So here I am at the start of very blank page with a driving to write down something.

Maybe bring my reader to a different world or maybe just to quiet my inner voice that WON'T SHUT UP! Who knows but here I am. This is not a blog or a status update. I don't quite know what it is yet but bare with me. Yes, I spelled that the way I intended it. I'm a 5'9” hippy woman. By that I mean I have hips. But it's not my most defining physical attribute, maybe my most vexing. My cheekbones are what's most commented on. They are definitely prominent. I have dark eyes often thought as black. They're small for my liking so I wear colored contacts and occasionally makeup to enhance them. I've been told I'm beautiful. I like hearing that but I know it's all subjective. Currently I'm in a low spot in my life. Kinda. My husband of almost 10 years wants a divorce and states that he doesn't love me anymore. I was fired from my job less than a week later and my teenage daughter has serious anger issues that have had fantastical physical side effects. Those things alone have been enough to send me into long and hysterical crying binges. Had it not been for modern chemistry I'd be a total basket case. I think. Instead I'm in a curious holding pattern swinging from anxiety to hope. The plan is to move back to the area I grew up in. Picton, Ontario. The intentions of this have been spoken aloud. I've even looked for places for my daughter and I to live and for possible jobs for myself. There is a part of me that is already there smelling damp spring earth and growing things in a cool breeze. Olfactory hallucinations. The rest of me is stuck like a lump of unrealized potential in this house, on Guam. My brain is working overtime on absolutely nothing, which is entirely preferable to thinking about exactly what my life is right now. However, a startlingly unsettling antsiness has come upon me. This unrest is driven by anticipation? I have no idea. I just know that it's growing and this is the best I could do to perhaps relieve some of it. It's not working yet so on I go. I can paint. I once thought of myself as an artist and I think a few people still do. Yet when I picked up a pencil and canvas I had no idea what to paint. I told myself it didn't matter what I painted. I pulled out a huge canvas that I had bought for my husband as a birthday or anniversary gift. He was to tell me what he would like on it. It sat collecting dust for about two years I think. I started to draw one of our wedding photos out. I spent about 45 minutes on it and then put it aside disgusted with my diminished skills and the subject matter both. I haven't touched it since. The disgust rises in me when I think of how stupid I am for still loving my husband. He has shown me moments of caring but no romance in several years. He fluctuates between anger, apathy and resentment for me. I don't think he would allow himself a happy memory of us now or anytime in the next couple lifetimes. He has quite the list of grievances cataloged and easily retrievable on a moments notice. None of which are monumental in my mind which is why is leaves me so perplexed. I did believe him for quite sometime that the accusations indeed supported the idea that I was a singularly unrepentant and horrible human being. Even that I wasn't a desirable or competent mother. I BELIEVED. This self reproach began to nag me all the time. I do mean all the time. My mind churned and churned and I became less and less. This of course was in direct conflict with the crazy cool eccentric and wise person I thought I knew myself to be. Maybe it was all my perception. Maybe I had been living in a big delusion. After all, who knew me better than this man. My soul mate. The love of my life. The man I asked the Gods for. Literally the man of my dreams. If this paragon of my affection saw me as so horribly flawed and unforgivably inconsiderate and selfish, then perhaps I am.

I keep changing up present tense with past. The same thing happens in my mind. I don't know which I am or how to reconcile the two very different people I'm trying to understand within myself. I'm not the sort to change my self perception because of ANYONE else. No one has been able to do it before. But somehow this man has left me bereft of self. Of course I know this was my own doing. I GAVE him that power. How do you take back a gift like that. I can't unless I start to truly believe he no longer deserves that power over me. Well, it has been getting easier and easier as I start to watch him get drunk as usual every night on a twelve pack more or less of Miller Lite a night. This is something he attributes to my doing. I make it so that he feels the need to not feel through alcohol. That is not the type of influence I ever wanted to have over anyone. The more I think on it the more I remember how much he drank when we met. He'd been a drinker from the start. Of course I didn't grow up around any alcoholics even though my father was one. (I didn't meet him till I was 7) so there were no warning signs or bells for me. I knew what everyone in American society is preached about the evils of drinking. I started to see it while I had a friend that was an alcoholic. The symmetry I could see in the behaviors was too obvious to ignore. I started to worry. There was no point to that. I already had failed in his eyes so my opinion was void. He regularly reminds me of how I have no right to judge him. I'm really not trying to judge. I want him to get help. His solution is that he wont need to drink after my daughter and I are gone. Then there's that small matter of our son. Here I pause. Here my brain shuts up. Except this muffled screaming of my intuition. I can't form a coherent thought at the moment. I'll be back. My fingers lay on the keys resisting my want to use them. I'm pretty down at the moment. My husband is angry with me again. This time about money. But, of course it's never just bout money. I asked if he'll miss me. He said yes but in a possible unforeseeable future sorta of yes. He can't forgive me for one large reason. I'm doomed to continue the same things I do that make him mad. He thinks I don’t care. This is far from truth but it helps objectify me as an uncaring selfish monster. He's hardened his heart to me and only let's the tiniest bits of compassion or caring come through. I feel as though he carefully chooses how much he lets me see of any other emotions besides anger and disappointment. I don't know why I'm so horrible about getting up in the mornings or why I procrastinate to a point beyond acceptable. I don't know who I am anymore. I have a vague notion of who I was from slivers discovered through other peoples description of me. Creative, Intuitive, Intelligent. I feel like the Fool stepping on a cliff without a care of his well being, or more accurately he's oblivious to it. I keep moving through this life blissfully unaware of the faux pas I commit or the misplaced words. I believed in truth and foolishly expect others to treat with me on that level. I've also recently learned that living your life open makes people assume your an easy mark. I express myself when I believe I can help when instead of just listening and hoping someone notices that I might have something of value to share. That rarely happens. If it does I become a three headed monster that others run from. A variety of excuses have presented themselves. I take over peoples heads, I'm impatient, I don't know my place. (That one makes me angry, not sure why.) I've been told from a young age that I intidate people by either my mere presence or soon after I have opened my mouth. And the very big question that looms in my mind is Who am I? What do I want to be when I grow up? Should I get good at art, or go to Cuba for 5 years to become a medical doctor. Between those two extremes id practical survival.

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