movies. This sounds silly. I know. But, it must happen somewhere for someone right? I’m tired of feeling invisible. I’ve felt real passion. I want to feel it again.
I want to be accepted for who I am now. Not who I have been. I don’t want to be judged anymore for my past mistakes. We are all human after all.
I want to feel like my being here matters, especially to my children. I know I’ve hurt them in the past, but wish they would just give me an executive pardon, let me know that who I am now is okay, better than okay. It sucks to beg for your own child’s love and acceptance. They hate me. I make jokes about being the “Worst Mother of the Year” 35 years straight now, but it’s not funny…my insides bleed.
I long for joy…pure unadulterated joy, and laughter…oh, how I miss laughing.
I want friends. Real friends. Friends to hang out with, go places with, friends who are there when I fall apart, and when I laugh. The only friends I have like that are in cyber space, and it’s just not the same. Funny, I’m one of the most friendly people you may ever meet. I’m kind and generous, to a fault. I just can’t seem to make those kind of human connections that are such an important part of life, and it seems to get tougher as we get older. I have read “Divine Secrets of the Ya Ya Sisterhood” a hundred times. Why? Because those are the kind of friendships I crave in the deepest part of me. (more make-believe I guess)
I don’t need anyone to tell me that life is tough. I’ve lived it. I’ve been there. Now, I want the good. I deserve the good. Only I can create whatever I want my life to become, in whatever time I have left here. Being a dreamer isn’t a bad thing. Dreams can become real. Right?
Is it wrong to have dreams, desires, and needs? Or, is it so wrong to want them fulfilled? I dream of a special kind of life, one with the love I crave, my children’s acceptance of me, my photography to share with others, my dogs, and lots of friends, a world where laughter, and love exist every day. Hell, I feel guilty even writing this! What is wrong with me? Narcissist? Ego centered, selfish *itch? I’m so needy it’s pathetic. I sound like some dime store, teenage, “look at me, look at me” novel. I’m done.
I guess for this Sunday, I might have been better off taking a vow of silence.