Which Way Should I Go?

Dear Hearts,

One Daylight Savings’ Day, I remember sitting in my chair in the Barbie Fun room thinking that I had a whole extra hour to do with which to do whatever I wanted. I can’t remember if I slept or watched a show. I must have been in the throes of divorce or getting there, because that’s when I started taking sanctuary in the Barbie Fun room. Then it was the Hide-Barricade-Sob room

I used the extra hour last night to stay up and watch The Black List and Boardwalk Empire.

I still can’t shake the feeling that I am supposed to be living some other life. A life with a teaching job, husband, house, kids, and not disability. I just don’t feel at ease in my skin, body, mind…

I have taken to drawing. Drawing. Me. I enjoy it even if I am at not very good at it. But, I feel guilty about that too—a waste of time. I finished and started coloring my first coloring page: I’ve started my second coloring page.

Sometimes I feel like I am having this Out-Of-Body Experience. Like I can see something who looks like me living this life. A stranger’s life.

The Burning Bed doesn’t know I am a liability on disability. The Star doesn’t know that either—although I would be open with them. The Star would not judge.

Last night, at one of my first official Star events, I dressed all in white. I loved dressing up in white as a Rainbow Girl and I think it’s sad that The Star doesn’t wear white regularly. I am not The Worshipful Master’s daughter and I’m not T.’s girlfriend—I’m just me. I wonder if that’s enough.

I sat next to a very anxious woman who was also debilitated by anxiety and depression. I told her that The Star is a welcoming place. How it feels like Home. But, not real Home—like I’m Playing House. They don’t know the Jersey Grand Rainbow lodge threw me out because I didn’t do The Charity Report or go to Cypress Hill—three hours from my house.

I was too busy with drama over my first boyfriend who was away at college and having a drug-induced break down and getting involved with the Sociopath. I probably only got Grand Charity because of my last name. (Dad was a very influential and important Mason then.) I never asked for Grand Charity.

I remember around the time I was “fired” from Charity, being on the phone with Red (my first beau) late at night and saying I was just trying to make everyone happy. I broke the sugar bowl on the table, because I picked it up and slammed it down.

Boys. Guys. Men. I have lived my life by them. And I lost.

I never believed that I by myself was good enough. I didn’t believe it when I was 12, 18, 25, 32, or apparently 39. So I have lived other’s lives. I have lived my life trying to please. It’s tiring.

I didn’t mean to be this depressing. I had a good day—it’s just that veil that hangs between me and the rest of the world. I can rip through it.

God, Christ, Mother Mary, St. Jude—please tell me which way to go.

“Would you tell me please, which way to go?”

“That depends a good deal on where you want to get to.” Cheshire Cat.

I don’t know. Sorry.

Smoke ‘em if ya’ got ‘em. God Bless

In the name of The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; Mother Mary, Saint Brigid; Saint Jude; Saint Therese Lisieux; Saint Peter; Archangel Michael, and my Guardian Angel, Jed.

PS: "With this broken wing..."