I’m clogged up again. I want to cry all the time but know I can’t. The long crying jags that got me through the early days don’t comfort me anymore. Now, halfway through a cry, I start to think how pointless it is. I can cry until I dissolve, it’s not going to change anything. So I’m back to the weird grimace.
In fact, I’m taking the grimace to the west coast. “Trying To Fast Forward Life” Part Two continues tomorrow when Tom and I go to Santa Barbara to visit relatives and LA to celebrate my boss’ birthday. It’ll be a good trip. I got my eyebrows waxed and bought deodorant, so I should be in good shape.
I feel so weird. I hope it’s because I’m getting my period. Incidentally, I’m really worried I’m about to get my period. This potentially sensitive event may be occurring just after my doctor’s refusal to prescribe me tranquilizers followed by a helpful lecture on how to grieve. I don’t understand how med-heads on Intervention can score painkillers with a little eye-lash batting, and I can’t get 5 Xanax.
July is halfway over. I have not died my hair blond, gotten a tattoo, abused myself or others. I haven’t quit my job, crashed my car, or blew my savings account. I think I have successfully kept moving forward- I’ve definitely come to hate that phrase. If I could get 10 more pounds off, I might even consider thinking about possibly taking another improv class. Ugh my stomach lurched even as I wrote that. What the hell am I supposed to do? When will I start to feel ok about being busy again? I feel like I was forced join a religion against my will and it requires constant vigilant attention to one’s feelings, a responsibility to be sad, and there’s no way to get out. Being happy is not a sin, but it is a little unsatisfying because in the back of my mind I know it’s just a band-aid between sadness/restlessness/humiliation/panic.
