Profoundly sad

I just want to be heard and understood. Not told that someone understands, but shown, to know that someone understands. Like the difference between bad literature that tells you meanings and emotions and good literature that evokes them in you.

About 15 years ago I had a counsellor who recognized my emotion and named it. He said I was profoundly sad. That was the most validation and understanding I have ever had.

Most people can’t do that. They just try to lard it over with some attempt to look at the bright side. They hope I had fun or enjoyed myself. Well, no, I didn’t. I was profoundly sad. I struggled through the battlefield because I am courageous, but it wasn’t fun, for fuck’s sake.

When I get a chance to dwell on the sadness and let it out, sometimes I take pictures. The cellphone makes that easy, a way to take multiple images with low cost and no effort. I have a whole folder of them, me frowning and face twisted in sorrow. Tears, an expression of anguish, and the easy inference that loud cries occurred at that time. I was alone, with no one to care for me, just me.  My validation of my own emotions.

I like looking at those pictures sometimes. A break from the rest of the world where sadness is pretty much banned. I would love to post a bunch of these pictures, but I am not going to show my face.




It’s been a tough couple of days for me, attending a conference. Hours of back to back presentations, while sitting on hard, low chairs. Oh, if only they had optional extra seat cushions for those of us with non-short legs. And loud networking sessions with so many voices clamouring like madly mating frogs.

I’m not used to being around a whole lot of people, period, never mind all day. There was a quiet half-hour where I was able to stretch my legs out on a couch and sort out where my mind and emotions were. I felt lonely in a crowd.

And now, at home, trying to sleep, my sorrow grows. I’ve never before felt the urge to press my hand against my neck and windpipe, but now I do. Maybe it’s an amplification of that old habit of breathing slowly and just letting my body rest without breathing in for a while. Something I discovered I found soothing.

My sorrow grieves the loss of life for me, loss of any value in life for me. Life was always more trouble than it was worth. I lost the chance to be treasured as a baby. I lost the chance to have a good relationship with my close sibling. I lost the chance to ever be really part of any group while growing up. I lost the chance to have my interests encouraged and nurtured so that my life grew up around me. I lost the chance to be aware of my own beauty as a young woman.

One day I found a picture of some cute girl about age 15-16 holding my cat. What? And she was wearing my dress or nightgown that I got for Christmas that year. And … she was me. I never knew at the time that I was “beautiful.” No one ever told me that. No, actually people called me “sir,” quite often!

And now I love to see the artistic beauty of belly dancers, and I love to do a bit of dancing myself. But how great it would have been to be able to do it back then. However, with no conscious connection to my own body, I could not do that. Back then, I was shy to look at myself in the mirror, except in private. Like, you wouldn’t catch me looking at my reflection in a store window or anywhere else public.

I lost the chance to study my interests or create a meaningful career. Or have friends or community connections.  I worked, but it wasn’t meaningful to me.

Time to lie down and try not breathing in, again.


The best thing that happened today didn’t. I didn’t get in a car accident, I didn’t totally lose a friend, and I didn’t shit myself during my dance class or any other time.

The dance teacher had a sore right upper trap and so I offered some massage. She also has fibromyalgia, she said, so I said if anything hurts, you must tell me to stop. At the end of the class she thanked me for this massage. At the beginning, she complimented my weird fashion belt, hand-me-down from my mother, which I use to hold in the bulge above the belly button. The diastasis/hernia bulge. I hate that bulge.

I hate all the bulges, the square ones on my hips that make them like a pumpkin ready to burst. The waist roll that makes all the hip movements look like nothing, as they are buried in fat. My face is a puffy moon, too. Eyes lost in a shapeless pool of jelly.

I have nothing. I have no joy, no solace, no refuge, no purpose. Well, my job search is a purpose, but rather than a soothing one, it’s anxiety-provoking. Hence the need for cider for soothing. Not that high in calories, but displacing my nutrition.

Ashamed of my life, my body, my fail.

My dance-class buddy sounded so relaxed when talking about the conference. Sounded excited that it would be a great opportunity. But I doubt myself, as I suck with people. If it’s about “fit” and people hiring you because they like you, then fuck it I am doomed. People DON’T like me, probably because I fear and thus don’t like them, overall. I mean I could like them in a way, as individuals, but it’s not like with an animal. With an animal, I like them all from the start. If I don’t like one as an individual, I probably like them more than people. I start with good will, with animals. With people, I start with fear.

So much for filling my evenings with learning. Worked for a couple days. Lately I’m very stressed from the conference push. The other day, when I started this post, I had cider and burned my mouth on pizza! I felt ashamed, and almost ready to blush even now, but on the other hand I can credit myself that I am exercising more, generally eating well, and feel my body getting firmer, not larger. Just sometimes I feel the grossness of it all and it overwhelms me for a while.

The conference starts in the morning. I’ve prepared as best I can to be calm, professional, curious, and to make my requests and mention my various intentions to as many people as possible, but in an appropriate way that feels right. So, up to now it’s shame/fail, and I am going to keep marching through my fear, as usual.

A void

A void

I’m writing into a void, but at least I’m writing, not avoiding. I wish I could tell people I know, but I’ve learned they don’t want to hear, so I’m going further afield. Maybe it will result in the same reaction: “Don’t wanna hear it. It’s a downer.”

It may be a downer, but it’s my downer. It’s my life.  My life that, according to nature, shouldn’t have been. But wait! Humans are part of nature, too. And humans, doctors, are what allowed me to be born. Saved my mother’s life during the gestation, and saved mine after the birth. And then let me rot in misery, of course. Life is sacred. But it’s all about quantity, long before quality.

And I like the good kind, so I tend to complain about quality.

I’m proud of myself for not just sitting back and taking it. Taking “the disability route,” hiding behind my curtains. My sister took that route, decided her mental and back issues were enough that she shouldn’t work. Her choice. I feel pretty disabled by being a social retard, but there’s no official category for that and apparently I don’t fit autism spectrum, nor am I paying two to three thousand bucks as an adult to confirm that. A diagnosis isn’t going to fix my life. I tend not to fit categories, anyway. As I said, I’m a unicorn – and not food-colouring rainbows like the current food fad, but a unicorn on a deeper level. My essence. And, no, I don’t fart rainbows.


Update: PS, the “rainbow” shown is actually a type of interpreted satellite image called a fringe. I borrowed the image and can’t remember from where, but there are many many similar images around. Sorry for the attribution fail! It won’t happen again.



I woke up terrified, as usual, because of the networking events I’m committed to. I paid good money to attend these, sometimes without great certainty. I mean two of them, I am going to learn something useful, and they aren’t that expensive. Two of them are more expensive, more time, and I’m not sure I’ll fit in. I’m looking for my peeps and a world I can really connect with. Somewhere I can belong, and find a career. So it’s big, time-consuming, expensive, and emotionally challenging. Once I’ve figured out how I’m going to approach it, what I want, my networking agenda and followup plans, I can do those. While figuring them out, I’m terrified with doubt about myself. Am I doing the right thing? I donno, but I wanted the early bird discounts, so I went for it. If I wait till I’m certain, nothing will ever happen. At some point you have to jump or you’re gonna hit the ground anyway.

But I have some good self-management habits, like regular exercise. Swimming is one of my regular things. I go and swim lengths for 30-60 minutes. And the hot tub is my soothing reward. If I don’t have to share lanes too much, the swim is pretty soothing, too. And I love that I look 5-10 years younger after as my facial complexion looks so much better.

So today I swam. Took the new-to-me swimsuit from Value Village. I’d gone shopping for an expensive proper sports-style one to replace the one that’s over two years old, but for almost $100 didn’t find anything I liked. I don’t want to have to reach over my head and undo a plastic clip that looks like I’m gonna break it somehow. The clerk said she’s never had one returned broken, but then she looks to be barely out of high school. And most people aren’t as rough on things as I am. If I don’t rip that clip apart with my bare hands, I’ll probably step on it or slam it in a door at some point.

So, I got a $5 swimsuit at Value Village. It even had a cute little skirt to hide some upper thigh flab. I liked the colours, too. The skirt caught on my arm when I was swimming, so I had to tie it up on one side. When I got out, I noticed the skirt was pretty much down to my knees. Felt weird.

Best of all, as you can see, the suit has an impressive bustline, hills like white elephants, major uplift. This gave each side of my chest a room of its own. In other words, I didn’t need these capacious carapaces. However, when I got in the pool, it seemed these hollow handfuls contained magnets for male eyes. I felt them on me in a strange way, lingering like never before. I’ve never had a bust that stood out, particularly. But now I did. And it made me laugh. I had a couple of good giggles at the end of some of my laps.

My life is over?

My life is over?

I’ve definitely felt this for several years. My marriage going down the toilet amplified the feeling and showed that I even screwed up in the one thing that I thought would save me.

And now I’m chasing after something else to fix my life, a new career? A year of job applications got me one interview, but no job. Now I’m trying “networking”, ie connecting with people in the fields I’m interested in. And someone is supposed to like me and if there’s a mutual fit I could be in?

I don’t fit. I never have belonged. I always had to struggle to even play the role of fitting anywhere. I’m a unicorn. I’ll explain next time. I’m spending over $2000 to go to various learning and networking events so that I can connect with people in fields of interest, find out what I need to know, and ultimately make a career change. I fear that “what I need to know” is that “this is not the place for me.” Fifty-five years of that message has brought me much despair.

Taking these steps, making these decisions – it doesn’t feel natural, doesn’t feel comfortable. There are moments of excitement and many more of terror.

When I met my sweetheart, we were both despairing of this world, wanting out, and then hoping for salvation in each other. Turns out we just hurt each other. He found his salvation elsewhere, blaming me a thousandfold with hailstorms of criticism, along the way. I feel so beaten down since our connection failed. I thought we had a plan and a life together, to the end.

In the end, as in the beginning, I am alone and hurting.

Partly Happy Birthday

Partly Happy Birthday

Gotta say I was touched by receiving my friend’s watercolour sketch of a duck, which relates to my dream job, and on the back she wrote, “May all your dreams come true.” For a moment I was touched, and the rest of the day I was cranky.

We, my former sweetheart and I, never celebrated birthdays, because life sucks, right? But now that he’s gotten rid of me, he sends me a weird card with 3 skulls on it and a birthday message on the back. We never did that before.

Then today I go off to my new friend who likes me and is treating me to lunch. I feel awkward, donno why. It does not go well. I feel cranky. She blabbers on happily about the sunny day, as she is easily amused – something she said about herself today. I am not easily amused. I hated all the driving in my car which has no AC and is hot. It was a mistake to buy it. Had my ex not been a jerk, I wouldn’t have felt so pressured to buy a car that day and GTFO. I couldn’t handle his levels of jerkiness last summer, so I made a mistake. Pressure, always pressuring myself into choices I don’t really want.

Because, face it, I don’t want to be here. I don’t want life. Never did. When I was a kid and I learned that apple seeds have cyanide in them, I immediately started collecting them in a lovely round pickle jar with honeycomb-like facets. I got it about half full before my parents split up, but the idea of an escape from this life instantly appealed to me at the age of five. I wasn’t even in school yet, but apparently I had a death wish. After school started and no one liked me and I appeared five years older than everyone else physically and mentally, but not emotionally, the death wish increased, of course.

But my friend’s card made me cry, because it was all about enjoying every moment in life, kinda like the cards my pollyanna mother used to send me. However, the reality is that multiple days go by where I enjoy nothing. It’s pretty hard to take. And a bite of delicious orange or half an hour of sunshine is not enough to make the day worth enduring.

Best part of my day was solving an old-school coding problem, even though I have no hope of ever becoming a full-stack programmer or anything like that. I’m just a GIS wannabee, using a bit of python for scripting and automation. The other good part was creating a video for some nonprofit I’m volunteering with. Just networking and using the project to have something to add to my LinkedIn portfolio. They’re glad to have the work, so I don’t feel bad about “using” them. It is something they actually want. And I have started to learn how to make and edit an instructional video.