I tend to isolate. It’s a new thing. Or maybe not.
Tumblr used to be what I did, you know? I was lonely. So I posted umpteen pictures of myself, doing, oh, nothing. I bitched and moaned about my children’s father, my finances, my grandmother, my life.
But lately, I’ve been silent. Absent. Scrolling though the dashboard, flipping through Facebook, keeping up - a little bit - with my friends. Missing them, really. Last year I sent out over fifty Christmas cards to Tumblr friends. This year? I didn’t, at all.
Going into the holiday season, I was very much bah humbug about the whole thing. “Oh, woe is me, there isn’t money for stamps and cards to send out. There isn’t money for Christmas dinner, or Christmas portraits, or the usual mountain of gifts, or the very picture of perfection the Facebook in-laws like to see,” and blah blah blah.
I’m coming up on a year. One year without a single drop of alcohol. One year with serious therapy. One year dealing. Not running. Not serial dating. Not hiding. Not pretending to be the tough one; the untouchable one; the one who tells half truths; the one who spills half her fears for the entire internet to read, but doesn’t explain a single word.
Instead, I’ve been trying to be real. I’m the one who screws up and says she’s sorry. I’m the one who can’t fix her screw ups right away. I’m the one who is still discovering who she is, at 31 years old. I’m the one who gets frustrated and has to make a list - or several - and doesn’t know how to keep all the juggled balls in the air.
So, I’ve not been posting a bunch of nonsense about doing my laundry and eating crackers. I’ve been trying to live my life, and it’s been frightening. I want to be here, sharing it. But maybe I don’t know how. I suppose it starts with that “post” button. We’ll see.
Thank you, for sticking with me.
