life of uncertainty

I forgot to save my entry. ugh.

Thanks for the comment G. It reminded me of one of the things my therapist said the other day. I was relaying the story of digging through the box of momentos and how finding, touching, reading some of those things gave me a glimpse of who I was. It was disjointing to realize how far from that person I had become without ever realizing it. She reminded me that I had to discover who I was now. What? That just isn't fair. I don't want to do that. I just want to not be the ME I am today. I want all the neediness and misery to fall away and my wonderful self to be there. Much like writing a paper I don't want to just throw it out there and keep reworking and reworking until it is polished and spectacular. I want to chew on each little word over and over until I find the perfect one, fit it into a well thought sentence and as I type it out delete it all and work it all again. Each line tearing down my esteem, my hopes, but in the end having a product that is barely passable to the perfectionist and who knows what to the audience? Why? I operate that way on SO many levels.

I saw a bedroom set in an add that was beautiful. Muted browns and blues, odd geometric shapes. Damn your living room is taking over! I thought geez, I have to have that. It is only $. Wouldn't it be nice to have that in my house making me so happy? And then I realized, what if I bought it, liked it for a while, even continued the decorating theme throughout the house and then...

CHANGED MY MIND!

What then? Then I want more changes but I'm stuck because I can't throw money away like that. That per my norm I'll just keep using it despite my hatred until it is worn and faded and worthless. Until I have no choice but to replace it with something economical and utilitarian.

I know this all seems a tad disjointed but it comes down to not having enough small joys in life I suppose. I live in drab most of the time and then I go big and it feels good for a while and then just turns to burn out.

Add to that that I'm running scared. What if I'm copying the inspiration of others around me? What if I'm letting everyone else's dreams become mine but not really. or worse? What if I find this perfect happy life of doing what I want when I want, wearing what I want, hanging what I want and someone comes a long and wants me to make room for them and I can't remember how? or past damages keep me on guard? or neediness grows and lets me throw it all away again. I have no faith in growth being anything but temporary.

I could go on and on at the moment. I need to go though, work is calling. I really want to throw logic to the wind and buy a laptop and get internet and make this place inviting, spruce up myspace, research high paying jobs, live in a binary world of color and music and people and shopping. I feel my bi-polar family history waiting in the wings at times like this.

Mostly I worry, I worry about all the things I would neglect should I go the computer route. I guess I should try to stick to journaling or something. I hate writing though, not for the reasons listed above but because I'm never comfortable. I always have more to say than my hands can tolerate, the pages too big or too small. ok. I've overstayed my brain's welcome.