"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet." (Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar)
This is my life right now.
This is my mind right now.
There are so many possibilities that I have no idea where to begin.
No idea what to do.
No idea what I want.
Except a sense of peace.
A sense of self-acceptance.
I'm tired of trying so hard.
I'm tired of being tired.
I realize that this blog has turned into a place of self-pity and whiny-ness.
That was not my original intention.
But I guess this is sort of what I need right now.
A place to vent and whine and pout for a few minutes.
It's weird, Carone keeps calling me, and it's super flattering, but I just have no desire to go over there. I know if I go over there I'll just put so much pressure on myself to perform, to be hot and sexy and good. I won't enjoy it. I'll just be worrying too much about what he thinks of me. Then the dilemma is, do I go over and just not worry about it? Or do I make up some excuse? And then worry about that. I'm sick of worrying. I'm sick of feeling unworthy.
When I envision my ideal self, what do I see?
I don't know anymore . . . .
I definitely need to get out of my bubble.
I need to go somewhere I've never been
and do something I never do
and do physical labor to help others.
Do something for someone other than myself
and my stupid narcissistic ego.
Because in helping others,
I will help myself.
In truly loving others,
I will love myself.
In truly forgiving others,
I will forgive myself.
This is my mind right now.
There are so many possibilities that I have no idea where to begin.
No idea what to do.
No idea what I want.
Except a sense of peace.
A sense of self-acceptance.
I'm tired of trying so hard.
I'm tired of being tired.
I realize that this blog has turned into a place of self-pity and whiny-ness.
That was not my original intention.
But I guess this is sort of what I need right now.
A place to vent and whine and pout for a few minutes.
It's weird, Carone keeps calling me, and it's super flattering, but I just have no desire to go over there. I know if I go over there I'll just put so much pressure on myself to perform, to be hot and sexy and good. I won't enjoy it. I'll just be worrying too much about what he thinks of me. Then the dilemma is, do I go over and just not worry about it? Or do I make up some excuse? And then worry about that. I'm sick of worrying. I'm sick of feeling unworthy.
When I envision my ideal self, what do I see?
I don't know anymore . . . .
I definitely need to get out of my bubble.
I need to go somewhere I've never been
and do something I never do
and do physical labor to help others.
Do something for someone other than myself
and my stupid narcissistic ego.
Because in helping others,
I will help myself.
In truly loving others,
I will love myself.
In truly forgiving others,
I will forgive myself.
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