I am just not the same anymore.
Who I used to be, who I wanted to be, the things I wanted to do and be in my life are all gone from me.
I used to be pretty – not in a traditional movie star or cover of a magazine sense – but, I used to be pretty from the inside out. I see that now in photographs from my past.
I used to be overweight. When I looked in the mirror I never understood the person who looked back at me because it never matched the image I held in my mind. I may have been overweight, but I always saw myself – thin.
I used to have a light in my eyes. My eyes used to be blue – a brilliant, bright Norwegian blue – just like everyone member of my father’s side of my family. I’ve lost the color in my eyes they’ve turned dull and gray. Perhaps it’s just health, malnutrition and stress. Who knows, but my glow and lightness is gone.
It’s been years now. My face is hard. I hold my head like an animal defending itself from a never-ending attack. My eyes hang and droop from an unspoken sadness unable to be shared or shaken from the heavy hurt.
It’s all-consuming. I look uncomfortable in my own skin. It feels as though I am wearing someone else’s overcoat so many sizes too large, unable to bend, and move, or breathe easy.
It is an unrecoverable loss.
Worse still, it feels as though the only reason for my existence is so other’s can watch me suffer.
I knew at my very best I have only ever been average, yet I still held a belief that there were things I could do without thinking. Like breathing. That belief that I held and could feel is gone. Like an emotional landslide swept away.
I used to want to go to film school so I could write, direct, produce, and act in my own films because who else would hire me? I had plans to go to FSU. I even looked into going to a film school in Bath, England.
I used to dream of racing cars.
Nursing schools, visual merchandiser, buyer, masseuse, physical therapy, speech therapist the list goes on and on of vocations and directions I believed I could do well and should be my life.
The problem is I can no longer see a future, nor can I feel me anymore.
This is not a pity part. I am not trying to be pathetic. I am not looking for sympathy. I guess, I am explaining. I cannot be or play someone else’s idea of me and who they think I should be.
No one will ever be able to understand what it is like living this life on this side of me. There is a great moat that surrounds and follows me wherever I go. The distance it creates has deadend me from the inside.
Do you know that I used to feel a connection to man I used to know in college. I believed it would always be there. To my great humiliation it has been turned into something ugly, to something more than it ever was. It has been used against me. As if believing in someone you once knew is a crime. The truth is we could barely speak to each other. When we did speak it usually turned hostile and violent. Yet, there were times when we looked at each other and the rest of the world ceased to exist. There were moments filled with so much that I held onto them.
What I understand now from these last few years, I was merely projecting a want or belief that simply was never true.
Perhaps it is this loss of belief that has caused such decay in my soul. Unfortunately, there is so much to my life’s story one answer is not all of it.
Perhaps it has been this constant theme of three numbers, of people I do not know and have been forced to choose. This ongoing contest of men’s ego’s that has torn me to pieces.
I cannot stand ego. Ego is such a turn off. Constantly stroking a man’s ego while I’m barely able to live and manage my everyday.
I wish I had never been on the monorail that day. I wish I had never had a conversation with that stranger. I wish I had never seen him or talked to him after that day. I wish I never had to see or hear from him ever again.
No one else has to wear my shame. No one else feels my hurt.
No one else understands what this feels like.
I don’t know how to plan, or prepare my future when everything I’ve known, understood about myself is gone. Not the same anymore.
I went to my mother’s funeral more than a year ago. The truth about her death I still do not know. Her death was kept a secret from me for years. This is such an emotionally charged event (I don’t know how else to say it) I’ve gone numb, or perhaps I am still in shock. More likely, I’m unable to react because the truth is still hidden from me.
Then a month later, I gave my cats to my brother believing he was going to take care of them. I still remember the hurricane we had last year. Getting supplies and waiting through the weather in this house, I still had them in my mind’s eye as if they were living it with me because I believed they were going to be returned to me. Only to learn that my brother mislead me, and he did not take care of them. The destruction of this news sent me over a sharp cliff.
Loss, and loss, and loss, and loss, after loss, and loss and loss. Loss of even the smallest things is still a loss.
I don’t know how to end this post.