I’m still doing all those things I’m supposed to be doing, waiting for this sense of OKness to rise up from inside and make me whole.
Diet! Exercise! Oil Cleansing Method! They are all prophetic of late. I’ve traded in my dry skin for break-outs, and my weight stays exactly the same. The story of my life right now, written in all caps, everywhere, is: GO AS HARD AS YOU CAN, AND STAY IN THE SAME PLACE. It’s exhausting and disheartening. Additionally, The Cool Thing has some stuff going on, and the pressure to look like a superstar (or failing that, at least normal) human being is greater than usual. (I’m going to be on a panel. Wheeee!)
I realized last night (as I was hugging the toilet, shivering with food poisoning*) that it took me almost 40 years to get to this place of crippling dependency on the approval of others. By break-up logic (Ye shall mourn half the time of the total relationship) that puts me at about 60-years-old before I feel OK again. It occurred to me that perhaps I am better going back to the way things were.
When I made this change, I had delusions of being some healthy person escaping the wreckage of bad family dynamics. Today, it feels like I’m just as damaged as my family, except now I’m alone. It feels very lonely, and as though the way they loved me was so enmeshed and weird that I will never feel loved again simply because no one else expresses themselves in the same way as my family of origin.
PS: My dad emailed me a few days ago. I think he was lonely for me, or possibly my mom is lonely for me and he’s her half-demented henchman. Twice, he identified himself by his given name, instead of ‘Dad’. I don’t think it was on purpose, but it’s possible he forgot how we are related.
*I’m writing this whole thing with what is probably a black bean stuck in my sinus cavity.