•July 26, 2012 • Leave a Comment

My head is a mess. Lately it’s hard to trust the inner self talk that we all engage in. Normally I trust my “instinct” but these past few days, I don’t know if it’s fear talking or if it’s truth emerging.

I no longer wish to play the enormous chess game that these things always seem to morph into. I have no energy for all that. My heart says one thing but my head knows something else. Who is right, who is wrong, and who gives a damn right now? 



Nothing Changes on New Year’s Day

•January 2, 2012 • Leave a Comment

So here it is…the first day of a new year and it feels just as shitty as the ones preceeding it. The reality of my life is almost unbearable at times. I wish I could molt and shed away all that holds me back from experiencing joy. Life is about to get very complicated and I just don’t have the emotional stamina to run the approaching gauntlet.

I want to disappear. Maybe if I lose enough weight, I will…..just vanish along with all my demons. So yeah, the ball dropped last night but so what? For me the only ball that truly dropped is the one I call my life…and I keep on dropping it. Always bouncing down the street, aimlessly, headed for the gutter opening. Maybe 2013 will be better! *smirk*

We are hoping…yes, and we’re praying

•December 21, 2011 • Leave a Comment

I’m screaming on the inside and no one hears me. I look around me and  I wonder if anyone has a clue what goes through my mind? Of course not…no one gives a shit to look close enough.

Listening to INXS. “This Time”…..and Michael Hutchence sings, “This time will be the last time…”

….and by God, it will be. Once I fix this, I will NEVER get myself in a situation like this ever again.  I have no idea how I let myself get so far down this road.


….and the screaming goes on silently.

It’s a Wonderful Life (for some people….)

•December 21, 2011 • Leave a Comment

It’s amazing how I can go from fine to gutted and depressed in hyperdrive speed.

I was on Facebook and saw my friend John post something innocuous about spotting Rod Stewart at the Newark Airport while waiting to catch a plane with his wife. I clicked on his wife’s profile and was blown away by how beautiful she is and how stylish she seems to be. But then what brought me down in an emotional spiral was how perfect their lives look in FB form. Picture perfect, their lives. Pretty house, trips abroad, and seemingly crazy in love. That’s when it hit me: I will never have that. I will never have that glossy, picture perfect life. I have bounced from dyfunction to dysfunction my entire life, never finding anyone or anything that wasn’t completely black and tainted. Nothing I touch is ever good.

But why?

Am I a bad person reaping what I somehow seem to sow? Did my miserable childhood mold me into a miserable person? Did I just draw the short end of the stick in life?

I’m so emotionally ruined right now. My life seems to be a giant mess. I control my eating and my weight because it’s the only thing I CAN control these days. Everything else seems uncontrollable as if it were a giant boulder, rolling down a hill, gathering speed along the way. It’s going to destroy everything in the end but right now, all I can do is watch and wait. FML.

Never enough

•December 4, 2011 • Leave a Comment

It’s never enough…

I’ll never be loved enough: I’m always fucking myself in the head with stupid men, if I can quote Amy Winehouse. Promises and words but never follow through. It’s always a pissing contest with them. They catch wind of how big of a jackass the last one was so they make grandiose promises to never act like that when in fact, they become even larger than the last.

I’ll never be thin or pretty enough: First it was 120, then 118, then 115, then I thought 110 sounded but perfect…but now…now I realize that’s not even thin enough. In my head, it all boils down to being pretty enough, thin enough and I always compare myself to the competition. I’ll end up starving myself into nothing and it won’t be enough.

I’ll never be sophisticated enough: I will never escape this Appalachian white trash past that continuously nips at my heels. I can read every book by Tolstoy, stare at every masterpiece in the Louvre, marvel at every ancient wonder I could find in Europe, learn other languages, study history of wars that are now just stories instead of memories, spend tens of thousands of dollars on an education….and I’ll still just be a simple girl from Roanoke (that backwoods railroad town down in SW VA). I feel like to everyone who had a middle class upbringing, I’ll never be enough. To everyone who had carpet, air condition, a garage, a dad who didn’t come home covered in welding burns…I’ll never measure up.

I’ll never be happy enough: How can you ever feel good, safe, or even confident when the one person who grew you…who carried you, who fed you from their body ultimately tried to destroy you? Sure, I wasn’t aborted in utero but every day after that Thursday in March 1975, it felt like she took a stab at it. How do you ever feel good about yourself when you know the person who gave you life resented you for it? How can any relationship ever be good after that? How do you trust anyone after you spent the first half of your life fighting for survival? The worst part is that half of all that I am is the thing that tried to destroy me.

I’m a fucked up mess. At least I know it.


The Understudy

•November 18, 2011 • 1 Comment

 The understudy. Second string.  The person the audience groans over when they realize they paid good money to see a no-name. I know that feeling all too well. Years ago I went to see Beauty and the Beast on Broadway because it was supposed to be starring that chick from the Sopranos who played Meadow. After taking our seats, an announcer, in his baritone voice, regrettably informed us all that Meadow Soprano was sick and No Name So and So was going to play the role of Belle. *groan*. The actress was phenomenal and I can’t imagine anyone doing a better job; unfortunately for her, she wasn’t Meadow. She was No Name So and So. Well allow me to introduce myself: Hello, my name is No Name So and So. No, I never starred in a Broadway musical. Instead,  I am the understudy to the South African. The 1st runner up, if you will.

Picture it: Washington D.C 2001. A young soldier meets an even younger amazon from South Africa. They have an “excellent weekend” and fall in love. Awww.  Wedded bliss didn’t last though. They got a divorce.  He claims she used him for a green card. My intel sources suggest otherwise. Nonetheless, it just seems he never got over her.

There are so many ridiculous reasons to support my theory; however, it’s pointless to post them here (but if, dear reader, you have a burning desire for a comprehensive list, I will be happy to provide such evidence). The real point is that I feel certain I am just a “place holder”. The boobie prize. The honorable mention ribbon you get at a 4-H event. You see, when I wanted him, he wasn’t interested. It was South Africa he wanted (despite her horse face and bad drug habit…but who’s keeping track? lol). I was just a chick in his “cache”. I was someone he could hit up when he wanted some ego stroking. The B movie actress with whom he could practice his lines. When South Africa left, he surely went through his cache looking for a suitable “bed bouncer” (as he likes to call ’em) and I know my number came up at least once, though I declined.

He dated a few people and none of it worked out for various unknown reasons (but one can suppose that it may have been due to many of the same reasons I’ve struggled to stay in this relationship i.e. lying, South Africa obsession, quasi-infidelity). When South Africa married France, I believe this set him on a crash course. His spending went out of control as well as his drinking. Then he eventually decided that it was time to find a place holder and guess who had the golden ticket? Yah – me :/

Anyway, I could rant for ages about this but the real point is that I’m sad. I’m depressed. I’m heartbroken, actually. It sucks to know in your bones you’re a substitute.  It’s maddening to know that you’re sitting in the shadow of someone else. I don’t know all the details to their love story. I only know ours…and it’s a story riddled with drama, grief, tears, and actions that I don’t deserve. I think in some ways, I got married to try to prove to myself that I wasn’t the understudy. I wanted to prove that I was more than that. I wanted to prove that maybe once…just ONCE in my life someone actually wanted ME for ME and not what I could do for them or what I represented to them. But this deployment….well, I dunno….the months of small talk, discussions about Lt. Kim’s dietary habits and comedic talents wrapped in the glaring absence of romance, longing, lusting, pining, yearning have left me with little doubt of the role I am to play.

I never wanted to play second fiddle. But it doesn’t matter because I am No Name So and So and it doesn’t matter that I am giving the performance of a lifetime; all the audience will remember is that I am not South Africa. I’m just her understudy.

Occupy Sinus Street

•November 17, 2011 • Leave a Comment

So Ebola Roanoke is still firmly embedded in my sinus cavities and today, after showing signs that part of it’s diabolical plan is to occupy my lungs and open up a green goo plant, I decided it was time to call in reinforcements. I blew off a faculty meeting to go to urgent care and what a farce that was! I’m incredulous that I had to pay $20 and wait in a giant petri dish of various infections (aka a waiting room) to be seen by a doctor who, upon his arrival, asked me to identify my ailment. I explained that I felt I had all the classic symptoms of  sinusitis while he nodded and scribbled furiously in my chart (I want to read that thing. I bet it just says “All Work and No Play Makes Jack a Dull Boy” over and over.). He then jumped up, listened to my lungs and heart, felt my neck, then sat down and wrote out a ‘script for Amoxicillan. Really? That’s all I get for $20? What a racket! Can doctors be brought up on charges under the RICO Act? What a shake down just to get a prescription that cost me $5.33! Oh yeah…I got a shot in the dupa (supposedly a steroid but I haven’t seen any effects. I was hoping for ‘roid rage…that would be fun!)

I’m anxious for this illness to move on because I am desperate to hit the gym full force. My goal is to get down to 110 by Christmas. It’s going to be hard because I think my body is pretty content to hover around 115. I know I need to be burning at least 300 calories a day with exercise and eating lots of protein and few carbs and sugar. I need to run more but with night creeping in so early these days, it’s hard to fit in running (and I hate the dreadmill).

So the Penn State thing just keeps going on and on and getting messier and messier. Why do I delight in the agony that Jamie must be enduring over this? I got so sick of hearing about JoePa when we dated and so sick of seeing Penn State gear everywhere. What a cult! I wonder if the Kool Aid is blue or white?

So how weird am I? I really want a Guy Fawkes mask. Is that strange? I get such a big kick out of seeing protesters wearing them. It’s so rebellious! Not sure what that has to do with anything else I’ve mentioned but it was on my mind, so yeah…there you have it!

Current News: Syrian Military Deserters Strike Government Targets (they’s look a lot cooler if they were wearing Guy Fawkes masks!)

Current Weight: 115 (still a heifer)

Current Mood: Sick and bored (and a lil tired)