As always it was wonderful to see Esther’s face, even over a screen. She complimented my hair, told me as always that I write so beautifully. Where would I be without this magical faery godmother of mine? This woman writer mother who has nurtured me in ways I still am getting comfortable with?
There are times now she refers to me as “Amazing Kate” and I almost believe her, though mostly I still chalk what she is seeing up to some kind of created lie, still feel like I am letting her down when I am consumed by my own bullshit sadness.
I saw a quote on the internet about people loving you because they see you as you are- they can't see all the ways you’ve lied to yourself. Oh how many times I’ve lied to myself. And to other people.
Burrowing in the ground, I’m a groundhog afraid to look someone earnest in the eyes too long. A creature too fearful that a person’s knowing me will lead them to disaster, worry I ruin everything I touch, that I, like the household I grew up in, am a secret & silent poison, subtle enough not to taste something’s off til it’s too late.
People tell me I am a good person and I cannot believe them.
I am a mess with a lot of sludgey shit inside. But so is everybody. Those people put on pants and march on for freedom just the same.
I just cry a lot. I just feel a lot & disappear until I can be sunshine for someone else again.
I tell everyone around me their worth is not directly tied to what they can do for others but can't hold that same mirror up to myself.
I am mentally ill and wonder sometimes if there is a way to fix me. I don’t try pills- half due to the fear of not being in control of my own body while the other half is scared it still won’t be enough.
Kinda like when I got off hormonal birth control and for two weeks I felt the most alive, better than I had in years but then as time fell, I fell crazy again. That was the most heartbreaking part.-
The killer was still inside the house.