Dawn Is Me

We took Gina back to Ithaca today. I don’t know why I should have found that trip so exhausting but I’m ready to crash.

I sometimes think I would be much happier if I lived by myself. I haven’t done that very many times in my life and, when I have, it has usually been associated with being in a school dormitory with a single.

I feel like I’m going to keel over, dead asleep, any second now but I still have to go do the dishes. It’s actually Kimmie’s turn to do them but she has refused (as usual), so somebody has to do them (also as usual).

See, if I lived by myself, I wouldn’t have to argue with anybody about doing the dishes.

I wouldn’t have to listen to people being gratuitously mean to each other.

I wouldn’t have to deal with people who are so plastic and fake that I can hardly stand to talk to them.

I wouldn’t have to be surrounded by a whole mess of people, not one of whom gives a rat’s ass about whether I’m happy or not, regardless of all the lip service about how important Mom is in the household.

They lie. I’m not important to them. They don’t even care that I’m here. Not one of them.

Which means I probably shouldn’t be here.

So … just how hard is it to be Dawn this week?

I find it pretty difficult, mostly because of how I’m surrounded by people and still manage to feel so all alone.

Of course, some of my children will read this and protest. And I guess I could wrap myself up in their love if I wanted to escape how I’m feeling right now. Only, if I did that, then I’d find it impossible to let go when I’ll need to. Eventually, they’d hate me.

Helicopter Mom. Not my style. I know that, even if they don’t.

The primary thought in my head about this is: being alone in this way must make it much easier to contemplate death.

Man, I really need to pull my head outa my ass.

You wouldn’t think it to listen to all this whiney stuff but I’m actually doing some very cool things for myself these days. Things that will, eventually, result in a Dawn that looks good and feels good (healthy) and all that nifty stuff.

The issue is in the Getting There.

Sometimes, Getting There is just no fun at all. I find that I have issues when my ideas of who I am — which includes stuff like what I look like and how I think and what I need to get through a day — conflict with reality.

The sad fact is that no amount of baby soft skin is going to make the average woman look good in a cosmetic mud mask. She enjoys having the soft and youthful skin but not the wearing of the mask.

And, of course, if you ask her to stroll down Broadway wearing the mask, you are likely to have a mutiny on your hands.

That’s where I’m at right now, taking analogies into account. It’s silly and I gotta tell you that one of the things life can throw at you that really truly SUCKS is when you get depressed and feel stupid about it at the same time.

I mean, under those circumstances, you can’t even feel properly sorry for yourself because you’re too busy making fun of yourself.

Clearly, I need something to take my mind off of me. I’ll work on that.

“… bent down by the weight of feelings she could not convey.”

I feel like that sometimes.

Sometimes, it seems like I’m all alone in my life, in spite of all the people who live in my house.

When good things happen to me or when bad things happen to me — sometimes it seems like there is nobody in my life who cares.

They want me to be strong so they can depend on me. They get angry when I try for a little spell of weakness, because they don’t want me to get the idea that I can rely on them.

They are often willing to tell me that I look/sound tired but there is no one willing to let me rest.

There is nobody in my life who is willing to put themselves out, even a little, to make me happy.

And that makes me sad sometimes. At other times, it just makes me feel used.

But it’s not really something I can say to anybody.

I don’t want to burden myself with other people’s guilt.