Saturday, October 31, 2009
Friday, October 30, 2009
Thursday, October 29, 2009
I hate Elizabeth Gilbert. She is a peddler of false hopes. You know that book she wrote? It’s complete bullshit. I read it right after my divorce/cataclysmic life-meltdown (or CLM) and I thought it was enchanting. An educated woman, freed from the bonds of marriage, goes on an exotic sojourn and empowers her mind, body, and soul, all while eating luscious food yet remaining beautiful enough to have romantic liaisons with a Brazilian. How absurd is that? In reality, there is no exotic trip to a holy shrine where one can meet a cowboy who will speak with the wisdom of Yoda. There are no beautiful Italian twins waiting to teach you the language of romance. There is definitely no cosmic hermit ready to reveal the true nature of your being.
I heard that Julia Roberts is going to play Elizabeth is the film adaptation. That’s the cherry on top. As if the book wasn’t enough of a pipe dream, we can imagine that we will handle it all with the beauty and sass of Pretty Woman? If, by some weird Hollywood accident, my life were made into a movie, they would have to find an actress that looked like the love child of Rosie O’Donnell and Rosie Perez, with the personality of Don Rickles.
After a CLM, there are many adventures in store, to be sure, and they are all educational in their way. Home foreclosure, bankruptcy, automobile fires, STDs, repo men, cancer, and abortion are a few of the things that were in store for me. I didn’t handle any of it with beauty or sass; there was certainly no grace involved. Did I grow as a person? Yes. Can I say that I am now free of the habits that put me in those situations? Hardly. But let’s face it, that’s not the stuff of an Oprah book. Everybody wants the transformative moment, where the heroine shakes off the blinders of the past and embraces herself as the goddesses she is meant to be. Catharsis!
You might be thinking that I’m bitter; this is all so much sour grapes. You’re right. I am bitter. Elizabeth wrote a beautiful book that I actually highlighted some of (but don’t tell anybody). I shouldn’t detract from what she went through, which I’m sure was intensely painful for her. What pisses me off is the way this book is celebrated as something any woman can achieve. She did this amazing thing by taking a year of her life to travel and sculpt her life into what she wanted it to be. What about the rest of us? Where’s the book telling me how to survive if I don’t have a glamorous career that will allow me to travel to three countries to find myself? Where is the book that would have clued me in to how crazy I was going to feel and the crazy-induced decisions I would make and the crazy-fueled places I would end up? That would be one hell of a travelogue! That’s the book I want.
Do I have to write it myself?
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
When Angus told me he was leaving, after 14 years together, it literally felt like somebody had reached into my chest and tore out half of my heart. I walked around with a sucking chest-wound for a long time—2 years really. Little by little it started to scab over but it never felt right again. It was like the old part couldn’t grow back. Gnarly scar tissue could only cover up the hole. Then I met Robert and my heart started to bleed a little bit, like that scar tissue was getting pulled back, so I could let somebody new in. That scared me a lot. I thought, “What if I let him in and then we don’t end up together? We have to end up together or I’m going to end up even more damaged!” And I made some stupid decisions in my panic. Ultimately, my irrational behavior drove Robert off. So I brought about the very thing that I was most terrified of having happen. And now I’m left with this open wound again.
Here’s the thing that they don’t tell you about being healthy: you can’t numb yourself. I use food to self-medicate. Other people use alcohol or drugs. For me, it’s always been food. It makes me feel comforted and safe, like I’m doing something nice for myself. And also, I’ve been thinking that being fat was what I used as my excuse for why nobody wants to be with me. If I’m fat then it’s not because I’m broken. It’s because men are shallow, not because I’m too fucked up to be with.
But what happens when you can’t have the food? You just have to feel the pain; there’s no way to dull the feelings. Now I feel pain all the time. It’s not going away. I cry every day and I don’t know how to escape. You just have to bear it. It’s no wonder so many people use food, drugs, alcohol, or sex to hide. It’s exhausting and it doesn’t stop. And the worst part is the realization that even when my heart stops bleeding again, it won’t be whole. I’m going to have to learn to use a scarred and damaged heart. I know logically that it can be done and I’m most likely strong enough to do it. But thinking about the energy and grief that lies between me today and the day that I know how to use my heart properly is so demoralizing that it almost stops me from moving forward.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Sunday, October 25, 2009
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Thursday, October 22, 2009
Tuesday, October 20, 2009
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Saturday, October 17, 2009
Friday, October 16, 2009
Thursday, October 15, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Bad night last night; cried myself to sleep again. I have to figure out how to deal with loneliness. It’s crippling me. But I’m getting ahead of myself. Here’s the story…
Sunday afternoon I went on a blind date. I am constantly cycling through boys that I meet through personals. I don’t know what I’m looking for exactly, except that I want someone my age to hang out with and laugh with. I don’t have any friends my own age here. I go to the movies by myself, watch TV by myself, pretty much do everything by myself, unless I’m with the kids. Anyway, I think that’s why I fell for Robert so hard (who I also met through a personal ad). He made me laugh all the time. We liked the same things, so we just had FUN together. I want someone to have fun with!
So, yeah, Sunday I went out for lunch and a movie with a new guy. I thought we hit it off right away. We both read comic books, so we talked about that for a long time. We both laughed about our love of odd movies. I mocked him for his overuse of his iphone! We had a great time at the movies. (Side note: Zombieland is really funny.) He even kissed me goodbye. It was a chaste peck, but still, right?
I got home and wrote him an email that night saying basically that I really had a great time and I would like to see him again if he was into it. Now, he’s an IT guy. I know, I know. I have the SHITTIEST luck with IT guys. They leave gaping holes in my heart because they’re such immature bastards. (Cory excluded, but he’s gay, so that also screws me!) But, they’re smart, which is a basic requirement, and they laugh at my weird, black humor, which is also pretty mandatory. Anyway, an IT guy is going to check his email, right? Of course! He probably got it on his iphone the minute I hit send.
24-hours later… no response. I guess I just didn’t make a good impression. Or maybe I was too fat for his taste? Or not girly enough? Or who knows? But, seriously, wtf? He was really fun and maybe not THE ONE, but why can’t I find someone who just wants to spend some time with me? So I cried about it. It hurts so badly to be alone. It’s weird, I don’t miss Angus at all. I’m not even sure I miss Robert particularly. But I soooooo miss having someone to talk to as you fall asleep. Or cook with. Or mock Republicans with. What is wrong with me that I can’t have someone special?
So today is Tuesday and I woke up wanting to get this off my chest. And that guy? He emailed me in the middle of the night saying he had a great time too and he’d like to see me again…