It's good to be me -- most of the time. I'm charming, amusing, beautiful, fascinating, curious, creative, and loved. For sometime now, I have not appreciated all of my lovely qualities. I have been more focused on the negative attributes acquired when I wasn't diligently protecting my complex psyche. These would include, but are not limited to: anxious, cranky, alcoholic, compulsively lazy, and dangerously self-involved. Lately, anxiety is my middle name. Where did "fascinating" get off to? Hiding, I presume.
When anxiety rules, chaos reigns as its creepy consort. I am surrounded by empty jars of vodka and nutella. They litter the house, at night, like bats at a bug party. I've been trying to be good to the planet by reusing grocery bags, leaving me without a place to hide my shameful empties. The children pick up after me in the morning. I am sure they are shaking their heads, wondering if their mother will be reprising the role of the mother in, "What's Eating Gilbert Grape". I could seriously go there. Some days I dream of allowing myself a free for all of indulgence. I can see myself never leaving the house, only opening the door to the grocery delivery boy, who only delivers nutella, nutella, nutella. The vodka would just magically appear (that's how it is -- I think there is an enabler in the house).
I am awash in pitiful self-indulgence, lacking the will to say no to myself. I blame my mother. She was always telling me to remember to do something nice for myself every now and then. Had she shamed me more, I would be better equipped at this self-loathing thing. I would have taken up smoking, and given up food. Instead, I give myself little rewards for making it through another day. SHE encouraged that behavior. "Set a goal", she would say, "And, reward yourself when you accomplish it". Had she said, "You are lazy and worthless -- you deserve nothing", I'm sure that I would be a crack addict by now. Those women are thin. They aren't wallowing in nutella and vodka. They can wear a bathing suit in the hot tub, whereas I wear a man's t-shirt and baggie, hammer pants, cut off at the knee. I've set my goal too high. My dream should not be to make it through another day. It should be to make through to my next fix. My hair might get stringy, and my teeth might fall out, but what anxiety will I have? I will be oblivious to the world around me.
It's time to roll up my sleeves and get to work on my new goal.
May peace and a new goal be yours from, The Goddess of Everything.