So, I have half a dozen post drafts saved from today. I kept finding myself at my ‘Add New Post’ page throughout the day, with nothing in the world to say. But then, when I’m here, I never have anything to say until I say it.
There are several thoughts that have been taking turns on center stage in my mind, several things I could begin ranting about. I couldn’t find the words this morning, and I can’t find them tonight. I want so badly to be understood, that I find that I can’t trust my own explanations. Nothing I begin to write seems good enough.
And so once again I find myself in a state of pulling teeth with my own ideas, attempting to force them into expression and failing miserably. I suppose this is partially because I don’t have much to say that I want to say that I haven’t already said.
But then, I seem to have forgotten, I don’t write to entertain.
I’ve had a few close calls with bulimia the past few days. I know it’s absurd, I know it would only hurt me, and the mixture of reasons I want to depend on it to get me through make no sense. The main reason is because I feel out of control. And I remember in the mobile home about three and a half years ago, when everything was at its worst, bulimia made me feel in control somehow. I couldn’t control the finances, my mother’s depression, the tension every night and day, the anxiety that drove me half-mad. But I could control my appearance. I had that. It was mine.
My mother wants me to apply to a university in California that she always wanted to go to. A few days ago she revealed that she would prefer if I went into interior decorating or fashion designing instead of becoming a forensic psychiatrist. As for the university I want to go to, she texts me every few hours explaining that people hate it there, and I don’t know what I want, that I’ll change my mind. And she finally flat-out told me to apply to UC-Irvine. Normally when my mother text-messages me I wait until I can speak with her in person to give her my reply. But that last text was sent at 11:30 tonight and I replied simply: No.
I’ll end up apologizing for the tone of the message tomorrow. But at the moment I still feel a tad peeved. Oh, for Pete’s sake, who am I kidding? I’m angry! Yep, I’m still going to apologize but at the moment I am thinking something to the tune of ‘I expected you to stand by my decisions like you told me you would when I was a child, that you would encourage me. Why is it more impressive to you that I sit and stare at color palettes all day instead of getting a doctorate and entering a respectable field?’ I want to show respect for her opinion because all of this has been the first that she has mentioned about anything regarding my future career and I’m sure that initially it was difficult to tell me the truth, but now it feels as though she expects me to be mold that she can form into what she never was, what she never became. And I frankly don’t feel that I’m being unreasonable.
Alright folks, I’m going to try to get some rest, and then tomorrow I will stop being lazy and reply to your comments. I sincerely love reading them, but I’m just horrid at finding appropriate replies, I can assure you I am the same when it comes to e-mails.