I was feeling so good
A page in the diary "Good mourning!"
Written by Luise 1. Nov 2007 07:48 AM
...for the last two weeks.
It felt as if I was healing. I seemed to find a balance in my life. My soul had a voice again, I was me again - still in a sad and difficult time of my life, but me. There were feelings. And there was even joy sometimes, and the feeling that I have been loved and am still loved by some people.
Today I am a crying wreck again. Here they are again, these stupid thoughts: I will never find anyone who loves me. My best friend is talking about having children soon, and I don't even have a man. She doesn't even know how lucky she is and how thankful she should be. Why is it so difficult for me to find somebody who loves me, and there are so many people who are lucky and meet just the right person? It must be such a great feeling of safety to have somebody by your side whom you love and whom you can trust. It must be a great feeling to know that you are loved, that this person wants to stay with you for the rest of his life, that he really likes you for what you are and that he finds you worth to be with and to look at and to talk to. I think I don't know this feeling. I have neer felt like that. I was always waiting for being abandoned – and the men I was with didn't help me to develop trust. I think I would need five years in a really good and honest relationship until I really would feel safe.
When I met my canadian and we fell in love, I asked him a thousand times per day: Are you real? You will not run away? I couldn't believe it.
Oh, what joy it must be to be comforted when you're crying! What joy to be embraced at night when you're waking up from a nightmare.
I am alone, and I'm sad about it. I am always strong, because nobody would realize if I was weak. It's not fun to be weak or sad or sick when there's nobody to nurture and comfort you.
It feels like I'm becoming "a girl made out of steel". Life is hard, but I am harder. Nothing can touch me. You have to get hard and build walls around you - how would I survive all the happy couples around me? How would I survive my best friend rhapsodizing about babies while I am still alone? I also would like to have a family, but it seems as unachievable as becoming the president of germany.
There is a weak, sensitive part inside me who wants out, but I don't know what to do with her. How can I give this part of me what she needs? How can I nurture her?
Crying is a good start.
It feels that I have to connect and connect again with the younger versions of myself, if that makes any sense. I realize that I feel whole and well when manage to connect with the girl I was on the Camino Santiago (who felt very young and a bit confused and sad, but also very strong and loveable) and also with the girl I was in Canada (who was just sad, sad, sad and appalled and sad, and very young, like the child I have been who may have felt the same sometimes.) On days like today I feel like separated from my memories, separated from my biography – how can I know who I am without my life story?
I'm just tired of the feeling of being my own mother and partner. I'm tired of being strong.
I hate my overweight. It's not that I hate it because I feel fat. I hate it because it makes me a freak. I don't fit into society. I feel like a loser. I felt like that when I had 3 Kilo too much and now it's 30 too much and I still feel like it. Nobody is looking at me, although my FACE is beautiful. And the rest is not SO bad. At least I was fit enough to walk 1700 km last year. BY FEET. I have gained maybe 5 kilos since because of all the stress, and I hate that it happened, but I have enough problems to deal with without being on a diet and exercising. On step after the other.
It's all about society. We are taught to be keen on skinny persons, and everyone else is just waste. Why can't we all be the same?
I remember the discussion about armpit hair. One day in France, Canada and I talked about sweating, and he said something like "Why don't you shave your armpits?" and we started to argue, and I bursted into tears and couldn't understand until he found out that I automatically felt critisized. Although he honestly told me that he just said this because of practical reasons and he doesn't care about my armpit hair. "I never was a pretty girl." I sobbed, "I have heard so many times I should do this and that to be...better, more beautiful, prettier." He looked astonished at me and then embraced me. "Hey - everyone who says that you are not good enough is an asshole." It felt pretty much like having the big brother I wished for for so long.
This pain is engrained. I was never pretty enough. I was never girlish enough.
Oh well. And I'm sure Australia hates me now – cause I don't shave my armpits. Sorry.
Love,
Luise.
PS: He didn't answer my E-mail from last weekend, and I try to convince myself that I don't care. But i do.