What you can expect:
The brutal truth of me, without all the sugary coating.
Here I am just me, UNCUT and UNEDITED.
I talk about my family, my divorce, and a lot about MAKEUP.
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Monday, November 6, 2017

Some thoughts on clutter

When people ask why I can't de-clutter, I can't describe why I need so many things. I look around for things I can live without, but come up short. Every little thing serves a purpose, helps me create the pieces of art and jewelry, the things I'm drawn to create. The urge to create is over-powering, the same over-powering feeling I used to get for writing. If my hands aren't making, I feel lost, like an unfulfilled addiction.

I constantly create because I need something beautiful to come out of all this chaos that's happened to me. I need my life to amount to something beautiful.

Maybe the constant, insatiable need to produce something breathtaking is just another form of trying to make sense of me, to make sense of what happened to the life I dreamed. We were my dream. Our family was all I lived for. I didn't live it as well as I needed to for us to survive. I didn't know better; I was a child. Neither did you; you were a child. But that knowledge doesn't help reconcile what was meant to be with what really came to be. This reality was never part of the deal. We didn't sign up for this result. I don't know what you signed up for, I truly don't. I only know what I signed up for, I committed to FOREVER.

I keep thinking I've made peace with it, the distance between what I dreamed and what I got. Have I, or am I just existing in a zero-gravity universe to keep it from hurting? Maybe there's nothing in my life because I know, if there's nothing, nothing can hurt me? I live to wait for the good, the moments of pleasure or peace, never risking anything.

No one can fix me. No one can give me back The Girl Who Believed.

I tell people I am better. I tell them I don't feel the ache anymore. Maybe I just don't feel anymore?

True, I don't cry over you anymore. I don't drown in the pain like I did. I don't feel the choke of failure and loss, not in relation to "us". But on my best day, do I truly experience joy? Is my ecstasy real, is it complete? It doesn't feel complete. It never feels like joy used to feel. The highs have never been as high. The lows don't go as low.

Maybe it's a trade worth making, sometimes I think it is,  but why the lie about "recovery" I've failed to make? Do I fail to see that I'm not alone in my emptiness? Are we all lying? Maybe there is no healing at all.

Maybe I'm not failing, maybe healing doesn't exist. Maybe we're all just trying to dull the pain.

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