The truth is, I feel empty inside. I was a pretty fun kid, then a wild and rebellious teenager (by
Now? I hardly recognize myself. Occasionally I catch a glimpse of myself, usually in a storefront window reflection, and I can’t believe what I see. Am I that old? Am I that fat? Worse, am I that frumpy, in my orthotic shoes and the outfits designed to cover my flabby tummy? When did I become so … ordinary? So lifeless? So joyless?
Would I feel this way if I had a child? My first baby would be one and a half years old now, in those early stages of learning to walk and talk. And I don’t grieve that baby. It was never all that real to me. But the loss of opportunity, the time passing while my body grows older and older, while I watch myself fade into the washed-out background of my empty life, that’s something that hurts more and more, day by day.
So I guess I’m depressed. Not surprising. And I’m terribly lonely. Also not surprising. But mostly I’m just tired and disappointed with life. I want to go back in time, not that far, maybe eight or ten years back, and start all over again. I want to be young again. To be thin, to be sexy, to have energy to play, to go out dancing, to be wanted. I want to be able to work out without hurting myself. I want to wear pretty shoes. I want to have friends again, not the kind you see every three months––the kind you have to talk to on the phone every day. I want to flirt, to have guys flirt back, to feel that thrill of knowing I’m sexy. I want my husband to be thinner, and interested in having sex even when I don’t suggest it. I want our bodies to fit together the way they used to, and I want to be able to have wild sex without my back hurting the next day. I want to go back to a time when my whole life was ahead of me, when I could still dream about the joy (and discomfort) of pregnancy with the innocence of someone who’s never crashed and burned. I want to feel hope, without having to smash it down, terrified of letting myself dream.
I just want to be me again. Whoever that was. I really really miss me. I liked her. And I don’t like this me so much at all.