This is me.
|A stranger in the mirror ( Yes, I am wearing a sweater cap w/ my robe. It is cold.)|
I have not lost interest in things I used to love, just can not afford them, hard to do so when no money is left after the bills are paid. I still swoon over pretty things. I dream of how I want to change my decor, what outfit I would buy next and where I would wear it. I tear pages out of magazines and paste them in my dream journal. I get excited over the fresh flowers and strawberries I bought the other day. I still smile and laugh and find joy in the simple act of creating a new dish I wanted to try out. Or at the things my friends on Twitter post. I think most definitely my will to fight has left; yes, I will admit that. Each and every day has taken a bit more of it from me. I do not wish to give up, but the clawing my way through each and every hour is just often too exhausting; I am tired. It is easier to just be.
This is me. I look in the mirror and I see a person that had the perfect hair cut only a few months ago, and started to self sabotage it , cutting it, both at salons at home, on my own. When the boredom would make imperfections, or perceived imperfections appear bigger than they were. It was a way to control something. I can not control my pain. I can not control what is happening to our life and I can not find a way to replace my teeth so that I can smile again and not want to shy away or hide it and or photo shop it in photos, but I could control this...I could cut my hair, color it, style it or not, such as now when it is hidden under a sweater cap...even indoors so that I can not see it as I hate the color, I hate the cut, but do not know if I would like it any better if I was to change it or had the way to do so. I will it to grow and yet it does so slowly because my health fights me. I color it, but it is painful to do so, but more painful to go back to gray.
This is me. I walk when I can to loose weight, but continue to wear baggy jeans and sweaters, and eating things that are bad for me, un-able to really care that I have dropped 10 pounds as no one else seems to notice it. My husband never saying a compliment any more so than when I was heavier. He means to, I know that he does, his mind is just on so many other things. Like concern for my health, concerned for his own and concerned as I am that things are not changing, but getting worse. Knowing that all the bumps, ripples, stretch marks, the bloat of a 10 week pregnancy due to fibroid growth and botched breast job I had so many years ago has just gotten smaller, not better, so choosing to hide it. I can not control how my body looks as much as I would like to. So ignoring it often is easier. This is me not embracing that my inner beauty will supersede the outer. Not believing that others will be able to see it no matter what I wear, when my teeth fall out and as my hair continues to thin.
This is me. The face of what can happen when it seems everything is gone and will not be back, even if that is just the perception, right now that is the reality. My husband, and mate is pre-occupied. Even when here, we are are just roomies. My Dad, as I shared yesterday, disconnected, distant. My children, lives of their own to deal with and to live. Friends who walked away when things got tough, not ready to hang in there for the journey. When it seems no matter how hard you fight, try, smile and say, " It will get better , let's make the best of things..." , faith, or lack of, effort and belief does not seem to matter; does not change a thing. Positive thinking, being grateful, appreciative and working hard to live each day to it's best does not seem to change anything. There is so much pressure for me to be happy, (I even still read The Happiness Project and report to my readers my progress, and though it seems I am not, I am) to make everyone else feel the same, feel ok about their life and feelings...be the strength, the glue, the go to person. So much pressure to not let friends, family and even you readers down.
This is me. Yet it is a stranger I see in the mirror. Not just because I look like a bag lady, often feel as if I am an 80 year old bag lady at that, but because I know who I once was and know she resides inside, taken prisoner by the pain...emotional, physical, and financial. As I told a friend online, pain is a powerful jailer. I keep searching for the keys to get out; I can hear them rattling in the distance like wind chime on a tree. I know deep in my heart it is not money or lack of it . Money does not remove pain, though it certainly can help to aide in the endeavor to do so. I know that one part of the key is to stay positive, for periods of time it seems I am obtaining that, then it seems to be harder to do. I am told I inspire others to try as well ( there is that pressure again) , so many have given me wonderful ideas on how to hang onto and not loose it. Turn to God more, do one thing a day to feel good and re-connect with who you used to be. Embrace life now and take hold of it and make it work, pull those boots up, put on the big girl panties....Take vitamins, eat better, exercise more, read this, read that...kind words, helpful words, well meaning words. All words I have used with other people who are going through rough times, but often words do not penetrate.
This is me having a pity party, complete with hats, balloons, noise makers and streamers and I know it. At least that's something. Realization of what is going on is huge. I am sure long time readers think I am bi-polar at this point. Not the case let me assure you, though with my hormones giving me a wild ride, it certainly feels like it at time.I often question my sanity, that is for sure. But since I know I am this way question if I am not completely sane. But rest easy, this is just ONE side of me.This is me. We all have it, it is just a case of if we choose to share it, choose to put it out there, or ignore it and put on a mask. I have many friends, who live the fantasy life, at least online in what they write, share and expose to others. I once was very good at pretending. This is me. The mask of actor has broken into many pieces. Many say if you act the part, you will become the part. Believe and it will happen. Feeling a bit guilty, that is my word for the year after all.
When I began this blog, and so many times through out the past 200 plus posts I have done just that. Acted. Believed. But I wanted to share this side when it crops up. I wanted people to know it is ok to have these feelings, acknowledge them,not fear them, then they can be dealt with. Life is a roller coaster. Life is a journey. My aim is to share the journey I am on. By sharing I hope to inspire others by exposing the good and bad sides of life and personality that it can be overcome. It can be a journey of three steps forward and two back, that is ok, because you are ahead by one....embrace that one step. I celebrate them.
This is me. I still get up out of bed. I still cook and clean , I bathe and put on perfume, and my "Cherries in the Snow" lipstick and smile when I smell the fresh flowers that sit next to my desk. This is me, though I may look like a stranger to myself when I look in the mirror, have bad days , weeks or even months where the pain rules. I still smile, laugh, show kindness to others, and embrace small joyous moments in life. This is me, despite the searing pain in my shoulders, the throb of my teeth pounding, nearly making me blind, even with glasses on, the heartache I feel towards myself and even yes, pity. I feel even as I write, I am grateful for the ability to share this, make others aware, not to feel bad for me, goodness knows I am doing a very good job of that myself . Perhaps it maybe to appreciate that they do not have the physical, emotional and financial pain ( at least at the same levels) that I do....if they do, then perhaps a motivator to see it, really see it, acknowledge it and work on accepting it, but not giving into it. Bit of a hypocritical wish I realize, but one I have for myself as well, and in writing it, seeing it, reading it, I hope I shall trigger the same in myself.
This is me. I am complicated. I am strong, but have my cracks. This is me, a person that sees a stranger in the mirror, but accepts that stranger as part of herself and still hopes to one day make her more recognizable, but in a good way and to help aide others to not ever see the stranger in the mirror that I see everyday.