Shame

Sometimes I’m crushed by shame. An overwhelming, bone crunching, soul-eating shame. It could be in response to something someone said to me (about how I’m wrong or bad or otherwise unacceptable, or a story I’ve read, or a picture I’ve seen (usually of an near naked airbrushed model). It just stops. me. in. my. tracks.

Granted this doesn’t happen as much as it did years ago when I was in the throes of my depressive episodes. Thankfully. But it has happened this week. My emotional response is totally out of proportion to the incident. My whole being slows and is fatigued. I think it’s because the last several months have sent me several blows (to my ego? my self-worth?)

The powerlifting meet that wasn’t, and the kettlebell certification that wasn’t, had me deflated for quite some time. I didn’t know what to do with myself.

Escalating issues with my Girl Child, have been a HUGE focus of my attention lately. We have discovered that she has (un-officially) sensory processing disorder. The type she has manifests in sensory seeking behavior and at other times in falling apart. Even on good days she needs lots of mental stimulation to keep her from getting bored. I could handle physical energy, but trying to keep her occupied mentally drains me since I already have so much going on in my head. Reading up on SPD, I’ve gotten lots of good ideas and many of them seem to be working. So that’s a plus in my life.

And good thing I’m lifting in the gym again. Something about that heavy weight on the bar that keeps me sane.

When I’m low, it’s very easy for me to get fixated on what I don’t have. Glass half empty syndrome. Envious of everybody and Every Body. Yes, I’m vain, very vain. I want to look good naked. And even if I look good naked, I want to look better naked. And clothed. And have nicer clothes and not look like a hobo.

Then I start to look at all my desires. God, I have big ones. Unfulfilled. Like hiking the California coast, living in France for a month, some crazy idea of getting rid of all I own and backpacking from place to place and earning money pole dancing–or something like that.

But mostly I desire to have someone to talk to, to share ideas, emotions and big dreams with . I’ve been looking for this all my life and it still is lacking. A soul connection. Someone who “gets” what I’m into and wants to share it with me. Someone whose eyes don’t glaze over as I’m talking.

I know it’s totally not cool to say this, but I want to escape. Escape the life that I’ve created for myself. I feel trapped. Don’t get me wrong. I love my husband and my children. But sometimes that is not enough.

More movement. more nature. more dance. more ecstatic sex. more lifting. more time alone. more deep sparking conversations that leave my cheeks flushed and my eyes bright. Yeah especially that one.

I long for a wildness, a freedom, a colorful, simple, and vibrant life. And a bathtub.

Most people have no idea. No idea how emotional I am. How high my highs are and how low my lows. I can come across as pretty cool, private, quiet, reserved. It bothers me that people can know me for years and not know me. But of course that’s my fault.

So if you read this and are shocked, that’s okay. I’m shocked too. Shocked that I’m sharing this, but hey how many people are reading anyway? So, it’s kinda personal therapy of the vomiting-my-thoughts-and-feelings-all-over-the-place-that-makes-no-sense kind.

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