A Woman In Search of Her Word

I am turning 26 in 5 days and only 5 people ever saw this website that I spent days and days creating 4 years ago. It's rotting and starting to smell. Not only is it irrelevant, but it no longer represents me and who I want to be. This is why I tell people I won't ever get a tattoo. There is beauty looking at the words that still resonate with me that I wrote, but I don't need to look at them forever. I was listening to a podcast with a group of people in their 40's and 50's saying they all feel about 17. That who they were then was basically who they are now in their mind. I don't think that is true for me. I think my resting age will be constantly changing. I have loved and loathed being 25. I got to stumble into a job I don't hate. I got to do a lot of good hiking and skiing. I finally got into a healthy lifestyle routine. I stopped being so anxious about work...well I tried...am a work in progress. I danced a lot alone in my apartment and made myself good meals and tried running up mountains. But...there was a pandemic. I worked as a nanny which I hated, mostly because the kids were mean and unamused. And then I got sick. Not the kind of sick that was going around. A sickness in my gut which has now put me into a period of pain, fatigue, and desperation. And it's not sexy. I have a cut in my asshole so deep I have to have surgery to cut my internal sphincter. Told you it wasn't sexy. Couldn't have been "back pain" had to life literally kicked me in the ass. This month I had to take a leave of absence, had to stop working out so much, have been spiraling into depression and anxiety while popping Advil like candy and pumping myself so full of bread and ice cream you'd think I'd reverted to being the Pillsbury dough boy. I'm backsliding. After working so hard for 10 months I feel like giving up. A month ago I climbed mountains and today I weighed in 10 pounds heavier, walked 1,000 steps, ate a pint of ice cream and then made myself throw it up because I felt so bad about it. And just cause I want to add the whipped cream and cherry...in other news this month I had to go back to finish my root canal which they did not finish, got stung by a scorpion, and nearly broke my nose with a medicine ball. Taylor offered me the chance to interview for Adobe which I can't do because I can't think straight right now and have to wait another 3 weeks for surgery. The dress I bought for MK's wedding is getting too tight and the others I ordered are backordered until after the wedding. I am letting Carrie down again and again and now I don't know if I should just tell her to hire someone else because I don't really want to have a part time job with no benefits other than flexibility.

The truth is I feel like I have no reason to live, to be a living human. I serve no purpose. I take up space, require housing and food and soft things to wear. I don't want to move any more or eat any less. I want to die by lifestyle. I want to numb out every intrusive thought and anxiety. I wish I could take the nitrous from the dentist and just float into nothingness. That appeals to me more than any idea I come up with. It seems like no matter what kind of life you make there is more pain and suffering than good. No one is capable of loving you the way you need when you need it because they too have their own pain and suffering shit storm to deal with. You don't own suffering - even in the moment you feel at your lowest someone else's storm is bigger than yours. If you ask for help, then there are expectations on you. If you don't ask for help, there are still expectations put on you. And everyone's expectations for you are different. So you spin and spin dancing for everyone, trying to be everything to everyone. Kind and selfless enough to be a friend, forgiving and deaf enough to be family, smart and reliable enough to be an employee, pretty and witty enough to be a lover, submissive and decisive enough to be a spouse. You spend hours conforming. Looking in the mirror and retouching in your mind until you are morphed into the palatable version of you. Who are you? Cause I don't fucking know and I don't really give a shit about it right now.