Thursday, January 16, 2020

No, you don't understand

Note: I started writing this post a very long time ago and never finished it. I went back through my pending posts, found this and it still made a lot of sense today, so I finished it up. My job is pretty great these days, so at least there is that.


Jesus God, y'all. I'm so not funny anymore.

I mean, I already knew this. My thinking, my writing, hell, basically the majority of my life is fraught with pain and tension and sadness and tears. I guess I fake it okay most of the time, but I can only do so much. I have to work, I have to be nice to stupid people all the time, and at the end of the day there is only so much a girl can stand. Three people helpfully pointed out my shortcomings in this area to me in the last month or so and since some of you might still be laboring under this misconception:

I'M NOT FUNNY ANYMORE.

There. Now we all know. Everyone's expectations are adjusted.

The problem is, I used to be funny. I actually wasn't though. Sure, I wrote and said funny things and I had funny life experiences (and I still do, actually. I'm a magnet for crazy people), but the reality was? I was living a lie.

That sounds dramatic, right?

It was.

I had not dealt with a lot of things that happened in my life. In fact, I still have not dealt with the vast majority of those things, which makes therapy a real treat. I start down a path that might potentially lead to healing and then like a turtle I yank my head back into that shell and yell, "Nope, nope, NOPE!"

It's ugly.

There is an ugliness to all of it that I can't yet share. I might not ever be able to share. God speed, Stephanie's current therapist.

So I know what you are thinking right now:

Why is she such a dramatic whore?
Her life is so good!
She has so much!
She's got no problems!
Shut the Hell up!

Or probably some combination of any or all of those things. I know this because I've heard this too many times from other people about other people.

What does she have to complain about? She doesn't have to work! She lives in a nice house and has lots of money! She's thin! Her kids are well-behaved! Blah, blah, BLAH.

That's...not how this works. That's literally not how any of this works. Also? When I hear those kind of things I zip myself up into the tiniest shell I can squeeze in to and I don't want to share anything anymore. Because I know you feel that way about me too.

Just today I was lamenting to my therapist that I have literally no idea what I look like. This sounds actually insane because, hello, I have mirrors. I have eyes. I can physically see myself and I look at myself in the mirror every day out of necessity. I still have no idea what I look like.

Someone took some pictures of me yesterday and I looked at the pictures and for about 20 seconds I felt like, "Okay. This is fine. I look fine. I don't need to lose any weight. I'm okay".

That didn't last long. You see, it never does. Despite what you think, being "thin" is not the key to happiness. I know some of you think that, because I used to think that. I was wrong. You are wrong too. You just are.

My entire life I've been "wrong". Losing weight didn't fix that wrongness.
Having a good job and making "enough" money didn't fix it.
Marrying a fine, strong, wonderful man didn't fix it.
Raising two fantastic children didn't fix it.

Moreover, weighing and measuring my food doesn't fix it. Exercising every day doesn't fix it. Being an overachiever in every area of my life possible doesn't fix it.

I don't know what fixes it.

Don't tell me you understand me.

I don't understand me. Not yet.





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