Found a new quote today.

I found a new quote today. 

"When one is pretending, the entire body revolts."

I think that might be a lot of the problem. I would be completely fascinated to see how my life would be different if I were to suddenly just give up on playing the part that I have designed for myself and start actually playing the part of... myself.

I can imagine some wildly entertaining scenarios. 

"No, I don't think I'll be attending Quilting Group this week, Nancy. I don't really enjoy it, and you all drive me crazy the way you all think you're better than everyone else there. Also,  I think the quilts are ugly, and I'm not sure the families we give them to even want them."

"Not tonight, dear. I'm afraid I can't stand the sight of you right now."

"No, I won't be at church this Sunday, because I will have already run off some lovely town in California where I can blend with the masses in an anonymous, sunny existence instead of feeling like the only person on Planet Sane here in this cold, deserted, god-forsaken town."

Can you imagine? Unfortunately, that's all I can do about it... Imagine.

I wonder if it is possible to actually die of mental suffocation.

Artificial Violet

I wish I didn't hate my life. Well, it's not so much my life I hate as just the many many facets of it that grate on my brain like so many shards of glass in my shoe. Not that I can specifically recall ever having had shards of glass in my shoes, but I can imagine that it would be pretty agonizing.

It just seems like everywhere I look I am reminded of one reason or another why I shouldn't be here. Why I wish desperately I was anywhere else. And yet I go through my day. I get up, take a shower and put on makeup, like everyone else. It seems like as long as I go to the trouble of putting on makeup, that no one else seems to much notice if there is anything wrong. 

I have adopted a bland, easy, vacant smile that makes it appear to those around me that my mind isn't screaming, "I WANT OUT OF HERE," at every other second. But it is. I stare around the room at no place in particular and think of all the many lives I'd rather be in, all the while making no move to get out of this one. Why? I have no idea. I think I hate myself. I am pretty sure I deserve this for all the terrible things I have done. 

But that doesn't mean I have to like it.