How did it all go so wrong I wonder? I reach my dark, scripty places and everything seems so futile. My deep, deep belief of unworthiness, of being unloved, of being a failure resurface and threaten to sweep away any real accomplishments I may have achieved.
It doesn't matter if I have a beautiful son who I work hard to raise. In my head I turn so easily into a bad, irresponsible and resentful mother. I don't want to raise a child, I want to be free. To do what I want, when I want. To go places and meet people and not worry about getting home to a cranky child who refuses to sleep.
My jobs, the fact that I have worked my ass off in the last year to get some financial stability all fade into oblivion. I'm the idiot who never figured out what she wants to do. I never understood my talent, potential, my dreams. I didn't pursue them out of sheer laziness and insecurity. Because I believed so strongly that I would never succeed that I made it come true. I am the girl who let the boat sail. So today all me peers are getting awarded and published and holidaying in exotic locales while I struggle to begin my career with little hope of ever making it big.
So what if the ex was an imbecile. When the darkness descends I convince myself that I am responsible for the failed marriage. I wasn't good enough to be loved and treasured. I screwed up. I should have handled things differently. I should have traveled with him so that there was no scope of infidelity. I should have been hotter, slimmer, funner, cooler. I should have made it work. It's my fault.
I planned a trip and bought my tickets. It's a step to being well traveled. But one day on facebook and I am overwhelmed by the number of places I haven't been to, will never be able to go to. I hate people who are studying abroad or living in USA and Europe and Australia and anywhere other than where I am. Because I wanted that so badly and I see no hope of having it. Not now, not in the future. Everywhere on earth seems better than where I am right now. It doesn't help that the ex gets away scot free and is "finding himself" while traveling the world. Fuck you!
My brilliant book ideas stay ideas because I never sit down to start writing. I'll never get published, I have nothing to really write, who'll read it anyway...a million doubts sit heavily between my fingers and the keyboard making it impossible to tap out the words. I write a blog and shrink away partly assuaged because I have written and mostly sick in the stomach because I have once again avoided writing the book.
So how did this happen? Where is my life? The one I had dreamt of, hoped for, prayed for? Is this it? Or is this just the route through hell that I have to take to reach it?
P.S. Read an article which I found interesting. It resonated with me. Attaching a scan.