I'm feeling really frustrated right now: why can't anything go the way I want it to? Why can't my life, like Carrie Bradshaw's, be fabulous, sexy and filled with frivolity? Am I forever destined to be plain and boring, wondering why I was left at the doorstep of life, rather than being invited inside to join the party?
I know that is the feeling most have at one point or another. I am curious if it is a feeling that dissipates after a while, though, or if it maintains it's ominous presence for a select socially-awkward few who eventually turn into bitter old women who wear brown ribbed cardigens through the summers and ugly shoes.
I don't want to wear ugly shoes.
I am feeling a general sens of disappointment with life, and a lack of direction. While I'm going IN a direction,I'm unsure if it's the right one anymore. Part of that, I know, is that the source of faith that steered my path is missing. I am no longer worshipping, praying or reading to nourish my soul. At all. And I'm suffering for it. And I'm making personal choices that are costly; usually at the expense of myself, sometimes at the expense of others. I am the person I used to be, who I never wanted to become again. And it sucks. Just plain sucks.
I say one thing, and do another, and I lie, mostly to myself, in order to justify my reasoning. I say, it's going to be a learning experience, I'm learning more about myself, it's good to be alone sometimes, I like the time to think, It's just for now, knowing that all of them are false, and I am only pacifying my insecurities and the concerns of friends.
Friends? What friends? I am so good at avoiding people, I don't even need to push them away. I say, I'm so busy, I meant to return your call, I missed you, but I thought I called you back, Oh, I thought you were gone that weekend! knowing full well that I ignored their call, I deleted that text, and stayed home all weekend so as not to chance a run-in. Because, if someone cares, they are involved. And if they are involved, you are vulnerable. And I hate vulnerability. As much as I want it, I can't do it. I would rather have my skin split with smallpox than to have my heart seared by betrayal.
Don't we all? Aren't we all great protectors of ourselves? Even when we don't mean to, we put our well-being, in whatever sense of the word, over someone else's. It's hard to care about others when all we care about it ourselves.
Before you say...duh...this is a lesson I've learned many times, and it's coming to another point of tension--where the same lesson will be taught and hopefully another lesson learned. We all have our downfalls. Mine is myself.