Epiphanies, Realisations, Wisdom
Yeah. So I was standing there watching Sole at the Spitz, feeling generally shitty and sorry for myself, and I kind of came to a conclusion.
Reality check - it's probably a temporary conclusion, one borne of a fleeting jolt of self importance and ... self preservation .... that will fade in a few hours, like they do. But maybe not. Maybe one day, something will stick.
So I was feeling (as I have already said... see stalling already) that I was feeling down and sorry for myself. More about that later. Much much more. This is a blog after all. I was thinking that part of my despair lie in the fact that I don't have anyone to talk to - to share my burden, if you will. To speak the unspeakable thoughts that are in my brain to. To admit defeat to. To show the real me to.
Probably because I am a Taurus and and only child (well okay only until the age of 18 at which point I was delivered a half sister whom I love more than myself) and because of the nature of that and who I have become over the years... I have a massive skin of bravado, a huge illusion that I create, a fantastical wall of identity and front that I can't afford to discard lest something awful and terrible happen to me... or one of those that I love so dearly who has come to count on me/consider me in the manner in which I have allowed them to believe I exist.
~deep breath. am i still making sense? did i ever make sense?
Well, anyway, the conclusion was roughly that I need to try to be more honest about things... if not to others at least to myself, because maybe it is about time I stopped pushing it all in and tried to actually have an external conversation about stuff, with myself.
So this is the genius part - obviously no one is reading this blog thing of mine, for a start I haven't kept up with it and beside I'm not a working prostitute in London like Belle du Jour who had, oh, literally dozens of readers before turning Pro... I mean, publishing her memoirs. On real paper, like.
Thing being that THEORETICALLY anyone can read this. I am indeed publishing a blog, putting it out there in the ether and yes therefore it's a purge of sorts. I'm hoping that a few people will occasionally make disparaging comments like "shut the fuck up you moany bitch you think you got it bad well my arm just fell off".
Do you see what I'm doing here... being clever, avoiding the topic.
Okay so I am going to skirt this one a bit but I'm gonna throw a few points out there just to test my waters and get this ball rolling and GET ON WITH IT.
So... I have this thing called a prolactinoma. It's a tumour / growth in my pituitary gland and it means I'm producing excess amounts of a chemical called prolactin and that my hormones are all fucked up. It's not cancerous and apparently if I take my meds like a good girl, it will either control itself or even possibly shrivel up and die. Well then, SHUT THE FUCK UP YOU MOANING BITCH. Right? Yeah well I'm not even warmed up yet.
The big issue is that this prolactinoma is causing all kids of fabulous side effects and that is the thing that is causing me the "issues". The most exciting development is that I have terminal acne - okay yeah SHUT UP YOU MOANING... etc. but sorry. I never had problem skin. And this isn't just a few spots. It's like I am the Elephant Face woman. I don't get spots/pimples in the conventional sense - I get big boil-like lumps underneath my skin. Only on my face, of course. These bumps are roughly the size of a pea, or a pinto bean. Which sounds small but try sticking a bunch of them under the top layer of your skin and see how big they suddenly become.
I don't consider myself a particularly vain person, because I've never been considered particularly beautiful / attractive / desirable / etc... whatever those words are. I mean I know I'm not ugly, that I'm reasonably attractive (and yes I judge myself by who I get to fuck me (c) Frightwig) but I've never really made much out of what I had or considered it my biggest asset. I have pretty much always been overweight. So.. yeah I don't think I'm a priss about it.
But of course as you get older these things become more important, more apparent, and when your looks start to go you start to notice the attention you are missing.
My job means that I have to but up a lot of Front. I have to lead. I have to manage 10 employees. I need to inspire confidence in my colleagues. I work with a bunch of musicians and artists and I need to maintain their confidence. I have to be Big Bad Me at least 10 hours a day. And this big ugly lumpy face of mine is making that extremely difficult, because I am mortified by my appearance and that means my confidence is non-existent.
Okay. I'm stopping there. This is a big step. No need to purge my entire soul in one sitting.