69 followers!

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Oh the irony!  I’ve just reached 69 followers!

I’m going to try to keep writing. Apparently there are at least 69 people who find it worthwhile.

I’ve gotten a request for more posts about my dying uterus.  Perfect. That will likely last another 8ish years!

My friend was saying that whenever I talk about my dying uterus she just pictured a really old man, hobbling along with a cane. I personally picture Maggie Smith circa Downton Abbey, basically same  but with a better outfit!

i do love a good outfit!

Happy 69.

And thank you to all my followers and readers. Just today there are people in the US, India and Sweden!  I don’t know you but I love you.

Emptiness

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I feel compelled to write.  I’m up at 4 am. But I don’t know what to say. I’m empty.

It’s not that beautiful Buddhist emptiness, it’s just a complete lack of hope.

I want to find something funny to say, something clever or enlightening.  I have nothing…

Where does inspiration come from? Where does Hope get generated?  Whatever part of the mind or body that might be, mine is clearly broken. Or absent. Down the proverbial drain. I wonder where it goes.

Since I was a child I had a recurring sensation of just wanting to disappear. It feels like my wish is finally coming to fruition. I’ve gotten so small, so empty that I think I might just evaporate.

I’m not sure if I should bother to continue writing this blog. It is just a documentation of all my sad little dreams being crushed, a diary of my pathetic failures. Sometimes writing will unfurl something in me, give me something to hold onto, or a window to find a different perspective. Unfortunately when I need that the most there’s nothing. A void.

I should seek solace in this emptiness. Maybe it’ll transform into some state of understanding. Maybe I should finally just give up hoping to have anything, give up desiring anything at all. That’s what Buddhism says the solution is. Maybe they’re right.  Because most of my desires have only caused me pain. Disappointment.

Opening yourself up isn’t easy. How many times can I handle doing it only to be seen and discarded? I don’t think I can do it again.

I’m not going to write about being heartbroken anymore because it’s just really boring.  If it had a catchy beat maybe it’d be a hit.

If I find something actually interesting to write about then I’ll be back. But for now I’m gonna disappear. I’m already gone.

Beautiful hag

 

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(Bernadette Peters in “Into the Woods”

I discovered the “search terms” today and saw that someone had searched “hot beautiful hag”!

I’m equal parts flattered and confused.  But I had a genuine laugh which I needed so thanks to whoever it was. It made my day, at least for moment.

I’m trying to keep my confidence in the face of feeling discarded like trash. I’m trying to feel lovable despite not being loved anymore. It’s not easy but I’m trying.

I can’t  help but wish that I was better, worth working things out with, worthy of being loved. It’s not easy to know what to do when love is thrown away, where does it go? Was it even real? Why wasn’t it good enough?  I can apply logic, I can slap on platitudes but the question gnaws at me.

I’m doing better than I have in the past, not just crying and sinking into a frightening depression. But I’m feeling extremely defeated. I’m so uninterested in trying to meet someone else but I feel like the older I get the less likely I will stand a chance. Because I’m old and my neck is sliding into my chin. Because when people call me “adorable” I know it’s just code for short and not beautiful.  Maybe I’m beautiful for a hag, as that surprising search suggests. Maybe even if I were beautiful I’d still be alone, because I’m not good enough anyway.

I do know that I gave this relationship everything I could. Im sure I could have done better but I really tried. I always tried to show my love and affection. I tried to be thoughtful.  And I failed anyway. Maybe I’ll do better next time.  If there is a next time.

For now I’ll just try to feel like some random stranger referring to me as a “hot, beautiful hag” is a good sign.

Chop wood, carry water

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(Not my image)

I’m not feeling too great. I’m failing at every aspect of my tiny life. My relationship just failed. Work is not going as well as I need it to, both to be financially stable and as busy as I want to be. I have no social life. If I read another post about how hard it is to handy success I will scream. I’m pretty sure it beats handling failure after failure, hands down.

I managed to do my laundry, which requires leaving my house and walking the 8 blocks to the laundromat. I even managed to put my clothes away, albeit shoved haphazardly into already messy drawers. It’s better than the heap on the floor I almost settled for. I also managed to eat something despite having no appetite. Maybe I’ll lose the damn perimenopause pounds that have crept  back onto  my ass, making my clothes feel like sausage. I even managed to shower!

I guess I should feel good about managing these things. I could have failed to do them. But it feels embarrassing to call that success. It’s just managing the tiny tasks that keep life from piling up. To just keep getting by.

I wish that getting by was enough for me. I wish I felt like anything about me actually mattered, even in a small way. I need to keep going and without any real markers of progress it’s harder every day.

But at least I’ve got clean underwear now. It’s a start.

breaking up is…

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(not my image)

They say breaking up is hard to do, but it seems like it’s easier to do than staying together.

My relationship is over. Quite unceremoniously. Done. Great.

I’m crushed, crushed flat. I feel too tired to be sad. Too tired to feel.

Relationships take work but you can’t do it alone. If one person isn’t interested in working on it, it’s over. Now I am back to being alone and working on my self, my life, my career. With no partner, with no love and support to carry me through when I feel challenged, hopeless. Ok. Same old, same old.

I can do this. But fuck, I want love. I want a life with someone. I want someone to dream with, hope with, weather the storms of life with. But for now I’m on my own, in the rain, dreading the coming spring when all the lovey couples cavorting in the sunshine together.

I can’t stomach the thought of entering the dating pool again. Drowning seems preferable. Time will tell. I’m guessing that my spinsterhag fate might just be what it is. If by my advanced age I’m still alone I should probably just give up. Take up knitting.

If only I could get a cat!

reaching out, into the void…

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(not my image)

 

I can be a hermit. It’s not easy for me to “reach out”. I fear bothering people. I expect rejection. But I try. I reach out. And I keep coming up empty handed.

I am not having success making friends in the city I’ve been living in for almost 5 years. I would give up, I might just give up, but damn, I need a friend. Where I live. I have some wonderful friends who I continue to be part of my life despite us being miles and miles apart. This is something I’m so grateful for. And I also feel the huge hole in my life here without a friend to hang out with, go do stuff with, etc.

I just feel like crawling under a rock and disappearing from existence right now. I’m struggling with chronic pain. With perimenopausal discomfort and emotional over-flow. I need some support. And I feel all the worse when I reach out for some and no one’s there.

I guess I should just get better at supporting myself. Ok. I can do that. But I’m so tired. Tired of trying and not getting anywhere. Trying and not connecting with anyone. Feeling like I’m just on my own. Life is meant to be shared. Maybe mine isn’t worthy.

So many things are overwhelming. Impossible problems that I can never solve. How can I fight misogyny, climate change, systemic racism,  if I can’t even make one fucking friend? Maybe I’m just destined/doomed to be a solitary loner most of the time. Maybe everyone will be SO glad when I stop reaching out so they can stop finding nice ways to rebuff me.

I am capable of being pretty self sufficient. But it’s getting really, really lonely.

Spring is blooming all around me and I just want to stay in bed and cry. Maybe I should just chalk it up to perimenopause hell. But it feels like a failure. Failure to be a good human.

If life is short, why does it feel so fucking long?

Failed again

 

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not my image 

My confidence has been flagging. Today it’s pretty much dead.

I should be out socializing with some fellow workshop goers this evening before the workshop tomorrow but the thought of going out and talking to strangers made my blood run cold and I couldn’t do it. I had an amazing jumpsuit picked out to wear and everything. But.  Strangers.  Talking.  People I admire.  Who are wildly talented and successful.   And me.  I just can’t.

I’m so excited for the workshop. I will feel anxious for sure but I can manage it.  But having to talk about myself, my sad excuse for a career, trying to be a presentable professional in a social setting, I just can not do it.

I hate this feeling.  I’ve gotten dressed, fabulously, for many a party or event that I failed to leave the house for.   I’ve walked into parties and events, fabulously dressed, and just turned around and left. I can be very social when I feel up for it.  But I can also need to hide in my bed and cry at the mere thought of making social small talk.

And with colleagues it’s especially terrifying. My career is going nowhere, very slowly.   I feel very disheartened.  I’m doing what I love but I’m not doing enough of it. I’ve been at it for close to a quarter of a century and yet still just getting by. Feeling alone and unsupported.  Without a community.

I had a particularly humiliating setback today.  I was really looking forward to seeing elskan mín this evening, after the little event I’m too anxious to attend, but he’s sick so I’m alone. I feel very alone in life lately.

I don’t know what’s going on with my relationship.  I feel like he’s drifting away. Maybe it’s a phase, he needed space but since we reunited he feels very distant still.  I feel very unmoored, from something in myself.

I don’t know if I’ve ever actually been confident. I’ve faked it. But I feel less able to do so the older I get. Maybe when I’m really old I’ll find that confidence in myself that doesn’t get crushed so easily. I’d love to be one of those fabulous women who just doesn’t give a fuck and marches on in the face of defeat to push their way to victory. But right now I’m just sort of old,  hiding in bed.

I feel like my life is so small. So small it might just disappear. I’ve got some wonderful friends but none are close geographically. I’ve  got some wonderful clients who make my work feel meaningful on good days, yet the stress of not having enough work to feel secure is always present.  I’ve got a lovely boyfriend who I adore spending time with… who I think is just drifting away.  And I don’t know what to do about any of it. Except hide when it’s too much. Except cry. Except accept that maybe I just kind of suck at life and this is it for me.

Maybe tomorrow won’t be so terrifying.  Maybe tomorrow I’ll find some shred of confidence in myself someday again.

Tomorrow, tomorrow! Jesus, I sound like a depressed adult ”Annie”.