Anyway as I was saying...
Sometimes I think I am two different people. Not in the schizophrenic sense, or even in the Multiple Personality Disorder sense (As in: This is my personality Ariana, this is my personality Rosalinda- why do my personalities have better names?!) but in the sense that I am this person with this past- filled with mistakes and truimphs and loves and losses and angers and happys and other trivial minutia that make up a person's life.
And then there is this other person, this me now- uncertain future and hazy present. It feels as though I've been waiting for the smoke to clear for far too long and I wonder how long before that wind of change will finally grace my doorway. But I guess everyone is like that to a certain degree.
I received a letter in my box today- unexpected and odd, considering it was from a complete stranger. I very rarely get mail because of this diary, I'm not sure why- maybe I strike people as being someone they don't want to know. The letter was well-meaning, I'm sure, but it was exactly the kind of letter that I should NOT have gotten today, the day I decided to start posting again. Because it reminded me in no uncertain terms that despite all my efforts to the contrary, I am not understood. And that my words get garbled and misconstrued, even when it's just something I'm writing to myself. So in the interest of one last ditch attempt:
Do not think for one moment that you know who I am by reading this diary. There are bits of me- chunks of me- sprinkled throughout it and yes, I do consider it a fair representation of the me that I am. Most times. But there are also many aspects of me that you do not know and therefore it would be idiotic for someone to come in and read 100+ pages of me and decide that I am a certain thing, when in fact I might not be.
Maybe the blame for this can be leveled at my own shoulders because I do admit that I do write in a certain melancholy tone because where else is it to go, if not out of my head? There is a problem with this diary that has been growing for some time and I realize to a certain extent that it is me that the problem is with. I am tired of defending my emotions, angst, low points etc. I am exhausted at having always to be 'ON'- so that people don't think I am two steps away from slitting my wrists. Only one time in my life have I ever considered suicide as a serious option and yes you could argue that is one time too many, but I am still here and that was a very specific occasion before. The facts of which I really don't want to go into, because quite frankly it is the past and it's also none of anyone's business. And yes, I know, this is a public diary and so therefore I have no right to complain how about an outside pair of eyes reads this.
But life is not all cheery moments. At least mine isn't. I'm 32, I lack a career, a family of my own, a boyfriend of any sort, and for the most part I spend most of my time alone in my own mind- whether it be writing, reading or doing other things to entertain myself as I stroll down life's avenue by my lonesome. I apologize for not being life embracing at all moments of the day- I apologize if I allow myself to wallow. I apologize if I try to express the feelings that I have inside so that they don't continue to fester or grow into something worse. And I'm sorry if some of you think this is the wrong way to go about things.