Dawn's Digression.

I haven't been blogging much lately (the past few months) because I am facing some pretty nasty challenges. I've been dealt some cards that I never even thought I'd see. I'm not handling it all that well. I go through spurts where I am okay and I know everything will be fine. Those moments come around more often than I can recall right now. I've actually been fairly proud of myself. Somehow I've kept my head above water since the beginning of the year. Most of the time, anyway. Like anyone, I hit my breaking points.

I've been fortunate to have some pretty cool things come my way. There is a ton of good things in my life. I have friends, I have a new job, I made A's (stupid cheap A-). My mom is having surgery, but she will be fine. Yet somehow I still have room to be sad. The word I want isn't really sad. Beaten. I feel like the fax machine on Office Space. Like someone took me out into a field, beat me with a baseball bat, and left me for dead. Sometimes I wonder why someone didn't.

I guess I feel pretty safe blogging tonight since my hits are really low. I feel like no one is going to read, so why watch what I say? One thing I do want to make clear is that my electronic life and everyday reality are different beasts. There are things I won't want to talk about in person or have circulated. I trust you will know what these things are. When in doubt, ask.

I know I'm being elusive and strange, and I'm sorry. I'm just tired. You just don't know. I am treading water...I've been treading for months, and it's like I'm just waiting for someone to hand me the cement block. I keep saying, "Things will get better...just hang on." Things do get better. I get A's. I get a job. Things like that.

I have a whole in my heart. An empty void that I just don't know how to fill. I've been deeply disturbed off and on for several months. The reason I decided to take Prozac was was that I started cutting. I had done it before, but only a couple of times. I've found myself craving it the last few months. Particularly Dec-Feb. I haven't done anything since I started taking the Prozac, but it is still in my mind. I have a scar on the back of my hand that has been there for a couple of months, now. I have a couple of teeny scars on my arm from cutting. Interestingly enough, my legs were where I did the most damage, and I have no scars. I am not certain what my motivation is for typing that here. There is always the attention factor. But I don't think that is it. I would prefer not to discuss this with anyone. Perhaps I just need to type it out so I can let it go.

My home life has not been the best. Not because of any reasons that you may suspect. Michele and I are both completely stretched beyond what we can handle. I try so hard to be there for her and be her friend, but I can't reach her anymore. She has gone beyond a place I can reach. This particularly hurts me because I know how that place feels. I imagine she feels just as alone as I do.

My moods have been all over the place. It's awful. I'm hyper. I'm sad. I'm hyper. I'm poopy. It just plain sucks. If only I had 'a crysal ball to look through', maybe, just maybe, I could make a good decision.

Because of my moods and internal drama, I often feel alone and like I have no one to talk to. The fact of the matter is that I've worn out most of my friends. I don't want to be the annoying friend. I feel guilty when I unload my problems. I know my situation makes no sense to outsiders. Hell, it doesn't make sense to me. I am completely lost and confused.

I am totally in love with this laptop. I am able to watch IG DVDs while I blog. I surf the net while I watch tv with Michele. The capture feature while watching DVDs rocks my world. I can zoom and capture whatever Amy pose I want to.

I was talking to Ruby today on the phone and she asked if I remembered when we were younger that we kept saying we weren't going to live to all these ages. 16. 18. 25. And here we both are at 30 (close enough). I don't know about Ruby, but I have no idea how I got here. Or why I got here.

I'm big on having purpose. I am still trying to figure out what my reason is for being here. I don't give to the community. It appears I won't have a family. I don't volunteer, I'm not political. And while I certainly believe in giving to the greater good, I don't forsee myself changing any of that. I've wondered if maybe my gift is my friendship. It seems hokey, but the more people I meet, the more I realize what truly wonderful friendships I have with people. I have people I've been friends with for 15 years. And I don't mean I know them. I mean I can call anytime, and expect them to be there. And I am the same. A friend is a friend, no matter how long it has been. I find it so sad when I realize there are people who don't have these intimate relationships. And then I think that I am over-estimating myself. Maybe my friendships just seem so much better because they belong to me.

Don't forget to look at the picture of Ginny up right. I love this little dog. Even though she sometimes tinkles on the carpet and wakes me up at 2am for a potty break. When I come home from work, she runs as fast as she can to me with her ears back. It's nice to be loved so much. This is what I love about animals. The unconditional love. Us for them, them for us.

This post was very disturbing to read...and I know you know why. We were just talking about the "control" issue. Why didn't you talk to me about this? It's weird how we all have our own little things that we do to hurt ourselves...why is that? We love other people so much that we can't fathom hurting them, but we can definitely hurt ourselves...not enough self-love? That's gotta be it, huh? We don't have enough love for ourselves. Well maybe we should take the "Stuart Smalley" route and encourage ourselves..."Cutting" - why cutting?? UGH!!!