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Sunday, March 23rd, 2008
Oh, oh, I get it! Because I'm not a girl.
When I was talking to my doctor the other day, everything was coming up roses until she asked the last question, "How are you dealing with your anxiety?" I didn't lie; the answer is not well. I can tackle it and tackle it and tackle it until there's so much beneath me that I trip in some awful burst. It manifests in weird ways that I really should be over but just can't seem to end. A bad hair day yields an ugly day yields a screaming ripping tearing fest in front of the mirror, and as many times as I say, "Stop it," punches fly.
I'm just never going to feel beautiful or smart enough because I've got no reason to. I'll never be able to fool myself into thinking they're true, and why should I? If I can't be honest with myself, then I can't be honest with anyone, and if nothing else I like to reach for honesty.
Which is why when I'm yelling, "JUST BECAUSE NO ONE EVER INVITED ME TO PROM DOESN'T MEAN I DIDN'T PRACTICE ALONE IN MY ROOM," try to see if I'm laughing. Try to see if mimicking the world's smallest violin is an okay idea. Small problems? No grandkids for you.
I don't care who can hear me: I am mortified by my years.
And just to clarify? I can walk in heels. I can also stand in the center of a room and tear out my hair and cry in heels. What are we miming now?
Replies: 1 Comment
john said at 04:44 PM, 3.24.08:when I saw you at the mall I wasn't sure it was you, you look very different from the person i met a few years ago. you looked great, and you looked confident. i think you've got more going for you than even you realize.