To Be Continued.

I haven't been here in a while. I've been in hiding again. It's strange that the world sees me as a fearless soul. Afraid of nothing but marriage and driving in snow. It's my punchline. I've moved across the country (multiple times), sans job and connections and landed softly and created great bonds with a loving and supportive group of friends.

I've worked hard to create my personality. Some cross between Edie Sedgwick, Andy Warhol and an Edith Wharton novel. At least that's what's going on in my head. LOL. The reality is I am a terrified little girl afraid to be special. I don't know why. I don't know where that comes from. 

My fantasy life is very different from my reality. So much so that I am ashamed often to be in public. For example: The first Monday in May (the documentary) makes the cry. The clothes are so exquisite I actually cry. The reality for me is that I feel so ugly and overweight that I am ashamed to want to wear such art. I judge myself for not being the person physically I want to be. 

When I was a kid I was athletic. I ran and swam and could do it faster and better than the boys. I'm still obsessed with Ultra Runners and Ballet dancers. But I am scared. I am scared that I am never going to be good enough for the vast dreams I've had since I was a toddler. 

In the first 15 years of my life I have wanted to be: A painter (like a Picasso or Warhol), the youngest person in history to win Best Director, I wanted to change the world, literally, with the films I would write and direct. I wanted to win an Olympic gold medal and win the Nobel Peace Prize and Pulitzers all before I was 20.  So for real though, who the fuck can live up to that? 

It occurs to me as I am writing this that I think I wanted to be good enough to be loved. I wanted to be good enough that my father wouldn't have died. I would've been good enough to be happy....